Tucson, Arizona
As I sit here on the couch, alone in my Mom's house, I am filled with different emotions: frustration, disappointment, sadness, longing. I had such an amazing time throughout my travels but coming back to the US brought be back to life. Life that I really don't enjoy very much. Frankly, as I'm home, I don't know who will read this blog. Maybe it's just for me to express how I'm feeling and get it out of me. I came home to my Nana -- my Mom's mom -- dying slowly from cancer. She's living with my Mom as she passes her last days. As my Mom and Dad's divorce was finalized several months ago, this was the firs Christmas that was spent with different parents, and of course their respective partners, my mom with her boyfriend and my dad with his girlfriend and four-year-old daughters. I had apparently not fully accepted the divorce thing because I was rather negative and resentful toward my Mom for the first week and a half since I arrived. Now it's been almost two weeks since I returned home and I am ready to leave. I must go back to Los Angeles. I have to get all my junk out of storage and I have my travel video journal to edit. I am looking forward to watching all the footage and putting together a piece. However, if it was possible, I would have prefered to go back to Europe and continue traveling. I miss it. I wish I was there with you, wherever you are as you read this (assuming you are living in Europe). I wish I was still just thinking about the next day or two, buying my train ticket and sending out couchsurfing requests. I wish I was exploring a new city with my daybag stuffed with bread and meat and a few cereal bars. I wish I was sitting in an excited, bustling cafe, sipping a cappucino and trying to understand the conversation I'm having in a foreign language. I wish I was sitting in front of a beautiful monument or park, sketching what I see. I wish I was not here. I wish I didn't have to deal with all the bullshit that I am confronted with in this setting, this environment. I have to admit that this was the first year that Christmas didn't have the magic that it's had since I can remember. It was empty. I felt more Christmas, holiday magic in Madrid than I felt here with my family, opening presents near the colored-light-covered tree. It has been such a disappointment. Not to mention, whether it's because of being on holiday or not, I have been sleeping a ton, and I haven't felt motivated to do the things that I actually want to do, like paint, email new friends from my trip, and go shopping for cool clothes at thrift stores. This holiday season has been the biggest letdown, and the fact that it followed such an unbelivably remarkable experience of traveling and adventuring makes it that much worse. I think I will not be spending much more time here in Tucson, and I don't think I'll return for awhile. And when it comes to Christmas next year, I might just be spending it with friends, away from family.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Friday, December 21, 2007
Back in Town
Tucson, Arizona, USA
My belly is full of hamburgers right now, the second time in two days. That was my one priority when arriving back in the U.S. After being greeted by my Mom, Dad, and brother, Matthew at the airport two nights ago, I decided that we would dine at In N' Out Burger, a delicious, fresh fast food restaurant that's been around since the 1950's. It was great to see my family. I put on my zilaba so that they would be surprised. And I knew that my dad and brother would react adversely and playfully tell me to take it off, which, of course, they did. I'm pretty exhausted right now, although I do think I'm almost back on the local time.
I flew from Paris to Dallas, Texas and then from Dallas to Tucson. On the plane to Tucson, a man took out some dollars to pay for his wine. I saw him counting the dollars and it was very strange to me. After using Euros, and other foreign currencies, for over three months, to see US dollars seemed foreign to me. And earlier when I saw a woman using her cellphone, I thought about my use of a cellphone. That too seemed very bizarre, the idea of me using a cellphone. The idea of driving did not seem strange though. In fact, I was excited about it.
Someone told me at some point in the past week that it would be very different after returning home. This would be due mainly in part to the fact that I had been traveling and changing over the past three months whereas everyone and everything at home is exactly the same as it was before. Well this was very true. My Mom, Dad, brother, and dog were all pretty much the same, except that Samson, my dog, had a cool, new haircut that makes his tail look like that of a rabbit. It was one of my fears that I would come back to the States and settle back into the way of living from before. Obviously, I can prevent that from happening, I just have to be conscious of it. My little bunny-rabbit, snowball, sheep-boy of a dog is curled up and drifting off to the sweet world of dreams and gumdrops. I shall like to join him, so I will continue at another time.
My belly is full of hamburgers right now, the second time in two days. That was my one priority when arriving back in the U.S. After being greeted by my Mom, Dad, and brother, Matthew at the airport two nights ago, I decided that we would dine at In N' Out Burger, a delicious, fresh fast food restaurant that's been around since the 1950's. It was great to see my family. I put on my zilaba so that they would be surprised. And I knew that my dad and brother would react adversely and playfully tell me to take it off, which, of course, they did. I'm pretty exhausted right now, although I do think I'm almost back on the local time.
I flew from Paris to Dallas, Texas and then from Dallas to Tucson. On the plane to Tucson, a man took out some dollars to pay for his wine. I saw him counting the dollars and it was very strange to me. After using Euros, and other foreign currencies, for over three months, to see US dollars seemed foreign to me. And earlier when I saw a woman using her cellphone, I thought about my use of a cellphone. That too seemed very bizarre, the idea of me using a cellphone. The idea of driving did not seem strange though. In fact, I was excited about it.
Someone told me at some point in the past week that it would be very different after returning home. This would be due mainly in part to the fact that I had been traveling and changing over the past three months whereas everyone and everything at home is exactly the same as it was before. Well this was very true. My Mom, Dad, brother, and dog were all pretty much the same, except that Samson, my dog, had a cool, new haircut that makes his tail look like that of a rabbit. It was one of my fears that I would come back to the States and settle back into the way of living from before. Obviously, I can prevent that from happening, I just have to be conscious of it. My little bunny-rabbit, snowball, sheep-boy of a dog is curled up and drifting off to the sweet world of dreams and gumdrops. I shall like to join him, so I will continue at another time.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
The Meaning of It All
Paris, France
The last day of my trip couldn't have been more perfect. I will try to express in words what can truly only be felt and never accurately described. After arriving in Paris and retrieving my bag, I wandered around the airport for about two hours. However this wandering was not fearful and foreign, it was confident and comfortable, even though I was lost. I passed the area where I first wandered just over three months ago trying to act like I knew where I was going so potential pickpockets and thieves wouldn't target me. This time it was familiar and I knew there was no threat whatsoever, except maybe that of waiting for 25 minutes for the lady at the ticket counter to even acknowledge that there was someone else waiting to be helped. I practiced abundance and paid the fifteen Euros to leave my beastly backpack at the terminal overnight. Then I made my way back down the same corridors to the metro area where I purchased my tickets and boarded the train. It was cold and cozy as we sped along the countryside into the city. I put on my zilaba and I slipped in and out of sleepyland. I must admit I'm pretty close to making another trip to sleepyland pretty soon here. Anyway... I changed trains, heading in the direction of Rambuteau. I videotaped a boy walking slowly with his head in a book as the crowds bustled past him. I climbed the stairs to the chilly, near-dusk air outside. I entered the building of Dick Ahearne, the man with whom I stayed during my first days in Paris. We exchanged a few words, as well as the shirt he leant me for a bag of unnecessary belongings I had left behind. After wishing each other happy holidays and safe travels, I headed down to the bakery that I frequented when I stayed with Dick. I purchased my favorite, two sweet, chocolate-filled, powder sugar-covered pastries. In front of the Hotel de Ville, an ice-skating rink had been erected and people of all different skill levels skated around. I shot video and pictures of the large Christmas tree in front of the Notre Dame, as well as the dead trees lining the banks of the river. At this point my toes were feeling like they could fall off at any moment due to frostbite, and I'm not exaggerating. I went inside a nearby cafe and drank the familiar bitter and refreshingly hot coffee while journaling. I reflected on my trip and the growth and changes I've experienced. I will identify those things later. One thing I will mention now, though, is that I started writing all the things I was excited about: seeing my family for the holidays, making my short film when I return to LA, travelling with Ally, etc. And then I wrote that I was excited to meet up with my couchsurfing host and have dinner with him. Writing that brought me back to the moment. I was instantly flooded with joy and my eyes welled up with tears. I was there, journaling in a warm little cafe in Paris in December. I felt the awesomeness of life. After paying my bill, warming up my feet with the automatic hand dryer in the bathroom, and donning another pair of socks, I set off into the cold, crisp night. Finally I reached the place, Port Royal, where I was to meet my couchsurfing host Jerome. There was a young man standing near a bicycle writing on a notepad and an older man with glasses talking on a cell phone inside the housing of the metro stairwell. I was meeting a young man with glasses, according to the photographs from his profile. I made eye contact with the young man a couple times and was curious what he was writing. I tried to get a peek, but it was too small. I stood listening to my ipod until about seven minutes after the designated meeting time. I began searching through my bag for his phone number. Then I looked up at the young man and mouthed, inquisitively, "Jerome?" Momentarily puzzled, he said yes and then instantly realized I was me. He had had eye surgery and no longer wears glasses, and I was decked out in a zilaba, a beard (which wasn't in my profile picture), and I didn't have a large backpack with me. I laughed for a good while about that; there we both stood for ten minutes occasionally looking at each other while we waited for each other. After dropping my bags in Jerome's place, I was impressed to see that his walls are covered in paintings and photographs that he has created from things he's seen and experienced during his travels. It inspired me. He leant me a coat, as I didn't want him to have to endure the stares at my zilaba, and we headed over to the Cinema District. We ate duck confit, my selection, at a smokey little joint with cool popular music that was played a little louder than desirable. At some point I began talking about how all the people in that room were there, sharing the same moment, and yet they would be gone from our lives in a couple hours. I also mentioned how everything was so temporary; the group of friends could be dissipated in five years with one dead from a drug overdose and another married with a child, or the Chinese-caucasian interracial couple could be split up and in a relationship with someone else a month from now. And thirdly, I commented on how each person had his or her life which consisted of thousands of stories and experiences and that I would never get to know any of them. They were all random thoughts that came to me and I felt like sharing them. In fact, I didn't even think about it, they just came out. Well it spawned a two and a half hour deep conversation about living in the moment, breaking free from ego-self, and acceptance. It was awesome. As we were speaking about being present in the moment, I made every effort to bring myself back to what he was saying when little, fluttering thoughts tried to carry me away. I felt that I was rather successful and it wasn't too difficult. Eventually we came back to the apartment. We talked for a bit more, I showered, and then he asked me to speak for twenty seconds about what I see out my window at home, while his camera simultaneously recorded the western portion of the U.S. on a small, transparent, inflatable globe. Afterward he showed me a blog that he keeps with different random montages, photos, and graphics that he has posted, as he creates one every day. I was so excited. It was such an inspiration to see the work he's done. He said that he tries new things and he doesn't always like them, but the important thing is to do. I like that philosophy. Jerome is a really cool guy and I'm seriously tempted to move to Paris at some point in the future to hang out with him and potentially collaborate on art projects. This last couchsurfing experience on the last night of my trip is the epitomy of what travelling is about, for me. I have met and connected with such beautiful people. I've been given the opportunity to share my beliefs and discover those of others. I can't say how grateful I am for Couchsurfing and everyone that I have gotten to know over the past three months. I have made some friends that I will probably have for the rest of my life.
I am sure that there are changes in me that I may not be aware of until my family and friends point them out. However, there have been some opportunities for growth of which I am well aware and grateful. The first thing that comes to mind is my increased sense of self-confidence. As I have been having to make all my own decisions for the past three months, I have come to accept that I know what I want and that realistically there is no wrong choice. I feel comfortable deciding where I'm going, what I'm doing, or even the little things like what I want to eat or wear. I have also become significantly more accepting. I am now very accepting of others; I can discern whether I want to practice a certain behavior or not, but I no longer judge those who behave in a way that I do not. Additionally, I have a lot more acceptance for circumstances. While there may still be an inital slight irritation at a bus being delayed or something, I release it rather quickly. And along the same line, I have released attachment to possessions. On a couple of occasions, I had lost certain items which I valued, and I accepted that they were gone while being grateful for the time I had with them.
As evidenced by this evening, I feel that I stay connected to the moment more often. While I still get distracted by meaningless thoughts, it is easier to come back to the present and enjoy it. I've realized that I can be experiencing some intense fear or other uncomfortable emotions and it's not the end of the world. I'm not going to die. I can just feel the feeling and keep going. Similarly is the whole "fear of lack" situation. I have had the opportunities to practice abundance and generosity in my life, even when the fear is pushing very hard to keep me from doing it. I know now that the solution is opposite action. Even if I think that it is logic or rationality that is convincing me, I simply take action anyway. My thoughts only have the power that I give them and I choose to no longer humor fear-based thoughts.
I can't say how grateful I am for this whole adventure: the people I've met, the cities I've explored, the foods I've tasted, the languages I've spoken, the laughs and the tears, the music, pictures and video, the beds I've slept in, the pastries I've eaten, the hugs I've given, the songs I've sung, and the treasures I've acquired. It really has been the trip of a lifetime.
To you, the reader: I am very happy that I could share it with you. I hope it has provided you a glimpse into the life I have lead for the past 97 days across ten countries (including Monaco) and three pairs of underwear.
The last day of my trip couldn't have been more perfect. I will try to express in words what can truly only be felt and never accurately described. After arriving in Paris and retrieving my bag, I wandered around the airport for about two hours. However this wandering was not fearful and foreign, it was confident and comfortable, even though I was lost. I passed the area where I first wandered just over three months ago trying to act like I knew where I was going so potential pickpockets and thieves wouldn't target me. This time it was familiar and I knew there was no threat whatsoever, except maybe that of waiting for 25 minutes for the lady at the ticket counter to even acknowledge that there was someone else waiting to be helped. I practiced abundance and paid the fifteen Euros to leave my beastly backpack at the terminal overnight. Then I made my way back down the same corridors to the metro area where I purchased my tickets and boarded the train. It was cold and cozy as we sped along the countryside into the city. I put on my zilaba and I slipped in and out of sleepyland. I must admit I'm pretty close to making another trip to sleepyland pretty soon here. Anyway... I changed trains, heading in the direction of Rambuteau. I videotaped a boy walking slowly with his head in a book as the crowds bustled past him. I climbed the stairs to the chilly, near-dusk air outside. I entered the building of Dick Ahearne, the man with whom I stayed during my first days in Paris. We exchanged a few words, as well as the shirt he leant me for a bag of unnecessary belongings I had left behind. After wishing each other happy holidays and safe travels, I headed down to the bakery that I frequented when I stayed with Dick. I purchased my favorite, two sweet, chocolate-filled, powder sugar-covered pastries. In front of the Hotel de Ville, an ice-skating rink had been erected and people of all different skill levels skated around. I shot video and pictures of the large Christmas tree in front of the Notre Dame, as well as the dead trees lining the banks of the river. At this point my toes were feeling like they could fall off at any moment due to frostbite, and I'm not exaggerating. I went inside a nearby cafe and drank the familiar bitter and refreshingly hot coffee while journaling. I reflected on my trip and the growth and changes I've experienced. I will identify those things later. One thing I will mention now, though, is that I started writing all the things I was excited about: seeing my family for the holidays, making my short film when I return to LA, travelling with Ally, etc. And then I wrote that I was excited to meet up with my couchsurfing host and have dinner with him. Writing that brought me back to the moment. I was instantly flooded with joy and my eyes welled up with tears. I was there, journaling in a warm little cafe in Paris in December. I felt the awesomeness of life. After paying my bill, warming up my feet with the automatic hand dryer in the bathroom, and donning another pair of socks, I set off into the cold, crisp night. Finally I reached the place, Port Royal, where I was to meet my couchsurfing host Jerome. There was a young man standing near a bicycle writing on a notepad and an older man with glasses talking on a cell phone inside the housing of the metro stairwell. I was meeting a young man with glasses, according to the photographs from his profile. I made eye contact with the young man a couple times and was curious what he was writing. I tried to get a peek, but it was too small. I stood listening to my ipod until about seven minutes after the designated meeting time. I began searching through my bag for his phone number. Then I looked up at the young man and mouthed, inquisitively, "Jerome?" Momentarily puzzled, he said yes and then instantly realized I was me. He had had eye surgery and no longer wears glasses, and I was decked out in a zilaba, a beard (which wasn't in my profile picture), and I didn't have a large backpack with me. I laughed for a good while about that; there we both stood for ten minutes occasionally looking at each other while we waited for each other. After dropping my bags in Jerome's place, I was impressed to see that his walls are covered in paintings and photographs that he has created from things he's seen and experienced during his travels. It inspired me. He leant me a coat, as I didn't want him to have to endure the stares at my zilaba, and we headed over to the Cinema District. We ate duck confit, my selection, at a smokey little joint with cool popular music that was played a little louder than desirable. At some point I began talking about how all the people in that room were there, sharing the same moment, and yet they would be gone from our lives in a couple hours. I also mentioned how everything was so temporary; the group of friends could be dissipated in five years with one dead from a drug overdose and another married with a child, or the Chinese-caucasian interracial couple could be split up and in a relationship with someone else a month from now. And thirdly, I commented on how each person had his or her life which consisted of thousands of stories and experiences and that I would never get to know any of them. They were all random thoughts that came to me and I felt like sharing them. In fact, I didn't even think about it, they just came out. Well it spawned a two and a half hour deep conversation about living in the moment, breaking free from ego-self, and acceptance. It was awesome. As we were speaking about being present in the moment, I made every effort to bring myself back to what he was saying when little, fluttering thoughts tried to carry me away. I felt that I was rather successful and it wasn't too difficult. Eventually we came back to the apartment. We talked for a bit more, I showered, and then he asked me to speak for twenty seconds about what I see out my window at home, while his camera simultaneously recorded the western portion of the U.S. on a small, transparent, inflatable globe. Afterward he showed me a blog that he keeps with different random montages, photos, and graphics that he has posted, as he creates one every day. I was so excited. It was such an inspiration to see the work he's done. He said that he tries new things and he doesn't always like them, but the important thing is to do. I like that philosophy. Jerome is a really cool guy and I'm seriously tempted to move to Paris at some point in the future to hang out with him and potentially collaborate on art projects. This last couchsurfing experience on the last night of my trip is the epitomy of what travelling is about, for me. I have met and connected with such beautiful people. I've been given the opportunity to share my beliefs and discover those of others. I can't say how grateful I am for Couchsurfing and everyone that I have gotten to know over the past three months. I have made some friends that I will probably have for the rest of my life.
I am sure that there are changes in me that I may not be aware of until my family and friends point them out. However, there have been some opportunities for growth of which I am well aware and grateful. The first thing that comes to mind is my increased sense of self-confidence. As I have been having to make all my own decisions for the past three months, I have come to accept that I know what I want and that realistically there is no wrong choice. I feel comfortable deciding where I'm going, what I'm doing, or even the little things like what I want to eat or wear. I have also become significantly more accepting. I am now very accepting of others; I can discern whether I want to practice a certain behavior or not, but I no longer judge those who behave in a way that I do not. Additionally, I have a lot more acceptance for circumstances. While there may still be an inital slight irritation at a bus being delayed or something, I release it rather quickly. And along the same line, I have released attachment to possessions. On a couple of occasions, I had lost certain items which I valued, and I accepted that they were gone while being grateful for the time I had with them.
As evidenced by this evening, I feel that I stay connected to the moment more often. While I still get distracted by meaningless thoughts, it is easier to come back to the present and enjoy it. I've realized that I can be experiencing some intense fear or other uncomfortable emotions and it's not the end of the world. I'm not going to die. I can just feel the feeling and keep going. Similarly is the whole "fear of lack" situation. I have had the opportunities to practice abundance and generosity in my life, even when the fear is pushing very hard to keep me from doing it. I know now that the solution is opposite action. Even if I think that it is logic or rationality that is convincing me, I simply take action anyway. My thoughts only have the power that I give them and I choose to no longer humor fear-based thoughts.
I can't say how grateful I am for this whole adventure: the people I've met, the cities I've explored, the foods I've tasted, the languages I've spoken, the laughs and the tears, the music, pictures and video, the beds I've slept in, the pastries I've eaten, the hugs I've given, the songs I've sung, and the treasures I've acquired. It really has been the trip of a lifetime.
To you, the reader: I am very happy that I could share it with you. I hope it has provided you a glimpse into the life I have lead for the past 97 days across ten countries (including Monaco) and three pairs of underwear.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Near the End
Barcelona, Spain
Earlier this afternoon, I visited Gaudi´s "Parc Guell." It was rather nice. The sun was bright and warm. I sat on a park bench for a bit as the cockatoos in the palm trees squawked and chirped. Afterward, I met up with my couchsurfing host Sara and her friend Jordi, and we ate seafood paella near the marina. Later I sat near the beach and wrote a postcard. It was just after sunset and the strong, wintry wind made me shiver. My one, ungloved writing hand seriously felt like it could fall off at any moment due to frostbite. After dropping the postcard in the "Correos" box, I used my host´s card to take a public bicycle. I rode around for a bit, videotaping myself, and then headed back to the apartment. Upon arrival, Sara informed me that she was going to a friend´s house to watch a movie and that I was welcome to join her. I had, and still have, to organize all my belongings in my pack, journal, blog, shower, and shave, however I decided it was my last night in Barcelona and I should go for it. We ate pieces of apple, orange, pineapple, and banana dipped in chocolate fondue as we watched a Chinese film with Spanish subtitles. I dozed off a couple times but managed to wake up for the last 30 minutes. After the movie, we talked and laughed for a bit. At times I didn´t exactly understand what was being discussed, as they spoke very fast and with a thick accent, but I enjoyed myself nonetheless. We hung out for awhile longer before heading out. It was a great last day in Spain.
And now, the moment you´ve all been waiting for... the things that I will and will not miss most.
The things I will miss in Portugal, Morocco and Spain:
- My new friends (oh, how sweet)
- Madrid
- Buying something in Marrakech for really cheap by pretending to not speak English, Spanish, French or any other common language
- chocolate bars
- those fresh, grilled Sardines in Essouira
- Playing chess with Josh until 5 AM every night
- the sunsets in Essouira
- Riding on the back of Abdouaziz´s motorbike through the medina
- Getting pummeled by the ferocious tsunami-like waves in San Sebastian
- Eating with my hands in Morocco
- Spending time with new friends and feeling a part of (oh, what a sweetheart)
- Shooting video of myself on a camel, on a motorbike, on a bicycle, as well as some potentially cool video effects
- Practicing abundance
- Thanksgiving dinner three weeks late in Pamplona
- Essouira
- Wearing my zilaba
- my zilaba in general
- Romance in Madrid
- Recovering my Grandma´s scarf after it had spent the night fallen in the insanely windy, rainy Sahara
- Having my sleeping sheet
- Riding a bicycle in Barcelona
- Feeling alive and connected to the moment
- Walking through fear, mainly in Morocco
- the sweet, Moroccan mint tea
- Sharing dates (the fruit) with the old cleaning ladies at the bus station bathroom in Essouira
- Making a bracelet out of string I found on the ground in Seville
- those sweet, Moroccan honey pastries for 2 or 3 Dirhams a piece
- Getting billiards lessons from an old guy in Porto
- Listening to a few select songs by Counting Crows and feeling like it was the soundtrack to my life movie
- kebabs
- Lying on the grass, watching the meteor shower in Barcelona (thanks for the info Dad)
- Learning words in Arabic and using them
- the amazing people that I met and have become friends with... they are truly what I miss most about the places I´ve been
The things I will NOT miss about Portugal, Morocco and Spain:
- predatory vendors and commission-seekers in Morocco
- all the smoking in Spanish bars
- Travelocity and their incompetence
- Faro music (no offense to Portugese people and their culture, it just didn´t do anything for me)
- culture shock
- homesickness
- people in Barcelona, at a restaurant, refusing to give me tap water so they can charge 1.50 Euros for a bottle
- people in Barcelona, at a restaurant, trying to dissuade me from drinking tap water by telling me how disgusting it is, so they can charge 1.50 Euros for a bottle
- people in Barcelona, at a restaurant, scoffing at me when I request tap water so they can make me feel stupid and thus charge me 1.50 Euros for a bottle
- old men in Morocco that covered their faces or wouldn´t let me take pictures of them
- bathrooms without toilet paper in Morocco, which was 98% of them
- the old bathroom attendant man at the bus station in Fes who grabbed and shoved me when I refused to tip him for doing his job
- the homeless boys in Marrakech who followed me to my hotel begging for money or more chocolate, as I had given them some chocolate earlier when they weren´t begging
- the Portugese language (again, no offense to Portugese people, I just would have preferred you to speak Spanish instead)
- the Temple of the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona... big disappointment
- bartering for crap in Morocco
- Fes in general
- fear of lack
- compulsive thoughts regarding fear of lack
- the overnight trips on horribly cramped, freezing buses in Morocco
- feeling like every Moroccan you meet only sees you as potential income
- the torturous, screeching Moroccan music that was blasted throughout the long night bus trips
- the moments upon first waking up in Morocco where I felt alone
Earlier this afternoon, I visited Gaudi´s "Parc Guell." It was rather nice. The sun was bright and warm. I sat on a park bench for a bit as the cockatoos in the palm trees squawked and chirped. Afterward, I met up with my couchsurfing host Sara and her friend Jordi, and we ate seafood paella near the marina. Later I sat near the beach and wrote a postcard. It was just after sunset and the strong, wintry wind made me shiver. My one, ungloved writing hand seriously felt like it could fall off at any moment due to frostbite. After dropping the postcard in the "Correos" box, I used my host´s card to take a public bicycle. I rode around for a bit, videotaping myself, and then headed back to the apartment. Upon arrival, Sara informed me that she was going to a friend´s house to watch a movie and that I was welcome to join her. I had, and still have, to organize all my belongings in my pack, journal, blog, shower, and shave, however I decided it was my last night in Barcelona and I should go for it. We ate pieces of apple, orange, pineapple, and banana dipped in chocolate fondue as we watched a Chinese film with Spanish subtitles. I dozed off a couple times but managed to wake up for the last 30 minutes. After the movie, we talked and laughed for a bit. At times I didn´t exactly understand what was being discussed, as they spoke very fast and with a thick accent, but I enjoyed myself nonetheless. We hung out for awhile longer before heading out. It was a great last day in Spain.
And now, the moment you´ve all been waiting for... the things that I will and will not miss most.
The things I will miss in Portugal, Morocco and Spain:
- My new friends (oh, how sweet)
- Madrid
- Buying something in Marrakech for really cheap by pretending to not speak English, Spanish, French or any other common language
- chocolate bars
- those fresh, grilled Sardines in Essouira
- Playing chess with Josh until 5 AM every night
- the sunsets in Essouira
- Riding on the back of Abdouaziz´s motorbike through the medina
- Getting pummeled by the ferocious tsunami-like waves in San Sebastian
- Eating with my hands in Morocco
- Spending time with new friends and feeling a part of (oh, what a sweetheart)
- Shooting video of myself on a camel, on a motorbike, on a bicycle, as well as some potentially cool video effects
- Practicing abundance
- Thanksgiving dinner three weeks late in Pamplona
- Essouira
- Wearing my zilaba
- my zilaba in general
- Romance in Madrid
- Recovering my Grandma´s scarf after it had spent the night fallen in the insanely windy, rainy Sahara
- Having my sleeping sheet
- Riding a bicycle in Barcelona
- Feeling alive and connected to the moment
- Walking through fear, mainly in Morocco
- the sweet, Moroccan mint tea
- Sharing dates (the fruit) with the old cleaning ladies at the bus station bathroom in Essouira
- Making a bracelet out of string I found on the ground in Seville
- those sweet, Moroccan honey pastries for 2 or 3 Dirhams a piece
- Getting billiards lessons from an old guy in Porto
- Listening to a few select songs by Counting Crows and feeling like it was the soundtrack to my life movie
- kebabs
- Lying on the grass, watching the meteor shower in Barcelona (thanks for the info Dad)
- Learning words in Arabic and using them
- the amazing people that I met and have become friends with... they are truly what I miss most about the places I´ve been
The things I will NOT miss about Portugal, Morocco and Spain:
- predatory vendors and commission-seekers in Morocco
- all the smoking in Spanish bars
- Travelocity and their incompetence
- Faro music (no offense to Portugese people and their culture, it just didn´t do anything for me)
- culture shock
- homesickness
- people in Barcelona, at a restaurant, refusing to give me tap water so they can charge 1.50 Euros for a bottle
- people in Barcelona, at a restaurant, trying to dissuade me from drinking tap water by telling me how disgusting it is, so they can charge 1.50 Euros for a bottle
- people in Barcelona, at a restaurant, scoffing at me when I request tap water so they can make me feel stupid and thus charge me 1.50 Euros for a bottle
- old men in Morocco that covered their faces or wouldn´t let me take pictures of them
- bathrooms without toilet paper in Morocco, which was 98% of them
- the old bathroom attendant man at the bus station in Fes who grabbed and shoved me when I refused to tip him for doing his job
- the homeless boys in Marrakech who followed me to my hotel begging for money or more chocolate, as I had given them some chocolate earlier when they weren´t begging
- the Portugese language (again, no offense to Portugese people, I just would have preferred you to speak Spanish instead)
- the Temple of the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona... big disappointment
- bartering for crap in Morocco
- Fes in general
- fear of lack
- compulsive thoughts regarding fear of lack
- the overnight trips on horribly cramped, freezing buses in Morocco
- feeling like every Moroccan you meet only sees you as potential income
- the torturous, screeching Moroccan music that was blasted throughout the long night bus trips
- the moments upon first waking up in Morocco where I felt alone
Friday, December 14, 2007
Hustlers
Barcelona, Spain
My fingers are numb from being cold, which is strange because I´m inside the apartment of my couchsuring host, Sara. I just bought my plane ticket to Paris, as I fly home from there on Tuesday. It´s strange that my return date is approaching so rapidly... well maybe it´s not approaching any faster than it was two months ago, but it´s strange that it´s so near. In Morocco, my thoughts were frequently set on being home in Tucson with my family. Now, while I´m still looking forward to seeing them and spending the holiday with them, I´m also feeling like I wish I could stay longer -- although not necessarily in Barcelona. I´ve been having such a great time for the past three months, it will be foreign to spend time in one place, when I return. Fortunately, though, I think my sister Ally and I will do a bit more traveling after the holidays... (in a slurred, British accent) but that´s a different blog altogevah (altogether).
Barcelona is nice, although not one of my favorite cities. I have had some interesting experiences though. I arrived on Tuesday afternoon. I was walking down Les Rambles from the Metro to my hostel when I noticed a small gathering. As I passed, I observed a finely-dressed man knelt down in front a small mat, performing a sort of ¨Three Card Monty,¨ except with little upside-down baskets, one of which contained a small white ball, instead of cards. I continued on to the hostel and put it in the back of my mind. Later that evening, however, I say the same man doing the Spanish-style ¨Three Card Monty.¨ I stood a little ways away and watched. The people standing around him would hand him money, pick a basket, and if they won, he´d had the money back. They kept doing this. Then a girl nearby opened her wallet and took out fifty Euros, apparently the amount that everyone was betting. She handed him the money, he flipped over the basket, and it was empty. She lost. And her reaction of disappointment somehow seemed different from the losses incurred by the other betters in the group. Not two seconds had passed when everyone standing nearby and split up and walked off in different directions. Moments later, a police van drove by. The main guy just kept walking back and forth along the street, as did the others. He and I exchanged a look. Then he returned to the little mat with his baskets and the group reconvened. I realized that all those people who were constantly betting were actually part of the scam. I also realized that there were at least two look-out guys on either side of the street to call out if police were coming. Their language was foreign. They all looked to be Eastern European. I deduced that they were from former Yugoslavia. So they continued on, the guy swiftly moving around the baskets and his cohorts pretending to pick a basket and win money. Passers-by would see the group and assume that they were other tourists or passers-by simply intrigued by the prospect of winning. Eventually, one of the look-outs called out in his language and all the hustlers slowly vanished down the street. I stayed for a bit longer before heading back to my hostel. The following night, I went to a soccer match between Barcelona and a German team. It was fun, although freezing. Afterward, I had Indian food with an Australian couple from the hostel. So by the time we returned to Les Rambles, it was pretty deserted. While the prostitutes and guys illegally selling cans of beer were out and about, the scam group was nowhere to be seen.
Yesterday, I had checked out, put my bags in the storage room, and was wandering down Les Rambles shooting some video. I passed one of many newspaper/magazine/postcard stands and there on the the other side was the ¨Three Basket Monty¨group. I took out my video camera and began to record the man shuffling around the baskets. Not a minute had passed before the group dispersed. I didn´t quite realize what was happening. The suave main man and one of his hulking hoodlums were walking past me to the right, accompanied by another guy. That guy, in plain clothes, then told me to turn off my camera and he flashed a badge at me. A police badge. Instantly I was concerned that this was another scam to steal my video camera and whatever else I had. I complied with turning off the camera, but I asked to see a photo ID. Another undercover officer was now there and he begrudgingly took out his photo ID. They both showed them to me, but I wasn´t convinced. I mean, it doesn´t take much to make a fake ID and buy a fake, realistic-looking badge. Meanwhile the crooks were emptying their pockets. The second officer asked me to open my bag and show him the contents. I asked why and he explained that maybe I had a gun and he wanted to be sure. I carefully showed him the contents. Then he asked again to see what I had videotaped. I rewound the tape way past the con-artists, to show him my video of the street performers and the trees, so he knew I was just a tourist. He watched with interest, soon accompanied by his partner. They commented in hushed voices as they pointed to the ringleader shuffling the baskets. Then they told me that if I had videotaped their faces, that I would have had to delete the whole tape. They handed me back my passport and told me not to do that again. I walked away, relieved that they weren´t fake, scamming police, and also excited that I was part of a sting operation. A little ways down the street, I saw a guy who I knew to be part of the swindling troupe, and I was tempted to return to the police and tell them. However, I didn´t want a bunch of angry, potentially-Yugoslavian criminals coming after me later that night when I returned to the hostel.
My fingers are numb from being cold, which is strange because I´m inside the apartment of my couchsuring host, Sara. I just bought my plane ticket to Paris, as I fly home from there on Tuesday. It´s strange that my return date is approaching so rapidly... well maybe it´s not approaching any faster than it was two months ago, but it´s strange that it´s so near. In Morocco, my thoughts were frequently set on being home in Tucson with my family. Now, while I´m still looking forward to seeing them and spending the holiday with them, I´m also feeling like I wish I could stay longer -- although not necessarily in Barcelona. I´ve been having such a great time for the past three months, it will be foreign to spend time in one place, when I return. Fortunately, though, I think my sister Ally and I will do a bit more traveling after the holidays... (in a slurred, British accent) but that´s a different blog altogevah (altogether).
Barcelona is nice, although not one of my favorite cities. I have had some interesting experiences though. I arrived on Tuesday afternoon. I was walking down Les Rambles from the Metro to my hostel when I noticed a small gathering. As I passed, I observed a finely-dressed man knelt down in front a small mat, performing a sort of ¨Three Card Monty,¨ except with little upside-down baskets, one of which contained a small white ball, instead of cards. I continued on to the hostel and put it in the back of my mind. Later that evening, however, I say the same man doing the Spanish-style ¨Three Card Monty.¨ I stood a little ways away and watched. The people standing around him would hand him money, pick a basket, and if they won, he´d had the money back. They kept doing this. Then a girl nearby opened her wallet and took out fifty Euros, apparently the amount that everyone was betting. She handed him the money, he flipped over the basket, and it was empty. She lost. And her reaction of disappointment somehow seemed different from the losses incurred by the other betters in the group. Not two seconds had passed when everyone standing nearby and split up and walked off in different directions. Moments later, a police van drove by. The main guy just kept walking back and forth along the street, as did the others. He and I exchanged a look. Then he returned to the little mat with his baskets and the group reconvened. I realized that all those people who were constantly betting were actually part of the scam. I also realized that there were at least two look-out guys on either side of the street to call out if police were coming. Their language was foreign. They all looked to be Eastern European. I deduced that they were from former Yugoslavia. So they continued on, the guy swiftly moving around the baskets and his cohorts pretending to pick a basket and win money. Passers-by would see the group and assume that they were other tourists or passers-by simply intrigued by the prospect of winning. Eventually, one of the look-outs called out in his language and all the hustlers slowly vanished down the street. I stayed for a bit longer before heading back to my hostel. The following night, I went to a soccer match between Barcelona and a German team. It was fun, although freezing. Afterward, I had Indian food with an Australian couple from the hostel. So by the time we returned to Les Rambles, it was pretty deserted. While the prostitutes and guys illegally selling cans of beer were out and about, the scam group was nowhere to be seen.
Yesterday, I had checked out, put my bags in the storage room, and was wandering down Les Rambles shooting some video. I passed one of many newspaper/magazine/postcard stands and there on the the other side was the ¨Three Basket Monty¨group. I took out my video camera and began to record the man shuffling around the baskets. Not a minute had passed before the group dispersed. I didn´t quite realize what was happening. The suave main man and one of his hulking hoodlums were walking past me to the right, accompanied by another guy. That guy, in plain clothes, then told me to turn off my camera and he flashed a badge at me. A police badge. Instantly I was concerned that this was another scam to steal my video camera and whatever else I had. I complied with turning off the camera, but I asked to see a photo ID. Another undercover officer was now there and he begrudgingly took out his photo ID. They both showed them to me, but I wasn´t convinced. I mean, it doesn´t take much to make a fake ID and buy a fake, realistic-looking badge. Meanwhile the crooks were emptying their pockets. The second officer asked me to open my bag and show him the contents. I asked why and he explained that maybe I had a gun and he wanted to be sure. I carefully showed him the contents. Then he asked again to see what I had videotaped. I rewound the tape way past the con-artists, to show him my video of the street performers and the trees, so he knew I was just a tourist. He watched with interest, soon accompanied by his partner. They commented in hushed voices as they pointed to the ringleader shuffling the baskets. Then they told me that if I had videotaped their faces, that I would have had to delete the whole tape. They handed me back my passport and told me not to do that again. I walked away, relieved that they weren´t fake, scamming police, and also excited that I was part of a sting operation. A little ways down the street, I saw a guy who I knew to be part of the swindling troupe, and I was tempted to return to the police and tell them. However, I didn´t want a bunch of angry, potentially-Yugoslavian criminals coming after me later that night when I returned to the hostel.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Reunion
Pamplona, Spain
I´ve spent the past forty-five minutes trying to find a cheap flight from Barcelona to Paris, as I fly home from Paris in about a week. I am here in Pamplona, having reunited with Josh, the American chef that I met in Venice and with whom I travelled for the two weeks that followed. Josh lives here, has a girlfriend whom he´s moving in with in a couple months, and he starts a new job at a restaurant tomorrow. As I type this, he is back at the apartment, preparing a Thanksgiving feast. It was our intention to spend Thanksgiving together and have a glorious meal. However, my little detour to Morocco made that impossible. So we agreed to have one now. Better late than never.
I had an incredible time in Madrid. It was straight out of a Christmastime romance movie. One night, I went out with my couchsurfing host Pablo, and his friends. There I met and connected with Ana, one of his friends. The next day, she picked me up and we wandered around the Retiro park. The dead, black trees stood huddled together. There was a small pond upon which many people rowed around in little blue boats. A gregarious puppet show, using socks and gloves with eyes, brought smiles to the faces of small, scarf-bundled children and their families. I could feel the winter wonderland excitement everywhere. We watched rented movies, cooked, cuddled, talked. It was intense and wonderful. And it was perfect timing too, because she had the day off from her busy work as an up-and-coming lawyer. Also her family, with whom she lives, was away on holiday, so we had the house to ourselves to laugh and have fun. I was very fortunate, as currently there is an exhibit of some works by my favorite artist, the Renaissance painter/engraver, Albrecht Durer. So we attended the exhibition. I Loved it. And then I left Madrid. And the movie of my life has changed.
Yesterday, Josh´s girlfriend, Eva, drove us to nearby San Sebastian, known as a beautiful, ritzy beach town. We arrived to huge gusts of wind that made walking difficult. As it started to sprinkle, we decided to escape the elements and get something to eat. We headed into a couple different bars where we ordered a drink and ate pinchos. A pincho is a small, individual appetizer generally consisting of a piece of bread with some meat and garnish on top. That is the tradition, go to a few different bars having drinks and eating pinchos. When our bellies were full, Eva lead us up a set of stairs that lead out to an oceanside rode atop a cliff. Initially it took effort to move against the wind. The powerful wind created giant waves. As the waves slammed into the cliff and rocks they flew into the air where the wind then shot them forward like a wall of water bullets. People were getting drenched. We stood near the fence and got pretty wet. Eva wanted to leave, but I wasn´t ready. I suggested to Josh that we head down to the outermost part near the ocean. He agreed and we ran excitedly to the edge. We stood with our arms outstretched as a monster wave crashed and exploded into the air like a thousand fireworks and then dove down upon us like a giant cloud of tiny furious sea beasts. We were thoroughly soaked through and through. My supposedly water-proof, Goretex shoes gurgled and sloshed with each step I took. Josh ran and I frolicked, whooping and hollering, back to where Eva stood. Then before entering the car, we stripped down the bare minimum. I slowly dozed off as we wound through the sheep-covered hillsides back to Pamplona in the warm, cozy car.
I´ve spent the past forty-five minutes trying to find a cheap flight from Barcelona to Paris, as I fly home from Paris in about a week. I am here in Pamplona, having reunited with Josh, the American chef that I met in Venice and with whom I travelled for the two weeks that followed. Josh lives here, has a girlfriend whom he´s moving in with in a couple months, and he starts a new job at a restaurant tomorrow. As I type this, he is back at the apartment, preparing a Thanksgiving feast. It was our intention to spend Thanksgiving together and have a glorious meal. However, my little detour to Morocco made that impossible. So we agreed to have one now. Better late than never.
I had an incredible time in Madrid. It was straight out of a Christmastime romance movie. One night, I went out with my couchsurfing host Pablo, and his friends. There I met and connected with Ana, one of his friends. The next day, she picked me up and we wandered around the Retiro park. The dead, black trees stood huddled together. There was a small pond upon which many people rowed around in little blue boats. A gregarious puppet show, using socks and gloves with eyes, brought smiles to the faces of small, scarf-bundled children and their families. I could feel the winter wonderland excitement everywhere. We watched rented movies, cooked, cuddled, talked. It was intense and wonderful. And it was perfect timing too, because she had the day off from her busy work as an up-and-coming lawyer. Also her family, with whom she lives, was away on holiday, so we had the house to ourselves to laugh and have fun. I was very fortunate, as currently there is an exhibit of some works by my favorite artist, the Renaissance painter/engraver, Albrecht Durer. So we attended the exhibition. I Loved it. And then I left Madrid. And the movie of my life has changed.
Yesterday, Josh´s girlfriend, Eva, drove us to nearby San Sebastian, known as a beautiful, ritzy beach town. We arrived to huge gusts of wind that made walking difficult. As it started to sprinkle, we decided to escape the elements and get something to eat. We headed into a couple different bars where we ordered a drink and ate pinchos. A pincho is a small, individual appetizer generally consisting of a piece of bread with some meat and garnish on top. That is the tradition, go to a few different bars having drinks and eating pinchos. When our bellies were full, Eva lead us up a set of stairs that lead out to an oceanside rode atop a cliff. Initially it took effort to move against the wind. The powerful wind created giant waves. As the waves slammed into the cliff and rocks they flew into the air where the wind then shot them forward like a wall of water bullets. People were getting drenched. We stood near the fence and got pretty wet. Eva wanted to leave, but I wasn´t ready. I suggested to Josh that we head down to the outermost part near the ocean. He agreed and we ran excitedly to the edge. We stood with our arms outstretched as a monster wave crashed and exploded into the air like a thousand fireworks and then dove down upon us like a giant cloud of tiny furious sea beasts. We were thoroughly soaked through and through. My supposedly water-proof, Goretex shoes gurgled and sloshed with each step I took. Josh ran and I frolicked, whooping and hollering, back to where Eva stood. Then before entering the car, we stripped down the bare minimum. I slowly dozed off as we wound through the sheep-covered hillsides back to Pamplona in the warm, cozy car.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
M'a ssalama Morocco! Hola EspaƱa! (Goodbye Morocco. Hello Spain.)
Madrid, Spain
I´m sitting in the apartment of my Couchsurfing host, Pablo. I just finished eating a bowl of cereal, which is a foreign treat, as I´ve had soup and bread or bananas for breakfast for the past two weeks. I arrived last night on a plane from Marrakech. After collecting my bag and exiting the baggage area, it was very strange to not have eight guys try to offer me a taxi, a guide around the city, or some "good hashish." It´s funny how we become accustomed to the environment we're in. Last night at Pablo´s place, I was eating some fried fishsticks -- which tasted and felt more like cheese sticks -- and I realized that I was using a fork. I wanted to throw it down and use my hand, yet here in this civilized country, that seemed like a strange thing to do. Even the thought of wearing my zilaba tonight when it´s cold seems strange... although I have nothing else, so I will anyway.
My last night and day in Morocco were probably the best anyone could have. That night, I met Abdulhaziz at his shop. After closing up, I climbed onto the back of his motorbike, grabbed onto him, and we raced through the bustling, windy streets of the medina. It was unbelievably amazing! It was such a thrill. We met Abdoughani at his shop and hung out for a bit before he closed up. Then we hopped on the motos again and sped off through town to a little yogurt and fruit drink cafe that belonged to Hassan, another of the friends that I had met the night before, when offered tea. We went in and sat down. Over the course of several hours we drank spicy tea, ate egg and cheese sandwiches, talked, laughed, posed for pictures, and sang -- most of which occured in Arabic, but was enjoyable nonetheless. Haj -- Hassan´s old, dark-skinned uncle with a huge, rotting-teeth smile and a little white skullcap -- was the jolliest Moroccan I have ever met. It was such a pleasure to sit next to him and watch him drink his tea with huge, intentional slurps and a bang of the glass on the table, or clap his hands and sing with his usual heart-warming smile. Abdoughani told me that they all get together every night in summer, there at the cafe, and every other night in winter. Additionally, none of them drink, do drugs or smoke cigarrettes. I thoroughly enjoyed my time with them, before scooting back to the Place Djemma al Fna, the main square, to drop me off at my hotel.
Yesterday morning, after having a sun-soaked breakfast including fresh-squeezed orange juice and mint tea, on the rooftop terrace of my hotel overlooking the Place, I headed off to say farewell to my new friends. First I stopped at Abdulhaziz´s shop. I sat and we chatted for a bit. I returned to the hammam place to give Muhammed, the guy who cleaned me, more money, as it was suggested to do so the night before by Abdoughani. Muhammed seemed very happy and I was glad that I did so. Then I said farewell to Abdulhaziz and set off to see Abdoughani, with my giant, present-laden backpack, as well as my smaller day pack, and my new, old leather bag. When I arrived he was pleased to see me, as it was early in the afternoon and he thought I wasn´t coming anymore. I gave him a couple books in English that I've been carting around my whole trip and haven't read. We sat and talked for awhile. Then it occured to me that rather than worrying about stuffing my backpack into my leather bag -- as only one carry-on was allowed on the flight -- I could give the backpack -- which was kind of falling apart and I probably would have disposed of in the US -- to Abdoughani. So I pointed out its flaws and offered it to him. He accepted it. Then he gave me a couple small things to give to my mom and sister, as I had showed him pictures of them earlier. He asked if I was hungry and I admitted I was so he disappeared for awhile and returned with two pieces of bread stuffed with skewer-grilled pieces of turkey that tasted like propane; although I enjoyed it because I was grateful for his generosity and to be eating with a new friend. After bringing me a couple boxes of tea and explaining how to make tea, Moroccan style, I gathered up my things. We said farewell and he told me he´d call on New Year´s Eve. I joyfully walked back to the bus area, smiling at the conspicuous whispers to sell me hash. At the airport, there were free toilets -- there was even a sign saying so. And there was toilet paper! I didn´t have to use my own. It was quite a treat. I felt a real sense of peace, and a bit of thirst, as I boarded the plane to depart from the strange yet wonderful land of Morocco.
I´m sitting in the apartment of my Couchsurfing host, Pablo. I just finished eating a bowl of cereal, which is a foreign treat, as I´ve had soup and bread or bananas for breakfast for the past two weeks. I arrived last night on a plane from Marrakech. After collecting my bag and exiting the baggage area, it was very strange to not have eight guys try to offer me a taxi, a guide around the city, or some "good hashish." It´s funny how we become accustomed to the environment we're in. Last night at Pablo´s place, I was eating some fried fishsticks -- which tasted and felt more like cheese sticks -- and I realized that I was using a fork. I wanted to throw it down and use my hand, yet here in this civilized country, that seemed like a strange thing to do. Even the thought of wearing my zilaba tonight when it´s cold seems strange... although I have nothing else, so I will anyway.
My last night and day in Morocco were probably the best anyone could have. That night, I met Abdulhaziz at his shop. After closing up, I climbed onto the back of his motorbike, grabbed onto him, and we raced through the bustling, windy streets of the medina. It was unbelievably amazing! It was such a thrill. We met Abdoughani at his shop and hung out for a bit before he closed up. Then we hopped on the motos again and sped off through town to a little yogurt and fruit drink cafe that belonged to Hassan, another of the friends that I had met the night before, when offered tea. We went in and sat down. Over the course of several hours we drank spicy tea, ate egg and cheese sandwiches, talked, laughed, posed for pictures, and sang -- most of which occured in Arabic, but was enjoyable nonetheless. Haj -- Hassan´s old, dark-skinned uncle with a huge, rotting-teeth smile and a little white skullcap -- was the jolliest Moroccan I have ever met. It was such a pleasure to sit next to him and watch him drink his tea with huge, intentional slurps and a bang of the glass on the table, or clap his hands and sing with his usual heart-warming smile. Abdoughani told me that they all get together every night in summer, there at the cafe, and every other night in winter. Additionally, none of them drink, do drugs or smoke cigarrettes. I thoroughly enjoyed my time with them, before scooting back to the Place Djemma al Fna, the main square, to drop me off at my hotel.
Yesterday morning, after having a sun-soaked breakfast including fresh-squeezed orange juice and mint tea, on the rooftop terrace of my hotel overlooking the Place, I headed off to say farewell to my new friends. First I stopped at Abdulhaziz´s shop. I sat and we chatted for a bit. I returned to the hammam place to give Muhammed, the guy who cleaned me, more money, as it was suggested to do so the night before by Abdoughani. Muhammed seemed very happy and I was glad that I did so. Then I said farewell to Abdulhaziz and set off to see Abdoughani, with my giant, present-laden backpack, as well as my smaller day pack, and my new, old leather bag. When I arrived he was pleased to see me, as it was early in the afternoon and he thought I wasn´t coming anymore. I gave him a couple books in English that I've been carting around my whole trip and haven't read. We sat and talked for awhile. Then it occured to me that rather than worrying about stuffing my backpack into my leather bag -- as only one carry-on was allowed on the flight -- I could give the backpack -- which was kind of falling apart and I probably would have disposed of in the US -- to Abdoughani. So I pointed out its flaws and offered it to him. He accepted it. Then he gave me a couple small things to give to my mom and sister, as I had showed him pictures of them earlier. He asked if I was hungry and I admitted I was so he disappeared for awhile and returned with two pieces of bread stuffed with skewer-grilled pieces of turkey that tasted like propane; although I enjoyed it because I was grateful for his generosity and to be eating with a new friend. After bringing me a couple boxes of tea and explaining how to make tea, Moroccan style, I gathered up my things. We said farewell and he told me he´d call on New Year´s Eve. I joyfully walked back to the bus area, smiling at the conspicuous whispers to sell me hash. At the airport, there were free toilets -- there was even a sign saying so. And there was toilet paper! I didn´t have to use my own. It was quite a treat. I felt a real sense of peace, and a bit of thirst, as I boarded the plane to depart from the strange yet wonderful land of Morocco.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Escaping the Tourism
Marrakech, Morocco
Taking a deep breath... I feel pretty relaxed although there's still a tiny bit of tension in my stomach. I arrived in Marrakech the night before last. I entered the main sqare with an Italian guy I met on the bus. It was totally crowded with people with a huge cloud of smoke floating from the center. Upon closer inspection, however, I was very disappointed. There were tons of identical food, orange juice and dried fruit carts and stands. And bustling about in and around the stands were tons and tons of tourists. The area with the snake charmers and story-tellers were nothing more than a person sitting near a battery-operated lamp doing their thing, with people standing around. After paying a tourist price for a meager amount of food, I felt very upset that I had left beautiful, peaceful Essouira for this large African tourist attraction. And I missed the Moroccan friends I'd made in Essouira. However before going to bed, I journalled and decided I would keep myself open to having a great experience.
So yesterday morning, I went around from hotel to hotel in search of a single room, as the Italian guy had left early for a flight. I found one, put my stuff down and set off into the winding medina. Part of the Moroccan tradition is to barter for items, however this can be irritating as in most places, the first price they say is insanely high. Several times I felt very discouraged from even attempting to barter and I walked away. If they start high then even if you start relatively low, you bargain to the middle and you're still paying more than it's worth. I bought things, including some babush - the Moroccan pointed slippers. Eventually, when I was perhaps near the heart of the medina, I asked two little boys, one of whom wanted my watch, where I could find some food, the kind that locals ate. They showed me to a smokey, little intersection filled with holes-in-the-walls that had a stove or vat of soup. I approached one and ordered a little bowl of beans and bread. I then sat on my small, plastic stool and ate, alongside Moroccans. That is truly my favorite kind of dining experience. I continued meandering through the medina until I stumbled upon an area that wasn't filled with shops or tourists. Instead there were lots of locals working away at creating the things sold in the shops. I passed a man in an archway that I had seen earlier near the two little boys. He brought me back to the "studio." The room reaked of glue and it was a bit intoxicating upon entry. One of the guys offered me a seat and I watched as the four, later five, guys in the room cut, glued, hammered and sewed together babush. It was a little babush factory. I stayed for awhile, journalling and then shooting some video, with their permission of course. I decided to do a little act of abundance, so I went out and bought some pastries, one for each of them and me, and brought them back. They were very pleased and they had big smiles on their faces as they gnoshed on their treats. Later, I bought a scarf from a suit-wearing man whose shop was classy and clean, unlike others in the souks, thus making bartering a bit foreign. I realized that I overpaid, but I was okay with it. It was a pleasant shopping experience for once. I was glancing at some postcards, when a man inside the shop of the postcards offered me a glass of tea. My initial instinct was to decline, as that's often a tactic to sell things. However, I looked inside the classy ceramic store and saw four guys sitting around enjoying tea. So I agreed. I sat down and talked with them for awhile. They were extremely friendly and one of the guys spoke English very well. I showed them all the things I bought and they gave me the least amount that each would sell for... overall, I came out ahead. Although, I learned that my babush are not of very good quality and I must have better soles put on them in the US before I wear them. We continued talking for awhile and I asked about hammam, the Moroccan bathhouse thing. They wrote down directions for me and gave me a postcard with a picture of an archway nearby the hammam place. I agreed to meet Abdouaziz and he would take me there. So this morning around 10:30, I met Abdouaziz. I bought a bar of soap, a little bag of black, squishy soap, and a green scrubbing mit. Then I headed into the hammam house. I stripped down to my shorts and was lead into the hot room by my washer, Muhammed. He lathered me with soap and I sat on this insanely hot floor. I literally had to stand up every few minutes because it burnt my bum so. Then my feet would hurt, so I had to sit back down. Eventually, we went into the medium temperature room, where it was bareable to sit on the floor. He poured water over me and then proceeded to scrub me thoroughly with a previously purchased scrubbing mit. It was very abrasive though refreshing, as I laid there. I tried to stay present in the moment, but my thoughts kept wandering towards tiny bits of fear and regret. I'm really grateful to have met so many nice people and to be making friends in Morocco. I think the fact that I came here after being away almost two and a half months made it a bit more challenging... not to mention that I don't speak French or Arabic. However, this has been a very positive experience. I have been provided the opportunity to look at myself and examine some of my fears that have come up. Now I can release them. Although painful at times, it will be beneficial in the long run. And who knows, I may be living in Essouira at some point in the future.
Taking a deep breath... I feel pretty relaxed although there's still a tiny bit of tension in my stomach. I arrived in Marrakech the night before last. I entered the main sqare with an Italian guy I met on the bus. It was totally crowded with people with a huge cloud of smoke floating from the center. Upon closer inspection, however, I was very disappointed. There were tons of identical food, orange juice and dried fruit carts and stands. And bustling about in and around the stands were tons and tons of tourists. The area with the snake charmers and story-tellers were nothing more than a person sitting near a battery-operated lamp doing their thing, with people standing around. After paying a tourist price for a meager amount of food, I felt very upset that I had left beautiful, peaceful Essouira for this large African tourist attraction. And I missed the Moroccan friends I'd made in Essouira. However before going to bed, I journalled and decided I would keep myself open to having a great experience.
So yesterday morning, I went around from hotel to hotel in search of a single room, as the Italian guy had left early for a flight. I found one, put my stuff down and set off into the winding medina. Part of the Moroccan tradition is to barter for items, however this can be irritating as in most places, the first price they say is insanely high. Several times I felt very discouraged from even attempting to barter and I walked away. If they start high then even if you start relatively low, you bargain to the middle and you're still paying more than it's worth. I bought things, including some babush - the Moroccan pointed slippers. Eventually, when I was perhaps near the heart of the medina, I asked two little boys, one of whom wanted my watch, where I could find some food, the kind that locals ate. They showed me to a smokey, little intersection filled with holes-in-the-walls that had a stove or vat of soup. I approached one and ordered a little bowl of beans and bread. I then sat on my small, plastic stool and ate, alongside Moroccans. That is truly my favorite kind of dining experience. I continued meandering through the medina until I stumbled upon an area that wasn't filled with shops or tourists. Instead there were lots of locals working away at creating the things sold in the shops. I passed a man in an archway that I had seen earlier near the two little boys. He brought me back to the "studio." The room reaked of glue and it was a bit intoxicating upon entry. One of the guys offered me a seat and I watched as the four, later five, guys in the room cut, glued, hammered and sewed together babush. It was a little babush factory. I stayed for awhile, journalling and then shooting some video, with their permission of course. I decided to do a little act of abundance, so I went out and bought some pastries, one for each of them and me, and brought them back. They were very pleased and they had big smiles on their faces as they gnoshed on their treats. Later, I bought a scarf from a suit-wearing man whose shop was classy and clean, unlike others in the souks, thus making bartering a bit foreign. I realized that I overpaid, but I was okay with it. It was a pleasant shopping experience for once. I was glancing at some postcards, when a man inside the shop of the postcards offered me a glass of tea. My initial instinct was to decline, as that's often a tactic to sell things. However, I looked inside the classy ceramic store and saw four guys sitting around enjoying tea. So I agreed. I sat down and talked with them for awhile. They were extremely friendly and one of the guys spoke English very well. I showed them all the things I bought and they gave me the least amount that each would sell for... overall, I came out ahead. Although, I learned that my babush are not of very good quality and I must have better soles put on them in the US before I wear them. We continued talking for awhile and I asked about hammam, the Moroccan bathhouse thing. They wrote down directions for me and gave me a postcard with a picture of an archway nearby the hammam place. I agreed to meet Abdouaziz and he would take me there. So this morning around 10:30, I met Abdouaziz. I bought a bar of soap, a little bag of black, squishy soap, and a green scrubbing mit. Then I headed into the hammam house. I stripped down to my shorts and was lead into the hot room by my washer, Muhammed. He lathered me with soap and I sat on this insanely hot floor. I literally had to stand up every few minutes because it burnt my bum so. Then my feet would hurt, so I had to sit back down. Eventually, we went into the medium temperature room, where it was bareable to sit on the floor. He poured water over me and then proceeded to scrub me thoroughly with a previously purchased scrubbing mit. It was very abrasive though refreshing, as I laid there. I tried to stay present in the moment, but my thoughts kept wandering towards tiny bits of fear and regret. I'm really grateful to have met so many nice people and to be making friends in Morocco. I think the fact that I came here after being away almost two and a half months made it a bit more challenging... not to mention that I don't speak French or Arabic. However, this has been a very positive experience. I have been provided the opportunity to look at myself and examine some of my fears that have come up. Now I can release them. Although painful at times, it will be beneficial in the long run. And who knows, I may be living in Essouira at some point in the future.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Sardine Feast
Essouira, Morocco
My hands still smell faintly of sardines. I was on the rooftop terrace of my hotel to watch the glorious sunset -basically a ritual in Essouira- when I met an Irish lad named Louie. Then the English guy, Chris, came up and met Louie as well. Then a Slovenian guy, named Dimitri, joined us. After watching the flaming disk slip behind the horizon, the four of us set off into the streets. We wandered for awhile, seeking out a zilaba shop, which we eventually found. Then we wandered some more until we were hungry. I suggested we stop by the port and ask my sardine-hooking friend, Ahmed, where we could go for a cheap fish dinner. When we arrived where he usually works, and I asked for him, his coworkers said that he was at the Mosque, praying. We hung out for a few minutes and then I asked a sardine boy of about 17 where we could go for fish. He asked what we wanted to eat, sardines? We said no. He suggested we just go into the medina. It was a vague response so we began to talk amongst ourselves. I mentioned the possibility of buying some fish from the market there and taking it to Abderachim to cook for us. No sooner had I said that then the boy approached me -I didn't even realize he'd left- and handed me a black plastic bag containing several kilos of fresh, salted sardines. I thanked him and told him to send my greetings to Ahmed. We set of for Abderachim's Kitchen, as I fondly refer to it. -- I actually had lunch there earlier this afternoon, which consisted of cous cous with vegetables and chicken, accompanied by milk which was quite possibly spoiled as it was lumpy and tastes strange. I drank it reluctantly. And of course I ate with my right hand, denying the use of a fork. It is the custom here to eat with the right hand, and I must say it makes the dining experience much more enjoyable. I can taste the difference between using my hand and connecting with the food and using a cold, foreign object that puts distance between me and my source of nourishment. After eating, I just hung out for awhile, out front, drinking mint tea and writing. -- So we arrived at the Kitchen and the Irish guy explained in French to Abdie, as I will now refer to him for for the sake of space, that we were given the sardines and had nowhere to cook them. He then added that they were a gift for Abdie. Then we sat down at a table outside, unsure of which contradicting message Abdie would believe. We ordered soup and waited as Abdie set up a little metal bowl full of hot coals and proceeded to load the sardines into a little griller. He was cookin' 'em up for us! I was very excited. I took lots of pictures and video and the English guy was embarassed or irritated or both. Then after the sardines were piled on a platter in the center of the table, I dug in. Quite salty, but good. This was Morocco! This was life! I was very content, sitting there in my warm zilaba, with a belly full of sardines and soup. Essouira has really been a wonderful experience for me. I was going to stay another day, but I think I will head off to Marrakech tomorrow, so that I will have a couple days there. Now that I've gotten over the homesickness and culture shock, I'm really starting to enjoy it here. A little idea popped into my mind today, maybe I will live here in the future. Yes, I like that idea.
My hands still smell faintly of sardines. I was on the rooftop terrace of my hotel to watch the glorious sunset -basically a ritual in Essouira- when I met an Irish lad named Louie. Then the English guy, Chris, came up and met Louie as well. Then a Slovenian guy, named Dimitri, joined us. After watching the flaming disk slip behind the horizon, the four of us set off into the streets. We wandered for awhile, seeking out a zilaba shop, which we eventually found. Then we wandered some more until we were hungry. I suggested we stop by the port and ask my sardine-hooking friend, Ahmed, where we could go for a cheap fish dinner. When we arrived where he usually works, and I asked for him, his coworkers said that he was at the Mosque, praying. We hung out for a few minutes and then I asked a sardine boy of about 17 where we could go for fish. He asked what we wanted to eat, sardines? We said no. He suggested we just go into the medina. It was a vague response so we began to talk amongst ourselves. I mentioned the possibility of buying some fish from the market there and taking it to Abderachim to cook for us. No sooner had I said that then the boy approached me -I didn't even realize he'd left- and handed me a black plastic bag containing several kilos of fresh, salted sardines. I thanked him and told him to send my greetings to Ahmed. We set of for Abderachim's Kitchen, as I fondly refer to it. -- I actually had lunch there earlier this afternoon, which consisted of cous cous with vegetables and chicken, accompanied by milk which was quite possibly spoiled as it was lumpy and tastes strange. I drank it reluctantly. And of course I ate with my right hand, denying the use of a fork. It is the custom here to eat with the right hand, and I must say it makes the dining experience much more enjoyable. I can taste the difference between using my hand and connecting with the food and using a cold, foreign object that puts distance between me and my source of nourishment. After eating, I just hung out for awhile, out front, drinking mint tea and writing. -- So we arrived at the Kitchen and the Irish guy explained in French to Abdie, as I will now refer to him for for the sake of space, that we were given the sardines and had nowhere to cook them. He then added that they were a gift for Abdie. Then we sat down at a table outside, unsure of which contradicting message Abdie would believe. We ordered soup and waited as Abdie set up a little metal bowl full of hot coals and proceeded to load the sardines into a little griller. He was cookin' 'em up for us! I was very excited. I took lots of pictures and video and the English guy was embarassed or irritated or both. Then after the sardines were piled on a platter in the center of the table, I dug in. Quite salty, but good. This was Morocco! This was life! I was very content, sitting there in my warm zilaba, with a belly full of sardines and soup. Essouira has really been a wonderful experience for me. I was going to stay another day, but I think I will head off to Marrakech tomorrow, so that I will have a couple days there. Now that I've gotten over the homesickness and culture shock, I'm really starting to enjoy it here. A little idea popped into my mind today, maybe I will live here in the future. Yes, I like that idea.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
A Case of the ole Homesickness
Essouira, Morocco
Before coming into the internet cafe, I spent about a half an hour bartering with two young ladies and a young man, who usually sell womens slippers, for an old, leather bag, that definitely has a history, but with my little French and their little English, that history will forever remain a mystery. The price ended up being 100 Dirhams and a banana, approximately 14.45 US Dollars. However, after paying them, we all took a bite of the banana. I dined this evening with an English guy named Chris that I met on the balcony of the new hotel I moved to today. We ate at a small local kitchen restaurant where the locals eat. I ate there last night and wanted to provide the cook and owner, Abderachim, some repeat business. Not to mention the food is delicious and cheap. We each paid 25 Dirhams for tajine, a traditional Moroccan dish, and a pot of sweet mint tea. I discovered this little local restaurant nook yesterday, which is literally right off the main street but no tourists seem to find it - kind of like Harry Potters Diagon Alley - when I had lunch with Ahmed, the man who puts thousands of sardines through small hooks every day. He lead us there, and now I have the secret key and password. (Jordan apparently feels like typing random things as he is feeling wonderful.)
Today I was supposed to meet up with some people I met last night. We agreed on noon at the beach nearest the port. I was there for forty minutes and they didn't show up. So I headed off down the beach, listening to U2's, "Beautiful Day," to cheer up. I don't know if I mentioned it before, but for most of my time here in Morocco, I have had a sort of intense, underlying, internal discomfort. A sort of painful, emotional gnawing in my guts. As I meandered along the beach, away from the meeting point, I felt this same deep sadness intensify. I didn't understand it and I felt like crying, so I thought it a perfect time for a video journal entry. I took out my camera and recorded myself describing what I was feeling and exploring it as I went. I cried and I realized that what I was feeling was homesickness. I hadn't understood what I was feeling until now. And when I was able to identify it, it pretty much took the power out of it. As I walked on down the beach, I slowly felt better and better. It was no longer some unknown beast terrifying me in the dark. I had shined the light on it, to reveal a scared little mouse. Eventually I reached my destination. Pieces of a large, crumbling old tower or fortress that had seemingly fallen from the sky, landing and shattering right where the ocean met the shore. I sat atop a large piece of debris and wrote, shot video, took pictures, listened to music, and was moistened by sea mist. I felt so much better. The homesickness was gone and it was replaced by a joy, comfort, and excitement to explore Morocco. It was as if a new world had opened up. A muddy pane of glass was removed from my frame of vision and I could see the world anew. I can't tell you what a relief I feel now. By the time I was ready to leave the ruins, the tide had come back in, and my once stepping stones were now underwater, with slightly violent waves rushing over them. I timed it out and quickly scampered through the water, dashing from one rock to the next in order to beat the impending watery beast commonly referred to as a wave. He thrashed the bottom of my pants, but I got away otherwise unscathed. I walked back to my hotel with a renewed bounce in my step, a smile in my heart, and my pockets laden with shells and stones that I had compulsively collected. I got to the hotel in time to watch the glorious sunset and I said, "Thank you." Today was a beautiful day and I didn't let it get away.
Before coming into the internet cafe, I spent about a half an hour bartering with two young ladies and a young man, who usually sell womens slippers, for an old, leather bag, that definitely has a history, but with my little French and their little English, that history will forever remain a mystery. The price ended up being 100 Dirhams and a banana, approximately 14.45 US Dollars. However, after paying them, we all took a bite of the banana. I dined this evening with an English guy named Chris that I met on the balcony of the new hotel I moved to today. We ate at a small local kitchen restaurant where the locals eat. I ate there last night and wanted to provide the cook and owner, Abderachim, some repeat business. Not to mention the food is delicious and cheap. We each paid 25 Dirhams for tajine, a traditional Moroccan dish, and a pot of sweet mint tea. I discovered this little local restaurant nook yesterday, which is literally right off the main street but no tourists seem to find it - kind of like Harry Potters Diagon Alley - when I had lunch with Ahmed, the man who puts thousands of sardines through small hooks every day. He lead us there, and now I have the secret key and password. (Jordan apparently feels like typing random things as he is feeling wonderful.)
Today I was supposed to meet up with some people I met last night. We agreed on noon at the beach nearest the port. I was there for forty minutes and they didn't show up. So I headed off down the beach, listening to U2's, "Beautiful Day," to cheer up. I don't know if I mentioned it before, but for most of my time here in Morocco, I have had a sort of intense, underlying, internal discomfort. A sort of painful, emotional gnawing in my guts. As I meandered along the beach, away from the meeting point, I felt this same deep sadness intensify. I didn't understand it and I felt like crying, so I thought it a perfect time for a video journal entry. I took out my camera and recorded myself describing what I was feeling and exploring it as I went. I cried and I realized that what I was feeling was homesickness. I hadn't understood what I was feeling until now. And when I was able to identify it, it pretty much took the power out of it. As I walked on down the beach, I slowly felt better and better. It was no longer some unknown beast terrifying me in the dark. I had shined the light on it, to reveal a scared little mouse. Eventually I reached my destination. Pieces of a large, crumbling old tower or fortress that had seemingly fallen from the sky, landing and shattering right where the ocean met the shore. I sat atop a large piece of debris and wrote, shot video, took pictures, listened to music, and was moistened by sea mist. I felt so much better. The homesickness was gone and it was replaced by a joy, comfort, and excitement to explore Morocco. It was as if a new world had opened up. A muddy pane of glass was removed from my frame of vision and I could see the world anew. I can't tell you what a relief I feel now. By the time I was ready to leave the ruins, the tide had come back in, and my once stepping stones were now underwater, with slightly violent waves rushing over them. I timed it out and quickly scampered through the water, dashing from one rock to the next in order to beat the impending watery beast commonly referred to as a wave. He thrashed the bottom of my pants, but I got away otherwise unscathed. I walked back to my hotel with a renewed bounce in my step, a smile in my heart, and my pockets laden with shells and stones that I had compulsively collected. I got to the hotel in time to watch the glorious sunset and I said, "Thank you." Today was a beautiful day and I didn't let it get away.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
P.S. Thank GOD for beds
Essouira, Morocco
I just wanted to add that I am SOOOO looking forward to sleeping in a real bed tonight. Last night I was in a tiny, cramped, freezing bus with obnxious, torturous rather, Arabic music for 15 HOURS. The two nights before that, I slept on mats in the desert. And the night before the desert, I was on another night bus, though not as cramped or cold. I Love Beds.
I just wanted to add that I am SOOOO looking forward to sleeping in a real bed tonight. Last night I was in a tiny, cramped, freezing bus with obnxious, torturous rather, Arabic music for 15 HOURS. The two nights before that, I slept on mats in the desert. And the night before the desert, I was on another night bus, though not as cramped or cold. I Love Beds.
The Truth of the Desert
Essouira, Morocco
I feel at peace in this moment, other than a slight headache, but the last few days have been incredibly intense. I awoke yesterday in the Moroccan portion of the Sahara desert, called Erg Chebbi. I tightened my shoe laces, donned my zhilaba and turban and proceeded to hike one of, if not the highest dune in that desert. I eventually reached the top, panting, utterly exhausted, mouth stinging and metallic-tasting. And then the glorious sun climbed upon its throne in the sky. For most of my time in the desert, I was plagued with one of my deepest fears, that of lack, of not having enough. Incessant thoughts about how much I was paying for the camel trek, which wasnt even that much, kept buzzing through my mind. I kept mathematically caclulating how much that equalled in all sorts of different terms. It was extremely unsettling. I spent two nights, and about a day and a half in that desert. And when we began our return to the village, I, perched atop my camel -fondly referred to as Jimi Hendrix- that fear was still pursuing me. Fortunately I remembered the solution that had come to me the night before and I decided that no matter what, no matter how intense the discomfort or fear, I was going to live in the solution. For me that solution is to practice abundance. It is simple yet not always easy. Regardless of how many seemingly logical rationalizations try to prevent me from being generous, I will prevail and practice abundance. I feel very good about this decision and in the few times I have done so already, my feelings tell me I am doing the right thing. Morocco can be a very overwhelming place, especially for a single traveler. I think when I return here, down the road, I will come with a friend or family member. And despite all the tourist predators and chintzy tourist crap and tourist prices, there are moments where it is all worth it. Earlier today, I sat on the rooftop terrace of the hotel I am staying in and I watched the sunset as the strong ocean winds whipped my face and shirt. And there was a man named Youssef, a cafe owner in the town called Rissani, near the desert. Someone had given me his name and number. I had called him from Fes to tell him I would be arriving. When I got there, he invited me in like a brother, giving me food and tea and a random trinket hanging on his wall. (He looks like a small, Arabic version of Guy Pierce with bad teeth.) And tomorrow I am going to have lunch with a fisherman whom I met this evening and talked to for a half an hour as he put tons of little hooks through sardines. Albeit few, there are decent people in Morocco.
I feel at peace in this moment, other than a slight headache, but the last few days have been incredibly intense. I awoke yesterday in the Moroccan portion of the Sahara desert, called Erg Chebbi. I tightened my shoe laces, donned my zhilaba and turban and proceeded to hike one of, if not the highest dune in that desert. I eventually reached the top, panting, utterly exhausted, mouth stinging and metallic-tasting. And then the glorious sun climbed upon its throne in the sky. For most of my time in the desert, I was plagued with one of my deepest fears, that of lack, of not having enough. Incessant thoughts about how much I was paying for the camel trek, which wasnt even that much, kept buzzing through my mind. I kept mathematically caclulating how much that equalled in all sorts of different terms. It was extremely unsettling. I spent two nights, and about a day and a half in that desert. And when we began our return to the village, I, perched atop my camel -fondly referred to as Jimi Hendrix- that fear was still pursuing me. Fortunately I remembered the solution that had come to me the night before and I decided that no matter what, no matter how intense the discomfort or fear, I was going to live in the solution. For me that solution is to practice abundance. It is simple yet not always easy. Regardless of how many seemingly logical rationalizations try to prevent me from being generous, I will prevail and practice abundance. I feel very good about this decision and in the few times I have done so already, my feelings tell me I am doing the right thing. Morocco can be a very overwhelming place, especially for a single traveler. I think when I return here, down the road, I will come with a friend or family member. And despite all the tourist predators and chintzy tourist crap and tourist prices, there are moments where it is all worth it. Earlier today, I sat on the rooftop terrace of the hotel I am staying in and I watched the sunset as the strong ocean winds whipped my face and shirt. And there was a man named Youssef, a cafe owner in the town called Rissani, near the desert. Someone had given me his name and number. I had called him from Fes to tell him I would be arriving. When I got there, he invited me in like a brother, giving me food and tea and a random trinket hanging on his wall. (He looks like a small, Arabic version of Guy Pierce with bad teeth.) And tomorrow I am going to have lunch with a fisherman whom I met this evening and talked to for a half an hour as he put tons of little hooks through sardines. Albeit few, there are decent people in Morocco.
Friday, November 23, 2007
My Thanksgiving Day
Fes, Morocco
I am a little irritated as flies occasionally alight on the side of my face. I have spent the morning wandering around the old Medina, bargaining with vendors, being declined the ability to take pictures of old men, and observing little boys trying to cut off pieces of sugar cane from a large stick. It is interesting, although I am feeling a little burnt out. It might be because I only got about five and a half hours of sleep last night. Or it might be because of all the effort in declining the constant offers to guide me around the Medina or to sell me drugs, which usually comes after I decline the guide offer. I dont know if that last sentence is grammatically correct or even understandable but at this moment, I dont care. Yesterday when we finally arrived at the bus station in Fes, I was pounced on by a scammer guide, like a cat on a mentally retarded, three-legged mouse. Note: I just glanced around the internet cafe to see where the noise is coming from as it seems someone is watching a movie. I happened to notice another patron viewing a hardcore pornographic movie on his computer. The same thing happend in Madrid, so I guess its not just Moroccan guys. But either way I could have done without that. Anyway, back at the bus station last night, a couple from the bus offered for me to share a taxi with them to their hotel which cost 80 Dirham a night. In the confusion, I dont really know how or why I was confused, but the Moroccan managed to confuse me long enough for the couple to walk out the door. For the next two and a half hours, I deeply regretted having not gone with them. I asked many people about finding a cheap hotel near the Medina. One guy suggested that I get a cheap hotel nearby and visit the Medina in the morning. I didnt want to find a place and sit around in the new part of town, which resembles an Arabic Chicago, albeit Ive never been to Chicago. So I continued on, declining an offer to stay at the house of a young man that I asked for information about a cheap hotel. I was afraid I would be sodomized and robbed in the middle of the night. At this point, I was consumed by fear. I was seething with anger at the hustler from the bus station and the fact that I was alone and without lodging in a big, totally foreign city. I happened upon some Australian people who seemed to know where they were. We all sat down to have a coffee and they let me look up some places to stay before giving me the pages on Morocco, from the guide. Grateful to be speaking English and the companionship, I treated them to the warm beverages. However, that was only a temporary reprieve from the cold, harsh world that existed outside the doors of that little cafe. I continued on for the next two hours from hotel to hotel and they were all full. I visited about seven. My pack seemed to grow exponentially in weight from each hotel that was booked. And my back was now in serious pain. I found another place that was also sold out, but the guy told me to sit down and he would make a few calls after he finished eating. So I sat and massaged my back. He found me a place down the street for 100 Dirham. I agreed and headed off to the hotel. After dropping off my pack, I returned to the soup kitchen I had passed on the way, where locals dined. I approached the entrance and was trying to figure out how to order when the guy sitting near the doorway understood my desire to eat and ordered for me. I realized -- or invented -- that this guy was like a young mob boss who ran that neighborhood, or at least that restaurant. I feasted on my greenish soup, chunk of bread, and sweet mint tea. Through the course of my Thanksgiving dinner, I was aware of the nearby boss smoking, presumably marijuana, from a long wooden pipe, as well as possibly selling drugs to passersby. After my second glass of tea, he invited me to his table. I sat down and he ordered me a third glass. He then began making conversation in French or Arabic, neither of which I understood. And his friends were able to translate one or two words in English. At some point the topic of my zilaba came up -- which I happened to be wearing, as I am now. He asked how much I paid. I told him. Then I believe he offered to buy it from me for 10 Dirham more than I paid, approximately 1. 50 US Dollars. As I consciously raised the language barrier and pretended to be very confused, three thoughts ran through my mind: 1- I do not want to sell my zilaba, 2- If I were to sell my zilaba, I would not sell it for such a tiny profit, and 3- This man could potentially rob me of my zilaba, video camera and money, and ditch me in a dark alley somewhere and no one would do anything about it. I kept up my faux misunderstanding long enough for the subject to change. Although the conversation took a potentially-expected, though even more uncomfortable turn. Mr. Bush. The boss casually joked about the assassination of our President using gestures of a gun and slapping the back of his head. I politely nodded and smiled, hoping the satellites that were now videoing that conversation couldnt catch my face, from their angle in space. As I write this, I realize that it will come up in some database somewhere, but as those were the mere ramblings of a drugged, Moroccan hoodlum, I am not worried. I took some pictures of the scene before heading off to purchase some honey-glazed pastries. I ate my dessert and finished off the Swiss chocolate that I bought in Lugano weeks ago. And after journalling and reading, my Thanksgiving day ended as I drifted off to dreamland in a small hotel room in Fes.
I am a little irritated as flies occasionally alight on the side of my face. I have spent the morning wandering around the old Medina, bargaining with vendors, being declined the ability to take pictures of old men, and observing little boys trying to cut off pieces of sugar cane from a large stick. It is interesting, although I am feeling a little burnt out. It might be because I only got about five and a half hours of sleep last night. Or it might be because of all the effort in declining the constant offers to guide me around the Medina or to sell me drugs, which usually comes after I decline the guide offer. I dont know if that last sentence is grammatically correct or even understandable but at this moment, I dont care. Yesterday when we finally arrived at the bus station in Fes, I was pounced on by a scammer guide, like a cat on a mentally retarded, three-legged mouse. Note: I just glanced around the internet cafe to see where the noise is coming from as it seems someone is watching a movie. I happened to notice another patron viewing a hardcore pornographic movie on his computer. The same thing happend in Madrid, so I guess its not just Moroccan guys. But either way I could have done without that. Anyway, back at the bus station last night, a couple from the bus offered for me to share a taxi with them to their hotel which cost 80 Dirham a night. In the confusion, I dont really know how or why I was confused, but the Moroccan managed to confuse me long enough for the couple to walk out the door. For the next two and a half hours, I deeply regretted having not gone with them. I asked many people about finding a cheap hotel near the Medina. One guy suggested that I get a cheap hotel nearby and visit the Medina in the morning. I didnt want to find a place and sit around in the new part of town, which resembles an Arabic Chicago, albeit Ive never been to Chicago. So I continued on, declining an offer to stay at the house of a young man that I asked for information about a cheap hotel. I was afraid I would be sodomized and robbed in the middle of the night. At this point, I was consumed by fear. I was seething with anger at the hustler from the bus station and the fact that I was alone and without lodging in a big, totally foreign city. I happened upon some Australian people who seemed to know where they were. We all sat down to have a coffee and they let me look up some places to stay before giving me the pages on Morocco, from the guide. Grateful to be speaking English and the companionship, I treated them to the warm beverages. However, that was only a temporary reprieve from the cold, harsh world that existed outside the doors of that little cafe. I continued on for the next two hours from hotel to hotel and they were all full. I visited about seven. My pack seemed to grow exponentially in weight from each hotel that was booked. And my back was now in serious pain. I found another place that was also sold out, but the guy told me to sit down and he would make a few calls after he finished eating. So I sat and massaged my back. He found me a place down the street for 100 Dirham. I agreed and headed off to the hotel. After dropping off my pack, I returned to the soup kitchen I had passed on the way, where locals dined. I approached the entrance and was trying to figure out how to order when the guy sitting near the doorway understood my desire to eat and ordered for me. I realized -- or invented -- that this guy was like a young mob boss who ran that neighborhood, or at least that restaurant. I feasted on my greenish soup, chunk of bread, and sweet mint tea. Through the course of my Thanksgiving dinner, I was aware of the nearby boss smoking, presumably marijuana, from a long wooden pipe, as well as possibly selling drugs to passersby. After my second glass of tea, he invited me to his table. I sat down and he ordered me a third glass. He then began making conversation in French or Arabic, neither of which I understood. And his friends were able to translate one or two words in English. At some point the topic of my zilaba came up -- which I happened to be wearing, as I am now. He asked how much I paid. I told him. Then I believe he offered to buy it from me for 10 Dirham more than I paid, approximately 1. 50 US Dollars. As I consciously raised the language barrier and pretended to be very confused, three thoughts ran through my mind: 1- I do not want to sell my zilaba, 2- If I were to sell my zilaba, I would not sell it for such a tiny profit, and 3- This man could potentially rob me of my zilaba, video camera and money, and ditch me in a dark alley somewhere and no one would do anything about it. I kept up my faux misunderstanding long enough for the subject to change. Although the conversation took a potentially-expected, though even more uncomfortable turn. Mr. Bush. The boss casually joked about the assassination of our President using gestures of a gun and slapping the back of his head. I politely nodded and smiled, hoping the satellites that were now videoing that conversation couldnt catch my face, from their angle in space. As I write this, I realize that it will come up in some database somewhere, but as those were the mere ramblings of a drugged, Moroccan hoodlum, I am not worried. I took some pictures of the scene before heading off to purchase some honey-glazed pastries. I ate my dessert and finished off the Swiss chocolate that I bought in Lugano weeks ago. And after journalling and reading, my Thanksgiving day ended as I drifted off to dreamland in a small hotel room in Fes.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Le atekelem Arabia and things of that nature.
Chefchouan, Morocco
*Note: Please know that I am typing on an old, French and Arabic keyboard, in a small mountain village of Morocco, so please excuse any and all typos.
I am warm and comfy in my newly purchased Zilaba, a full length robe like garment with a pointy KKK style hood and two small slits in the sides to put your hands through. My particular one is dark brown with small dark brown stripes and smaller white stripes. The man wanted 380 Dirham for it. I bargained him down to 290, approximately 42 US Dollars. However, I didnt buy it right away. I walked away and checked out prices at other shops. I did return eventually after asking Mustafa -the young man who runs the place Im staying - and he said 300 was a good price. Whether I overpaid or not, I dont care because now I am warm and stylish, maybe except for the fact that I am wearing my green raincoat/windbreaker over the zilaba.
I arrived yesterday from a rocky three hour ferry ride from Algeciras, in the South of Spain, to Tangiers, Morocco. The slight initial sprinkling became a drenching downpour. Most of my belongings are still drenched and hanging to dry in my room, as I type this. I eventually found my way to the bus depot and bought a ticket for Chefchouan. I achieved this by warding off several men who wanted to find me a taxi or accompany me through the dangerous streets that I would have to walk through -- according to the man. There was also an old lady from the boat who seemed to be helpful and friendly, in exchanged for me helping lug her 5 heavy bags from the ship. However when we got to the taxi and I didnt have the 2 Euros to pay for the ride, she hopped in the car and they took off without so much as a second glance. I asked directions from two different posts of checkpoint guards, and possibly also policemen. When revealed that I am from the US, the second checkpoint officer got a glimmer in his eyes and began enthusiastically talking about the beauty of Los Angeles and the discos in Las Vegas. I dont think he had ever been there, these were just faraway fantasies. I thanked him and was about to say goodbye when he took off in the opposite direction, blowing his whistle and chasing after a couple young rapscallions who had run by the gate. After realizing he couldnt catch up with them, he shrugged and turned around. I began to head off for the bus station when he called to me and waved goodbye excitedly. I waved back, and as I turned around to continue on, I believe he was still waving. I waited for several hours in the bus depot, journalling, reading, and munching on snacks I had purchased earlier in the day -- around which time I somehow lost my sweater/jacket. The bus finally arrived in Chefchouan around 11:30ish PM. It dropped me off on the side of a lowly lit road, supposedly near the bus station. Within minutes, a police officer had come out to help. However he only spoke French, so he held my umbrella as I fumbled around my moist mochila -- ŁŲ³ŁŲØŲ³Ų“ŁŲØ Ų³ŁŲŖŁ ŁŲ³ŁŁ ŲØŁŲŖŲ³ Ų³Ł ŁŁŲŖŲØŲ³ Ų« ŲŖŲ«ŁĆ§Ų³. Mochila means backpack. Thats what I was trying to type when my keyboard became possessed and began spewing Arabic characters as you can see above. Anyway, the kind policeman patiently got rained on as I looked up the words hotel and inexpensive, in my little French phrasebook. He pointed me up an incredibly steep street and told me to ask the police up there -- all this was in French mind you. Panting, I reached the top of the hill and headed down the main boulevard. I found the policeman and they politely accompanied me to a hotel. The bigger of the two incessantly, knocked, banged and rang the doorbell until the sleepy hotel manager opened the door and infomed us they were full. We continued on to another place that charged signicantly more than I wanted to spend, having forked over 25 Euros the night before for an insect-inhabited, port-town room. I continued on alone, thanking the officers for their assistance. Eventually after climbing another steep incline and wandering around a labyrinth of white and blue connected buildings, which I believe to be the Medina, I found my little Oasis -- Pensiones Cordoba. It was warm and dry and for 70 Dirham a night, it was Heaven. Mustafa, the aforementioned pension manager, showed me around the corner to a little hole-in-the-wall where I purchased a mug of fruit and green yogurt, and a sandwich that contained tuna, small slices of ham, pasta salad, pickles, onions, tomatoes, green olives and ketchup. I also purchased a bottle of water from another nearby shop and we headed back to the pension. I devoured my food, perched atop a hard pillow, while Mustafa and Abdul watched Argentina and Colombia duke it out on the soccerfield, on TV.
I have always said that I Love the rain. And I do. However, I must say that it is not the most ideal condition to experience the beauty of this wonderess country known as Morocco.
*Note: Please know that I am typing on an old, French and Arabic keyboard, in a small mountain village of Morocco, so please excuse any and all typos.
I am warm and comfy in my newly purchased Zilaba, a full length robe like garment with a pointy KKK style hood and two small slits in the sides to put your hands through. My particular one is dark brown with small dark brown stripes and smaller white stripes. The man wanted 380 Dirham for it. I bargained him down to 290, approximately 42 US Dollars. However, I didnt buy it right away. I walked away and checked out prices at other shops. I did return eventually after asking Mustafa -the young man who runs the place Im staying - and he said 300 was a good price. Whether I overpaid or not, I dont care because now I am warm and stylish, maybe except for the fact that I am wearing my green raincoat/windbreaker over the zilaba.
I arrived yesterday from a rocky three hour ferry ride from Algeciras, in the South of Spain, to Tangiers, Morocco. The slight initial sprinkling became a drenching downpour. Most of my belongings are still drenched and hanging to dry in my room, as I type this. I eventually found my way to the bus depot and bought a ticket for Chefchouan. I achieved this by warding off several men who wanted to find me a taxi or accompany me through the dangerous streets that I would have to walk through -- according to the man. There was also an old lady from the boat who seemed to be helpful and friendly, in exchanged for me helping lug her 5 heavy bags from the ship. However when we got to the taxi and I didnt have the 2 Euros to pay for the ride, she hopped in the car and they took off without so much as a second glance. I asked directions from two different posts of checkpoint guards, and possibly also policemen. When revealed that I am from the US, the second checkpoint officer got a glimmer in his eyes and began enthusiastically talking about the beauty of Los Angeles and the discos in Las Vegas. I dont think he had ever been there, these were just faraway fantasies. I thanked him and was about to say goodbye when he took off in the opposite direction, blowing his whistle and chasing after a couple young rapscallions who had run by the gate. After realizing he couldnt catch up with them, he shrugged and turned around. I began to head off for the bus station when he called to me and waved goodbye excitedly. I waved back, and as I turned around to continue on, I believe he was still waving. I waited for several hours in the bus depot, journalling, reading, and munching on snacks I had purchased earlier in the day -- around which time I somehow lost my sweater/jacket. The bus finally arrived in Chefchouan around 11:30ish PM. It dropped me off on the side of a lowly lit road, supposedly near the bus station. Within minutes, a police officer had come out to help. However he only spoke French, so he held my umbrella as I fumbled around my moist mochila -- ŁŲ³ŁŲØŲ³Ų“ŁŲØ Ų³ŁŲŖŁ ŁŲ³ŁŁ ŲØŁŲŖŲ³ Ų³Ł ŁŁŲŖŲØŲ³ Ų« ŲŖŲ«ŁĆ§Ų³. Mochila means backpack. Thats what I was trying to type when my keyboard became possessed and began spewing Arabic characters as you can see above. Anyway, the kind policeman patiently got rained on as I looked up the words hotel and inexpensive, in my little French phrasebook. He pointed me up an incredibly steep street and told me to ask the police up there -- all this was in French mind you. Panting, I reached the top of the hill and headed down the main boulevard. I found the policeman and they politely accompanied me to a hotel. The bigger of the two incessantly, knocked, banged and rang the doorbell until the sleepy hotel manager opened the door and infomed us they were full. We continued on to another place that charged signicantly more than I wanted to spend, having forked over 25 Euros the night before for an insect-inhabited, port-town room. I continued on alone, thanking the officers for their assistance. Eventually after climbing another steep incline and wandering around a labyrinth of white and blue connected buildings, which I believe to be the Medina, I found my little Oasis -- Pensiones Cordoba. It was warm and dry and for 70 Dirham a night, it was Heaven. Mustafa, the aforementioned pension manager, showed me around the corner to a little hole-in-the-wall where I purchased a mug of fruit and green yogurt, and a sandwich that contained tuna, small slices of ham, pasta salad, pickles, onions, tomatoes, green olives and ketchup. I also purchased a bottle of water from another nearby shop and we headed back to the pension. I devoured my food, perched atop a hard pillow, while Mustafa and Abdul watched Argentina and Colombia duke it out on the soccerfield, on TV.
I have always said that I Love the rain. And I do. However, I must say that it is not the most ideal condition to experience the beauty of this wonderess country known as Morocco.
Monday, November 19, 2007
New Friends
Madrid, Spain
I'm currently at an internet cafe in Madrid as it gently hails outside. I arrived this morning on a night train from Portugal. I leave in a few hours for Algeciras in the South of Spain. I have spent the past few days in Porto, Portugal. I spent the first two days there sleeping and planning the rest of my trip. My couchsurfing host let me just do my thing at her place. Then she left town Friday morning, so I moved on to another host. I spent the next two days with my second host's housemates, a sweet Spanish girl who frequently smoked and one night wore a green gem under each eye, named Ainara and a lovely and attractive Brazilian couple, Sophia and Gabriel. We had a great time and we really connected. The first night, we went to a bar where there were free moldy chestnuts and neverending boxed wine. People were singing kareoke to classic Portugese songs and a little boy sang a Spanish song entitled, "Tengo la camisa negra." The following night we wandered around from one bar to another and eventually returned to the first one we were at and proceeded to play pool for the next four hours, with the occasional dancing interlude. It was a lot of fun, and when we decided to leave at around 5 AM, I was somehow no longer sleepy. (It's strange to be in a foreign country and all of a sudden, Natalie Imbruglia's "Torn," starts up on the radio as it has just now, and I'm flooded with a faint sense of nostalgia and comfort.) Ainara and I sat in the kitchen after we returned from the bar. She sliced and ate an apple. A few times on this trip, that moment included, I thought about meeting that person again down the road, ten, twenty years from now and how awesome it will be to remember that time we, for example, sat in a kitchen in Porto at five in the morning while one of us ate an apple and we were young and full of dreams we had yet to accomplish. Yesterday I slept in. We strolled to a grocery store and after much belaboring about what Gabriel would and wouldn't eat, we bought a bunch of food (for less than 8 Euros) and continued on to their friend, Miraldo's house. On the way, we walked through the oldest public park in Porto, and quite possibly Portugal. There were about twenty old men huddled around a small card table with four guys shuffling and dealing cards. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to pull out my video camera and shoot some video, capturing the curious glances at first and then the irritated scowls as I continued to record them. I must declare that Portugal has some of the cutest old people I have ever seen. I just wanted to go on record saying that. And furthermore, I think the Tourist department of Portugal should focus more on this quality in their advertisements. I think it would have a big pull. So, Ainara and Sophia prepared a delicious meal last night and we dined to melodic Dave Matthews Band floating from the speakers. I felt sad to leave my new friends. It had only been two days but it felt like it had been at least a week. I feel sad right now. I had my first train goodbye, last night as Ainara stood on the platform, and I, with my face pressed against the glass, tried to shoot some video of the farewell. As the train slowly creaked away, Ainara's waving figure disappeared from sight.
About ten years ago, I attended a summer camp in Maine. I became friends with a boy named Lorenzo from Madrid. As camp came to an end, he gave me his home address. Those were the days before email, so that was the only information I had about him. I never sent him a letter or stayed in touch. About two weeks before leaving for Europe, I wrote him a letter and included my email address. I never heard from him. I decided that since I'm here in Madrid, I had to go to the address I have and see if his family still lives there. I arrived there, fortunately they live on the main street in Madrid, and after speaking through the intercom for a couple minutes to a woman, who I presumed was his mother, I eventually was invited up. I was greeted by a tiny woman who offered me coffee. Now, in Granada, my host family there explained that to be polite you must refuse the first offer and then agree to subsequent offers. However, I did in fact want a coffee and didn't want to risk not getting another offer. So I agreed to the coffee, sort of reluctantly to maintain the idea of declining the first offer. Then she offered me bread or cake. I wanted this too, but the last thing I wanted was to be impolite. I explained what I had been told by my hosts in Granada. The lady told me to say what I wanted. And I said cake. We chatted for a bit... apparently my friend is working in Singapore at the moment and then will work in Hong Kong in January. A couple times, the woman referred to Lorenzo's mom, and I started to realize that this was not his mother. I left a note for Lorenzo. Then she provided me with a list of places I must visit when I return to Madrid in two weeks, refilled my water bottle and bid me farewell. I thanked her and left.
Now, I wanted it to be a surprise, but it's possible I might not have internet access, so I'm going to break the news now. Tomorrow morning, I will be taking a ferry across to Morocco where I will spend two weeks traveling, exploring, and documenting this uncharted region. I really have no idea of what to expect other than what a few travellers have told me about the incessant vendors. I am rather excited. It will be an another opportunity to practice restraint from buying lots of stuff. Unless I find a really cool scimitar.
I'm currently at an internet cafe in Madrid as it gently hails outside. I arrived this morning on a night train from Portugal. I leave in a few hours for Algeciras in the South of Spain. I have spent the past few days in Porto, Portugal. I spent the first two days there sleeping and planning the rest of my trip. My couchsurfing host let me just do my thing at her place. Then she left town Friday morning, so I moved on to another host. I spent the next two days with my second host's housemates, a sweet Spanish girl who frequently smoked and one night wore a green gem under each eye, named Ainara and a lovely and attractive Brazilian couple, Sophia and Gabriel. We had a great time and we really connected. The first night, we went to a bar where there were free moldy chestnuts and neverending boxed wine. People were singing kareoke to classic Portugese songs and a little boy sang a Spanish song entitled, "Tengo la camisa negra." The following night we wandered around from one bar to another and eventually returned to the first one we were at and proceeded to play pool for the next four hours, with the occasional dancing interlude. It was a lot of fun, and when we decided to leave at around 5 AM, I was somehow no longer sleepy. (It's strange to be in a foreign country and all of a sudden, Natalie Imbruglia's "Torn," starts up on the radio as it has just now, and I'm flooded with a faint sense of nostalgia and comfort.) Ainara and I sat in the kitchen after we returned from the bar. She sliced and ate an apple. A few times on this trip, that moment included, I thought about meeting that person again down the road, ten, twenty years from now and how awesome it will be to remember that time we, for example, sat in a kitchen in Porto at five in the morning while one of us ate an apple and we were young and full of dreams we had yet to accomplish. Yesterday I slept in. We strolled to a grocery store and after much belaboring about what Gabriel would and wouldn't eat, we bought a bunch of food (for less than 8 Euros) and continued on to their friend, Miraldo's house. On the way, we walked through the oldest public park in Porto, and quite possibly Portugal. There were about twenty old men huddled around a small card table with four guys shuffling and dealing cards. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to pull out my video camera and shoot some video, capturing the curious glances at first and then the irritated scowls as I continued to record them. I must declare that Portugal has some of the cutest old people I have ever seen. I just wanted to go on record saying that. And furthermore, I think the Tourist department of Portugal should focus more on this quality in their advertisements. I think it would have a big pull. So, Ainara and Sophia prepared a delicious meal last night and we dined to melodic Dave Matthews Band floating from the speakers. I felt sad to leave my new friends. It had only been two days but it felt like it had been at least a week. I feel sad right now. I had my first train goodbye, last night as Ainara stood on the platform, and I, with my face pressed against the glass, tried to shoot some video of the farewell. As the train slowly creaked away, Ainara's waving figure disappeared from sight.
About ten years ago, I attended a summer camp in Maine. I became friends with a boy named Lorenzo from Madrid. As camp came to an end, he gave me his home address. Those were the days before email, so that was the only information I had about him. I never sent him a letter or stayed in touch. About two weeks before leaving for Europe, I wrote him a letter and included my email address. I never heard from him. I decided that since I'm here in Madrid, I had to go to the address I have and see if his family still lives there. I arrived there, fortunately they live on the main street in Madrid, and after speaking through the intercom for a couple minutes to a woman, who I presumed was his mother, I eventually was invited up. I was greeted by a tiny woman who offered me coffee. Now, in Granada, my host family there explained that to be polite you must refuse the first offer and then agree to subsequent offers. However, I did in fact want a coffee and didn't want to risk not getting another offer. So I agreed to the coffee, sort of reluctantly to maintain the idea of declining the first offer. Then she offered me bread or cake. I wanted this too, but the last thing I wanted was to be impolite. I explained what I had been told by my hosts in Granada. The lady told me to say what I wanted. And I said cake. We chatted for a bit... apparently my friend is working in Singapore at the moment and then will work in Hong Kong in January. A couple times, the woman referred to Lorenzo's mom, and I started to realize that this was not his mother. I left a note for Lorenzo. Then she provided me with a list of places I must visit when I return to Madrid in two weeks, refilled my water bottle and bid me farewell. I thanked her and left.
Now, I wanted it to be a surprise, but it's possible I might not have internet access, so I'm going to break the news now. Tomorrow morning, I will be taking a ferry across to Morocco where I will spend two weeks traveling, exploring, and documenting this uncharted region. I really have no idea of what to expect other than what a few travellers have told me about the incessant vendors. I am rather excited. It will be an another opportunity to practice restraint from buying lots of stuff. Unless I find a really cool scimitar.
Monday, November 12, 2007
International Dinner
Lisbon, Portugal,
My stomach is still full after a feast prepared by a guy that works here at the hostel. It started with Portugese Gazpacho, followed by four or five different pastas. At the table there were the Portugese guys who work here, a German guy, a Swiss guy, a girl from Singapore, two guys from Malyasia, a Japanese guy, a Venezuelan guy, an Australian guy, and myself, the American. It was pretty cool to be eating dinner with such an international group of people. Lisbon seems like a cool city. Today I went to the Aquarium. I Loved it. I had a conversation with the adorable sea otters and I stared for minutes into the eyes of a monstrous Grouper fish, only separated by inches of glass. I truly Love observing animals. I also happened to shoot almost an hour of video... wanting to share the experience with my family when I return home. I also realized how important it is to take measures to protect the environment. Practically every informational sign in the place mentioned how the animal was negatively affected by humans. It's very unfortunate. Yesterday I arrived here at eight in the morning on a night train. After exiting the station and thawing out from the frozen tundra of a train cabin, I made my way to a square to await the opening of the tourist office. Along the way, I was guided by a friendly, English-speaking policeman. What a refreshing experience to meet a friendly policeman. I sat in the square where people were setting up for a celebration of St. Martin, I believe, the Patron Saint of Chestnuts... or at least chestnuts are a big part of the celebration. While I sat and journalled and read, I was approached by a scruffy, toothless, old man wearing a dishevelled brown suit trying to sell me hash or pot. I declined to which he said he'd give me a good price. I declined again. Eventually, I found the hostel that had been recommended to me by the Australians I met in Seville. I dropped off my bag and headed out to a nearby town, Belem, where the museums and national sites were free until 2 PM. I visited the 500 year old Monastery and a little tower right on the water. Nice buildings, but only buildings. Again I realized that I really don't care for things, as much as life. That's why the Aquarium was so great today. I have gone a couple days now without my digital camera and I feel pretty good about it. I had decided that I'm not going to replace it. I was compulsively taking pictures and missing out on the moments. Now, I'm not taking pictures and I think I'm able to appreciate more whatever I'm looking at. Plus I notice the pictures that other people take, and I know that I'd be taking a picture too of the same meaningless old building. I've thought about the moments before my camera stopped working. I was at the Alhambra, in Granada, taking pictures of the old, intricate designs on the walls. A woman walked up and I stepped aside to allow her to take pictures. In her broken English, she suggested that many people just take pictures and don't actually appreciate whatever they're seeing. I agreed but continued to take meaningless pictures. Not fifteen minutes later, my camera broke, my last pictures of a few goldfish swimming in the pool. Goldfish swimming in a pool? Give me a break! There I was in Granada, Spain and I was taking fricking pictures of goldfish. I deserved to have my camera broken. Anyway, I'm at peace with the whole thing. That's not to say I'm not shooting tons of video....
My stomach is still full after a feast prepared by a guy that works here at the hostel. It started with Portugese Gazpacho, followed by four or five different pastas. At the table there were the Portugese guys who work here, a German guy, a Swiss guy, a girl from Singapore, two guys from Malyasia, a Japanese guy, a Venezuelan guy, an Australian guy, and myself, the American. It was pretty cool to be eating dinner with such an international group of people. Lisbon seems like a cool city. Today I went to the Aquarium. I Loved it. I had a conversation with the adorable sea otters and I stared for minutes into the eyes of a monstrous Grouper fish, only separated by inches of glass. I truly Love observing animals. I also happened to shoot almost an hour of video... wanting to share the experience with my family when I return home. I also realized how important it is to take measures to protect the environment. Practically every informational sign in the place mentioned how the animal was negatively affected by humans. It's very unfortunate. Yesterday I arrived here at eight in the morning on a night train. After exiting the station and thawing out from the frozen tundra of a train cabin, I made my way to a square to await the opening of the tourist office. Along the way, I was guided by a friendly, English-speaking policeman. What a refreshing experience to meet a friendly policeman. I sat in the square where people were setting up for a celebration of St. Martin, I believe, the Patron Saint of Chestnuts... or at least chestnuts are a big part of the celebration. While I sat and journalled and read, I was approached by a scruffy, toothless, old man wearing a dishevelled brown suit trying to sell me hash or pot. I declined to which he said he'd give me a good price. I declined again. Eventually, I found the hostel that had been recommended to me by the Australians I met in Seville. I dropped off my bag and headed out to a nearby town, Belem, where the museums and national sites were free until 2 PM. I visited the 500 year old Monastery and a little tower right on the water. Nice buildings, but only buildings. Again I realized that I really don't care for things, as much as life. That's why the Aquarium was so great today. I have gone a couple days now without my digital camera and I feel pretty good about it. I had decided that I'm not going to replace it. I was compulsively taking pictures and missing out on the moments. Now, I'm not taking pictures and I think I'm able to appreciate more whatever I'm looking at. Plus I notice the pictures that other people take, and I know that I'd be taking a picture too of the same meaningless old building. I've thought about the moments before my camera stopped working. I was at the Alhambra, in Granada, taking pictures of the old, intricate designs on the walls. A woman walked up and I stepped aside to allow her to take pictures. In her broken English, she suggested that many people just take pictures and don't actually appreciate whatever they're seeing. I agreed but continued to take meaningless pictures. Not fifteen minutes later, my camera broke, my last pictures of a few goldfish swimming in the pool. Goldfish swimming in a pool? Give me a break! There I was in Granada, Spain and I was taking fricking pictures of goldfish. I deserved to have my camera broken. Anyway, I'm at peace with the whole thing. That's not to say I'm not shooting tons of video....
Friday, November 9, 2007
Ole'
Seville, Spain
Wow. I just had such a wonderful laugh at the comment that Ally made about my previous blog entry. If you haven't yet read it, I suggest you do so now. So Spain, here I am. It's definitely different from Italy. It seems a lot more modern and cosmopolitan. I'm almost completely transitioned from thinking in the few Italian phrases that I knew, to thinking in Spanish. Although I'm still getting accustomed to saying my "c's" and "z's" as "th." I arrived today from Granada. I was there for a couple days. It was a quiet little city. Nothing special for me. I spent a whole day at the Alhambra, a large, ancient Arabic palace/fortress that is a huge tourist attraction. The designs were incredibly intricate. The gardens were well-groomed. However, I discovered that I prefer to watch living things, such as animals, bees, people, and even flowers and trees, versus old, lifeless buildings. Even buildings that required amazing skill or countless years of effort, I still just don't feel very connected. At least that's how I felt about the Alhambra. I was tired so I took a nap at the top of the highest tower. I was awakened after awhile by a noisy Japanese tour group. Also, interesting fact about Granada, apparently it is extremely common to smoke hash/pot. According to my couchsurfing host Pablo, it's more common and acceptable than in Amsterdam. Just thought I'd throw out that delightful little tidbit. Walking around the city, Pablo and I were propositioned by a normal-looking middle-aged woman to sell us pot. Later, in broad daylight people were smoking joints in the plaza, several plazas actually. My camera completely broke yesterday... I can not even take blurry, abstract pictures. I turn it on and it just beeps angrily at me and then flashes E18 at the lower corner of the LCD screen. I was desperate so I unscrewed the case and took it off, it's two pieces actually. Interestingly enough, my CANON camera is composed of several parts, including the LCD screen, manufactured by SONY. Odd, huh? I thought so.
Well, there's more to write, but for now, I'm off to a bar with some fellow travellers staying in the hostel here. Hasta luego.
Wow. I just had such a wonderful laugh at the comment that Ally made about my previous blog entry. If you haven't yet read it, I suggest you do so now. So Spain, here I am. It's definitely different from Italy. It seems a lot more modern and cosmopolitan. I'm almost completely transitioned from thinking in the few Italian phrases that I knew, to thinking in Spanish. Although I'm still getting accustomed to saying my "c's" and "z's" as "th." I arrived today from Granada. I was there for a couple days. It was a quiet little city. Nothing special for me. I spent a whole day at the Alhambra, a large, ancient Arabic palace/fortress that is a huge tourist attraction. The designs were incredibly intricate. The gardens were well-groomed. However, I discovered that I prefer to watch living things, such as animals, bees, people, and even flowers and trees, versus old, lifeless buildings. Even buildings that required amazing skill or countless years of effort, I still just don't feel very connected. At least that's how I felt about the Alhambra. I was tired so I took a nap at the top of the highest tower. I was awakened after awhile by a noisy Japanese tour group. Also, interesting fact about Granada, apparently it is extremely common to smoke hash/pot. According to my couchsurfing host Pablo, it's more common and acceptable than in Amsterdam. Just thought I'd throw out that delightful little tidbit. Walking around the city, Pablo and I were propositioned by a normal-looking middle-aged woman to sell us pot. Later, in broad daylight people were smoking joints in the plaza, several plazas actually. My camera completely broke yesterday... I can not even take blurry, abstract pictures. I turn it on and it just beeps angrily at me and then flashes E18 at the lower corner of the LCD screen. I was desperate so I unscrewed the case and took it off, it's two pieces actually. Interestingly enough, my CANON camera is composed of several parts, including the LCD screen, manufactured by SONY. Odd, huh? I thought so.
Well, there's more to write, but for now, I'm off to a bar with some fellow travellers staying in the hostel here. Hasta luego.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Last Day in Italy
Palermo, Sicily, Italy
(Note: I wrote this last night, so "today" actually refers to yesterday.)
It’s late and I’m ready for bed. I arrived in Palermo this morning on a night train from Napoli. I managed to get a little sleep and not have anything stolen. Upon arrival I took care of some business, including shipping my large piece of driftwood to the U.S. When I walked away from the Mail Boxes Etc., I felt so much lighter. As much as I enjoyed seeing the look on people’s faces as they stared at my driftwood, I don’t think I could carry it around anymore. Eventually I arrived at my host’s apartment. I showered and then headed out to explore the city. Palermo is an amazing place. It is so old. It is so dirty and downtrodden. However, there is also a sort of majestic quality to it. It is very rich with life. I wandered around for awhile occasionally taking a picture with my semi-functioning camera. I wanted to eat something traditional, and eventually I found it. As I walked down the main street, Via Roma, massive amounts of smoke wafted up some stairs from a side street. I went down them and was lead to a man grilling meats and several Italian men standing and eating. I knew this was my lunch. I ordered two and waited as they were thrown on the grill. I sprinkled some salt and squeezed a lime onto the meat, as the Italian men had done. Then I proceeded to enjoy my lunch, which was grilled animal intestines of some sort. The texture was strange, but it was a fun experience. I wandered around for awhile more, taking more pictures and shooting some video. At some point, I stopped and sat down to write some postcards. I was sitting near an open-air market that smelled of fish. There were a bunch of men nearby yelling and talking rather loudly and enthusiastically. Being in Palermo, I felt very much as if I’m in an Italian movie. Everything is so classic… the buildings, the sounds, the people, the food. It’s magnificent. I will definitely return to Sicily. I had a Sicilian swordfish spaghetti for dinner with my host. A fire-twirling dancer performed for a few minutes. After dinner, we walked down the street and I ate a true cannolo – the Sicilian pasty filled with a sweet ricotta filling. I have had a wonderful last day in Italy. As much as I Love Italy, I know it is really just the beginning of my Italian adventures.
And now I will list all the things I will miss and the things I will not miss in Italy, and the Central/Eastern European excursion.
The things I will miss in Italy (and Central/Eastern European Excursion):
- Chasing pigeons
- The Macro world of insects
- Inside jokes with Josh
- Beef goulash with sauerkraut… Mmmm.
- Palermo
- Eleonora’s home-cooked meals
- Cannoli
- Speaking Italian
- Gesturing in Italian
- Photoshoots in Cinque Terre
- Como
- The “David”
- Classically Italian-looking old men
- The colors of the ocean water in Cinque Terre
- Collecting obscure souvenirs, i.e. large, heavy piece of driftwood
- The strange looks that I got from people checking out my obscure souvenirs, i.e. large, heavy piece of driftwood
- The leaves on the trees in Budapest
- Budapest in general
- Pizzas, especially the one in Napoli
- The words, “Franco Bolli,” which mean stamps
The things I will NOT miss in Italy (and Central/Eastern European Excursion):
- dirty trains
- Venetian toilets without seats
- Milano
- Creepy, gay men in the Turkish Bath
- Dealing with exchange rates to Crowns and Forints
- The crazy drivers in Napoli
- The Hungarian gypsies that stole Josh’s camera
- Gypsies in general, even the ones I never came in contact with
- Milano
- Grumpy train ticket salesmen
- Poorly designed graffiti
- Bland dinner from the food court in Budapest
- The hostel in Venice
- Lack of sleep
- The hostel in Prague
- The Brazilian guy who woke me up at 1:30 in the morning to tell me that I was in his bed
- The crazy Turkish guy that was angry at me for dancing with his friend
- Milano
- Dog poo smeared on the sidewalk
- Carrying around a large, heavy piece of driftwood
- The intense rush of adrenaline after taking prohibited photos and video of the “David”
- Not having enough water to drink on the 16 hour train rides to Prague, and then trying to avoid that experience by purchasing several large bottles of water only to carry them around and suffer the weight without ever drinking all the water
- Oh, and… uhm… Milano
(Note: I wrote this last night, so "today" actually refers to yesterday.)
It’s late and I’m ready for bed. I arrived in Palermo this morning on a night train from Napoli. I managed to get a little sleep and not have anything stolen. Upon arrival I took care of some business, including shipping my large piece of driftwood to the U.S. When I walked away from the Mail Boxes Etc., I felt so much lighter. As much as I enjoyed seeing the look on people’s faces as they stared at my driftwood, I don’t think I could carry it around anymore. Eventually I arrived at my host’s apartment. I showered and then headed out to explore the city. Palermo is an amazing place. It is so old. It is so dirty and downtrodden. However, there is also a sort of majestic quality to it. It is very rich with life. I wandered around for awhile occasionally taking a picture with my semi-functioning camera. I wanted to eat something traditional, and eventually I found it. As I walked down the main street, Via Roma, massive amounts of smoke wafted up some stairs from a side street. I went down them and was lead to a man grilling meats and several Italian men standing and eating. I knew this was my lunch. I ordered two and waited as they were thrown on the grill. I sprinkled some salt and squeezed a lime onto the meat, as the Italian men had done. Then I proceeded to enjoy my lunch, which was grilled animal intestines of some sort. The texture was strange, but it was a fun experience. I wandered around for awhile more, taking more pictures and shooting some video. At some point, I stopped and sat down to write some postcards. I was sitting near an open-air market that smelled of fish. There were a bunch of men nearby yelling and talking rather loudly and enthusiastically. Being in Palermo, I felt very much as if I’m in an Italian movie. Everything is so classic… the buildings, the sounds, the people, the food. It’s magnificent. I will definitely return to Sicily. I had a Sicilian swordfish spaghetti for dinner with my host. A fire-twirling dancer performed for a few minutes. After dinner, we walked down the street and I ate a true cannolo – the Sicilian pasty filled with a sweet ricotta filling. I have had a wonderful last day in Italy. As much as I Love Italy, I know it is really just the beginning of my Italian adventures.
And now I will list all the things I will miss and the things I will not miss in Italy, and the Central/Eastern European excursion.
The things I will miss in Italy (and Central/Eastern European Excursion):
- Chasing pigeons
- The Macro world of insects
- Inside jokes with Josh
- Beef goulash with sauerkraut… Mmmm.
- Palermo
- Eleonora’s home-cooked meals
- Cannoli
- Speaking Italian
- Gesturing in Italian
- Photoshoots in Cinque Terre
- Como
- The “David”
- Classically Italian-looking old men
- The colors of the ocean water in Cinque Terre
- Collecting obscure souvenirs, i.e. large, heavy piece of driftwood
- The strange looks that I got from people checking out my obscure souvenirs, i.e. large, heavy piece of driftwood
- The leaves on the trees in Budapest
- Budapest in general
- Pizzas, especially the one in Napoli
- The words, “Franco Bolli,” which mean stamps
The things I will NOT miss in Italy (and Central/Eastern European Excursion):
- dirty trains
- Venetian toilets without seats
- Milano
- Creepy, gay men in the Turkish Bath
- Dealing with exchange rates to Crowns and Forints
- The crazy drivers in Napoli
- The Hungarian gypsies that stole Josh’s camera
- Gypsies in general, even the ones I never came in contact with
- Milano
- Grumpy train ticket salesmen
- Poorly designed graffiti
- Bland dinner from the food court in Budapest
- The hostel in Venice
- Lack of sleep
- The hostel in Prague
- The Brazilian guy who woke me up at 1:30 in the morning to tell me that I was in his bed
- The crazy Turkish guy that was angry at me for dancing with his friend
- Milano
- Dog poo smeared on the sidewalk
- Carrying around a large, heavy piece of driftwood
- The intense rush of adrenaline after taking prohibited photos and video of the “David”
- Not having enough water to drink on the 16 hour train rides to Prague, and then trying to avoid that experience by purchasing several large bottles of water only to carry them around and suffer the weight without ever drinking all the water
- Oh, and… uhm… Milano
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Real Italian Life
Terzigno, Italy
I am in a small town near Pompei and Napoli. I have been here for several days, staying with Giovanna, her two brothers Francesco and Michele, and her mother Eleonora. I found her through Couchsurfing. This has been one of the best experiences in my travels. Everyday, the mother has prepared a huge meal, most of the ingredients coming from the large, beautiful garden at the back of the house. I am still in a food coma from the meal a couple of hours ago which consisted of a delicious lasagna bolognese to start. Then we had Tuscan beef, meatballs, peas, mushrooms, and bread. Everyone drank home-made wine. After the second course, we enjoyed fresh chestnuts from the garden, followed by three different types of cakes, all home-made, and one of which was made from the same chestnuts. This was followed by home-made lemoncello for everyone else. And finally coffee, which is actually about a tablespoon of very potent, bitter espresso, which tastes and feels like a drug. I have eaten SO much the past three days. It has been incredible. The mother keeps offering me food, and I don't want to be rude, so I agree to more. I really have been experiencing real Italian life. The family has been so hospitable and generous, providing me all this food and everything out of the kindness of their hearts. Yesterday, Giovanna, my host, accompanied me to the Pompei ruins. It was interesting... this whole city that is over two thousand years old, still intact. However, maybe I had expectations because I wasn't blown away. Last night I went out with Giovanna, her brother Francesco, and two of his friends. We drove around and walked around and then ate some pizza at a little restaurant in Pompei. It was fun to be with those guys having conversations in broken English and broken Italian. Tonight I will go to Napoli for a real Napoleatano pizza, before catching the night train to Palermo, Sicily. Yesterday, my camera began malfunctioning. I am very upset about it. I can still take pictures, but the zoom doesn't work, and when turning it off, I must guide the lense back into the camera body. Also, as I may or may not have mentioned, I've been carrying around a large piece of driftwood that I found in Cinque Terre. I've had it for over two weeks now, garnering lots of strange looks from everyone I pass, as I lug it around on travel days. I have intended to ship it back to the U.S., but it seems that it will cost a lot. But I don't want to carry it around for another month and a half only to get to the airport and have customs tell me I can't take it. So hopefully tomorrow, I can find a FedEx or something that won't charge and arm and a leg, like UPS. I wish I had more time to spend in Italy... I feel like I am rushing off, missing out on lots of things. But I know that I will return, if not move here, and so I will be able to see and experience all that I haven't this time around.
I am in a small town near Pompei and Napoli. I have been here for several days, staying with Giovanna, her two brothers Francesco and Michele, and her mother Eleonora. I found her through Couchsurfing. This has been one of the best experiences in my travels. Everyday, the mother has prepared a huge meal, most of the ingredients coming from the large, beautiful garden at the back of the house. I am still in a food coma from the meal a couple of hours ago which consisted of a delicious lasagna bolognese to start. Then we had Tuscan beef, meatballs, peas, mushrooms, and bread. Everyone drank home-made wine. After the second course, we enjoyed fresh chestnuts from the garden, followed by three different types of cakes, all home-made, and one of which was made from the same chestnuts. This was followed by home-made lemoncello for everyone else. And finally coffee, which is actually about a tablespoon of very potent, bitter espresso, which tastes and feels like a drug. I have eaten SO much the past three days. It has been incredible. The mother keeps offering me food, and I don't want to be rude, so I agree to more. I really have been experiencing real Italian life. The family has been so hospitable and generous, providing me all this food and everything out of the kindness of their hearts. Yesterday, Giovanna, my host, accompanied me to the Pompei ruins. It was interesting... this whole city that is over two thousand years old, still intact. However, maybe I had expectations because I wasn't blown away. Last night I went out with Giovanna, her brother Francesco, and two of his friends. We drove around and walked around and then ate some pizza at a little restaurant in Pompei. It was fun to be with those guys having conversations in broken English and broken Italian. Tonight I will go to Napoli for a real Napoleatano pizza, before catching the night train to Palermo, Sicily. Yesterday, my camera began malfunctioning. I am very upset about it. I can still take pictures, but the zoom doesn't work, and when turning it off, I must guide the lense back into the camera body. Also, as I may or may not have mentioned, I've been carrying around a large piece of driftwood that I found in Cinque Terre. I've had it for over two weeks now, garnering lots of strange looks from everyone I pass, as I lug it around on travel days. I have intended to ship it back to the U.S., but it seems that it will cost a lot. But I don't want to carry it around for another month and a half only to get to the airport and have customs tell me I can't take it. So hopefully tomorrow, I can find a FedEx or something that won't charge and arm and a leg, like UPS. I wish I had more time to spend in Italy... I feel like I am rushing off, missing out on lots of things. But I know that I will return, if not move here, and so I will be able to see and experience all that I haven't this time around.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Halloween in Vienna
Vienna, Austria
Happy Halloween to everyone. Today in Vienna, Josh and I wandered around as we often do. Everywhere was quiet and empty, except for the shopping areas. It was very, very cold so I became sleepy and lethargic, despite being bundled in all my warmest clothes, minus my windbreaker. It didn't help that I was carrying around the large piece of driftwood that I found in Cinque Terre that I've been meaning to ship and hadn't yet had the opportunity. So I thought I could ship it today from here. Unfortunately, it is too large to ship from the Post Office, so I will have to use a shipping service like FedEx or UPS. Our Couchsurfing host Stephanie met up with us in the middle of the day to show us a couple sights. Later, we ate sausages for lunch from a little stand. We bought postcards and sat for awhile in the only large, near-free and most importantly warm place we could find, Starbucks. I however, held strong to my integrity and did not purchase anything. Before coming to Europe, I decided I would not buy anything from McDonald's or Starbucks and so far I have kept my word. For dinner, our host prepared a pumpkin risotto and pumpkin salad. They were delicious and festive. Awhile later, for my costume, I applied some red eyeliner that belonged to the roommate of our host, and we were ready to head out to a Halloween party. We arrived at a place that Stephanie decided within minutes was not working for her. So we left and walked for a bit to the metro. We had just missed the last train of the evening so we walked all the way back to the first party. I was a little disappointed at first because I had wanted to leave earlier in the evening, thus not having that problem. However, I just accepted that I was where I was meant to be. On the way back to the party, we stopped at a grocery store. Josh bought a beer and I bought a raspberry-flavored chocolate bar. I mean, it isn't Halloween without candy. Back at the party, we slowly worked our way into dancing to the classic American songs that apparently play all over the world. I shot a little video to document an Austrian Halloween. We continued dancing for awhile as Josh continued to buy beers. I had a good time. In two hours, our train leaves for our return to Italy. Josh is off to Rome and I to Naples. Our little travel adventure has come to an end. It has been really fun travelling with Josh and getting to know him. We have so many great inside jokes. And we've had so many deep, meaningful conversations. It's really amazing to have met someone that I have so much in common with and with whom I could spend over two weeks straight, with only the very infrequent little argument that ended in laughing and joking. And now the solo adventure continues.
Happy Halloween to everyone. Today in Vienna, Josh and I wandered around as we often do. Everywhere was quiet and empty, except for the shopping areas. It was very, very cold so I became sleepy and lethargic, despite being bundled in all my warmest clothes, minus my windbreaker. It didn't help that I was carrying around the large piece of driftwood that I found in Cinque Terre that I've been meaning to ship and hadn't yet had the opportunity. So I thought I could ship it today from here. Unfortunately, it is too large to ship from the Post Office, so I will have to use a shipping service like FedEx or UPS. Our Couchsurfing host Stephanie met up with us in the middle of the day to show us a couple sights. Later, we ate sausages for lunch from a little stand. We bought postcards and sat for awhile in the only large, near-free and most importantly warm place we could find, Starbucks. I however, held strong to my integrity and did not purchase anything. Before coming to Europe, I decided I would not buy anything from McDonald's or Starbucks and so far I have kept my word. For dinner, our host prepared a pumpkin risotto and pumpkin salad. They were delicious and festive. Awhile later, for my costume, I applied some red eyeliner that belonged to the roommate of our host, and we were ready to head out to a Halloween party. We arrived at a place that Stephanie decided within minutes was not working for her. So we left and walked for a bit to the metro. We had just missed the last train of the evening so we walked all the way back to the first party. I was a little disappointed at first because I had wanted to leave earlier in the evening, thus not having that problem. However, I just accepted that I was where I was meant to be. On the way back to the party, we stopped at a grocery store. Josh bought a beer and I bought a raspberry-flavored chocolate bar. I mean, it isn't Halloween without candy. Back at the party, we slowly worked our way into dancing to the classic American songs that apparently play all over the world. I shot a little video to document an Austrian Halloween. We continued dancing for awhile as Josh continued to buy beers. I had a good time. In two hours, our train leaves for our return to Italy. Josh is off to Rome and I to Naples. Our little travel adventure has come to an end. It has been really fun travelling with Josh and getting to know him. We have so many great inside jokes. And we've had so many deep, meaningful conversations. It's really amazing to have met someone that I have so much in common with and with whom I could spend over two weeks straight, with only the very infrequent little argument that ended in laughing and joking. And now the solo adventure continues.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Autumn in Budapest
Budapest, Hungary
I Love Budapest. This city is so charming and peaceful. Maybe it has something to do with the cool, crisp air, the gray heavy skies, the periodic, light sprinkles, or the golden leaves floating to the ground. Today Josh and I went to the little island in the river between Buda on the left and Pest on the right. It was unbelievably serene. So quiet and calm. A mother played soccer with her son. I made a small pile of leaves fell/sat back into it a couple times. Josh sat against a tree and journaled for a bit. I took some macro pictures of an ant crawling across the leaves. It truly feels like autumn. At times, however it even feels like winter, as it's about the same temperature as it is in Tucson in winter. We went to a a Turkish bath today, but it was only open for women on Monday. So we will go again tomorrow morning. We've been having a great time with our Hungarian couchsurfing host Gabi. She has taken us around and made us feel at home. Last night we went to one of her friend's house where we ate a home-cooked, traditional Hungarian dish called rakott krumpli which consisted of potato, egg, sausage, sour cream with spices, cheese and some bacon on the top. It was layered, prepared like a lasanga. Afterward, we had thin pancakes, almost like crepes, that Gabi prepared. We covered our pancrepes (as I call them) in chocolate spread, home-made jam, and other sweet things. Apparently, pancakes are eaten as a desert after lunch or dinner, never for breakfast. Tomorrow, Josh and I leave for our next city, and I will miss Budapest very much. There is such a beautiful energy here. I write that risking sounding out there, but there's no better way to describe it. It is so peaceful and exciting at the same time. This is a place I will definitely return to and where I could potentially see myself living at some point... or at least shooting a film.
I Love Budapest. This city is so charming and peaceful. Maybe it has something to do with the cool, crisp air, the gray heavy skies, the periodic, light sprinkles, or the golden leaves floating to the ground. Today Josh and I went to the little island in the river between Buda on the left and Pest on the right. It was unbelievably serene. So quiet and calm. A mother played soccer with her son. I made a small pile of leaves fell/sat back into it a couple times. Josh sat against a tree and journaled for a bit. I took some macro pictures of an ant crawling across the leaves. It truly feels like autumn. At times, however it even feels like winter, as it's about the same temperature as it is in Tucson in winter. We went to a a Turkish bath today, but it was only open for women on Monday. So we will go again tomorrow morning. We've been having a great time with our Hungarian couchsurfing host Gabi. She has taken us around and made us feel at home. Last night we went to one of her friend's house where we ate a home-cooked, traditional Hungarian dish called rakott krumpli which consisted of potato, egg, sausage, sour cream with spices, cheese and some bacon on the top. It was layered, prepared like a lasanga. Afterward, we had thin pancakes, almost like crepes, that Gabi prepared. We covered our pancrepes (as I call them) in chocolate spread, home-made jam, and other sweet things. Apparently, pancakes are eaten as a desert after lunch or dinner, never for breakfast. Tomorrow, Josh and I leave for our next city, and I will miss Budapest very much. There is such a beautiful energy here. I write that risking sounding out there, but there's no better way to describe it. It is so peaceful and exciting at the same time. This is a place I will definitely return to and where I could potentially see myself living at some point... or at least shooting a film.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Welcome to Hungary
Budapest, Hungary
There is some sweet Jazz music playing as I sit in the community area of a really cool hostel that is essentially an apartment that has a bunch of beds. It feels so comfortable and relaxed here. I feel much more connected to Budapest than I did Prague. We arrived yesterday morning. We took a night train and unfortunately, Josh's expensive digital SLR camera was stolen in the night by two Hungarian gypsies, according to the creepy, bald train conductor with a lazy eye. We wandered around a bit yesterday and ate an amazing meal of sauerkraut and beef goulash at a local indoor market. Last night we met up with a couple girls from couchsurfing -- one of which is supposed to host us tonight. We sat at a laidback bar and talked, and everyone else drank. When the bar closed at 1:00 AM, we headed out to a club. The cover charge was 1000 Forints, approximately seven US dollars. It was like some underground series of tunnels and rooms with pipes and ducts running across the ceiling, and different music playing in different sections. I checked my jacket -- with my sweatshirt inside it and my beanie, scarf and gloves stuffed in pockets -- for another 200 Forints. I danced for awhile while everyone else proceeded to drink more. Overall I had a good time, but it was slightly tense when a Turkish guy who was part of the "group" got very upset that I was dancing with his friend. Fortunately, there was a professional Australian football player named Craig who kept everything cool. The whole experience was rather bizarre and was only exacerbated by the strobing, colored lights and loud American dance music vibrating the walls. Josh and I got back to our hostel at 5:00 AM and after making a quick video journal entry, I passed out.
There is some sweet Jazz music playing as I sit in the community area of a really cool hostel that is essentially an apartment that has a bunch of beds. It feels so comfortable and relaxed here. I feel much more connected to Budapest than I did Prague. We arrived yesterday morning. We took a night train and unfortunately, Josh's expensive digital SLR camera was stolen in the night by two Hungarian gypsies, according to the creepy, bald train conductor with a lazy eye. We wandered around a bit yesterday and ate an amazing meal of sauerkraut and beef goulash at a local indoor market. Last night we met up with a couple girls from couchsurfing -- one of which is supposed to host us tonight. We sat at a laidback bar and talked, and everyone else drank. When the bar closed at 1:00 AM, we headed out to a club. The cover charge was 1000 Forints, approximately seven US dollars. It was like some underground series of tunnels and rooms with pipes and ducts running across the ceiling, and different music playing in different sections. I checked my jacket -- with my sweatshirt inside it and my beanie, scarf and gloves stuffed in pockets -- for another 200 Forints. I danced for awhile while everyone else proceeded to drink more. Overall I had a good time, but it was slightly tense when a Turkish guy who was part of the "group" got very upset that I was dancing with his friend. Fortunately, there was a professional Australian football player named Craig who kept everything cool. The whole experience was rather bizarre and was only exacerbated by the strobing, colored lights and loud American dance music vibrating the walls. Josh and I got back to our hostel at 5:00 AM and after making a quick video journal entry, I passed out.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Stranger in a Strange Land
Prague, Czech Republic
Yes, I am in Prague. It is very strange. For the first time in my life, I am really in a foreign place where I don't speak the language whatsoever and the only person I really know is my travel companion, Josh.
It all started a couple days ago when Josh and I realized that we might not use all of our travel days on our Eurail pass before it expires. So two days ago, in Florence, we decided to just have a crazy train adventure, travelling to far off lands. We chose Prague (Praha, in Czech) first. Yesterday we travelled on four trains for 16 hours. It was intense. We arrived at 10:45 and spent an hour wandering around looking for a hostel. We found one that cost 400 Crowns, approximately 18 US dollars. We took our monstrous packs to the room and then headed out into the night. We ate some sausages with mustard and sauerkraut from a late night stand. We took pictures of random things. Then we meandered back to our hostel. The hostel has definitely contributed to my sense of feeling so foreign. It's like a converted old hospital or something, so sterile and cold. This morning, while retrieving my watch from behind the "bed" -- really some bizarre couch without a back, covered with a sheet -- I pulled up a black stocking. Fortunately, they offer free internet, so I am here. And to be honest, checking my email and blogging really makes me feel more connected. I can't put it into words though how truly strange it is to be in a place where you don't understand anything and are fully reliant on the kindness, and ability to speak English, of others.
Yes, I am in Prague. It is very strange. For the first time in my life, I am really in a foreign place where I don't speak the language whatsoever and the only person I really know is my travel companion, Josh.
It all started a couple days ago when Josh and I realized that we might not use all of our travel days on our Eurail pass before it expires. So two days ago, in Florence, we decided to just have a crazy train adventure, travelling to far off lands. We chose Prague (Praha, in Czech) first. Yesterday we travelled on four trains for 16 hours. It was intense. We arrived at 10:45 and spent an hour wandering around looking for a hostel. We found one that cost 400 Crowns, approximately 18 US dollars. We took our monstrous packs to the room and then headed out into the night. We ate some sausages with mustard and sauerkraut from a late night stand. We took pictures of random things. Then we meandered back to our hostel. The hostel has definitely contributed to my sense of feeling so foreign. It's like a converted old hospital or something, so sterile and cold. This morning, while retrieving my watch from behind the "bed" -- really some bizarre couch without a back, covered with a sheet -- I pulled up a black stocking. Fortunately, they offer free internet, so I am here. And to be honest, checking my email and blogging really makes me feel more connected. I can't put it into words though how truly strange it is to be in a place where you don't understand anything and are fully reliant on the kindness, and ability to speak English, of others.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Back to the City
Florence, Italy
I just got back a little bit ago from exploring Florence. Josh and I arrived here in Florence around four o'clock today. It was rather cold and the sky was gray. We walked to the popular hostel, but it was booked. Rather than be disappointed, I just accepted that everything is working out as it is meant to. So we walked about three meters down the street to a hostel/hotel where we got a room with two beds and we get the key, but there is a communal bathroom. Unfortunately there's no kitchen for Josh to work his magic. We're staying here because I didn't get any affirmative responses from people on Couchsurfing. I washed some shirts, a pair of socks, and a pair of underwear in the sink and hung them up on my neon pink clothes line on our balcony. Then I bundled up in my sweater, rain jacket, scarf, gloves and beanie before heading out. We went to the market and I bought some stale bread, salami, cheese, and Nutella. We walked for a bit and then sat on the steps of the Duomo and ate our sandwiches -- mind you I did not put Nutella on my salami and cheese sandwich. After eating, we just wandered around the city, with no particular destination in mind. It sprinkled occasionally. We sang "Over the Rainbow" by each singing one word at a time. It is such a drastic change from Cinque Terre. We're back in the urban jungle, cut off from Nature and relaxation. Cinque Terre was amazing and I kind of miss it. However, I'm sure Florence has some wonderful things to offer... I'm really looking forward to seeing Michelangelo's "David." I know will enjoy my Florentine adventures.
I just got back a little bit ago from exploring Florence. Josh and I arrived here in Florence around four o'clock today. It was rather cold and the sky was gray. We walked to the popular hostel, but it was booked. Rather than be disappointed, I just accepted that everything is working out as it is meant to. So we walked about three meters down the street to a hostel/hotel where we got a room with two beds and we get the key, but there is a communal bathroom. Unfortunately there's no kitchen for Josh to work his magic. We're staying here because I didn't get any affirmative responses from people on Couchsurfing. I washed some shirts, a pair of socks, and a pair of underwear in the sink and hung them up on my neon pink clothes line on our balcony. Then I bundled up in my sweater, rain jacket, scarf, gloves and beanie before heading out. We went to the market and I bought some stale bread, salami, cheese, and Nutella. We walked for a bit and then sat on the steps of the Duomo and ate our sandwiches -- mind you I did not put Nutella on my salami and cheese sandwich. After eating, we just wandered around the city, with no particular destination in mind. It sprinkled occasionally. We sang "Over the Rainbow" by each singing one word at a time. It is such a drastic change from Cinque Terre. We're back in the urban jungle, cut off from Nature and relaxation. Cinque Terre was amazing and I kind of miss it. However, I'm sure Florence has some wonderful things to offer... I'm really looking forward to seeing Michelangelo's "David." I know will enjoy my Florentine adventures.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
I Love Cinque Terre
Riomaggiore (Cinque Terre), Italy
Life is truly incredible here in Cinque Terre. My new travel buddy Josh and I arrived a couple days ago. We were stopped in the street by a woman who offered us a place to stay. It's a nice little apartment with two double beds and one bunk bed, as well as a kitchen. It's been delightful to stay there, mostly due to the fact that Josh has been preparing dinner the past few evenings. The day we arrived, we spent the afternoon on the stone beach in Corniglia, the middle town of the five. We had a wonderful time skipping stones, building a stone tower, swimming (I did), and watching the vibrant, crimson sun drip into the ocean. Yesterday we hiked from the last town, Monterosso, to the fourth town, Vernazza. It was a somewhat difficult hike, but we stopped every twenty feet to take pictures. So we managed to finish that one hike between two towns in only six hours. Today we hiked between the other four towns. Today was cold and overcast in the morning. While hiking along, it rained occasionally, which I enjoyed. We met two Americans, Ben and Stephanie. We all hiked together. At one point, we hiked up some steps off the path. They lead to an old abandoned house. It was very strange. The rooms were filled with deteriorating furniture and debris. There was an old, rusty scooter out front. While exploring the wooden sheds, we discovered tons of bottles and large containers for wine, as well as the instruments to bottle wine. And strangely, the bathroom was in very good condition. Amidst the debris strewn about the floor of the shed, we discovered a cat skeleton, still intact. I climbed across the side of a slanted rock face to join my compatriots when I was attacked by the limb of an agave. It slashed me twice on the forehead. However, there need not be alarm, as it seems to be a minor flesh wound and recovery will be rapid. I can't tell you how beautiful Cinque Terre is... and I can't upload pictures as this computer doesn't have the capability. Let me just tell you though, there is such peace here. I thought Como was beautiful, and it is, but this is just stunning. Hiking alongside vineyards. Looking down from 50 or 100 feet and being able to see through the spectrum of blues and greens that is the ocean to the rocks beneath. Strolling through quaint towns with multi-colored buildings. And brilliant, glorious sunsets. Cinque Terre is truly a place to relax and appreciate the beauty of life. Today in Corniglia, the two people we were with stopped into a frozen yogurt place for a treat. There was an older gentleman with a fluffy, white beard serving the frozen yogurt. I asked if I could take a picture and he agreed (which hasn't been my experience with several other people), and then suggested that I get a picture with him. I stood next to him and he put his arm around me and squeezed me close, smiling and joking as the picture was taken. He was such a cheery man. It's people like Roberto the yogurt man that make Italy special.
Life is truly incredible here in Cinque Terre. My new travel buddy Josh and I arrived a couple days ago. We were stopped in the street by a woman who offered us a place to stay. It's a nice little apartment with two double beds and one bunk bed, as well as a kitchen. It's been delightful to stay there, mostly due to the fact that Josh has been preparing dinner the past few evenings. The day we arrived, we spent the afternoon on the stone beach in Corniglia, the middle town of the five. We had a wonderful time skipping stones, building a stone tower, swimming (I did), and watching the vibrant, crimson sun drip into the ocean. Yesterday we hiked from the last town, Monterosso, to the fourth town, Vernazza. It was a somewhat difficult hike, but we stopped every twenty feet to take pictures. So we managed to finish that one hike between two towns in only six hours. Today we hiked between the other four towns. Today was cold and overcast in the morning. While hiking along, it rained occasionally, which I enjoyed. We met two Americans, Ben and Stephanie. We all hiked together. At one point, we hiked up some steps off the path. They lead to an old abandoned house. It was very strange. The rooms were filled with deteriorating furniture and debris. There was an old, rusty scooter out front. While exploring the wooden sheds, we discovered tons of bottles and large containers for wine, as well as the instruments to bottle wine. And strangely, the bathroom was in very good condition. Amidst the debris strewn about the floor of the shed, we discovered a cat skeleton, still intact. I climbed across the side of a slanted rock face to join my compatriots when I was attacked by the limb of an agave. It slashed me twice on the forehead. However, there need not be alarm, as it seems to be a minor flesh wound and recovery will be rapid. I can't tell you how beautiful Cinque Terre is... and I can't upload pictures as this computer doesn't have the capability. Let me just tell you though, there is such peace here. I thought Como was beautiful, and it is, but this is just stunning. Hiking alongside vineyards. Looking down from 50 or 100 feet and being able to see through the spectrum of blues and greens that is the ocean to the rocks beneath. Strolling through quaint towns with multi-colored buildings. And brilliant, glorious sunsets. Cinque Terre is truly a place to relax and appreciate the beauty of life. Today in Corniglia, the two people we were with stopped into a frozen yogurt place for a treat. There was an older gentleman with a fluffy, white beard serving the frozen yogurt. I asked if I could take a picture and he agreed (which hasn't been my experience with several other people), and then suggested that I get a picture with him. I stood next to him and he put his arm around me and squeezed me close, smiling and joking as the picture was taken. He was such a cheery man. It's people like Roberto the yogurt man that make Italy special.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Venetian Wonders
Venice, Italy
I had a cappucino with my new friend Josh at a little cafe just before coming here to the internet cafe. For some odd reason, the room is and has been rocking as if I were on a boat. Very strange. I've been here for a couple days. Where do I begin? It was very overwhelming when I arrived. It was getting close to nighttime so I had to find a hostel, since I didn't have a couchsurfing host. Fortunately, I found one, and all was good. I know I'm being rather vague here, and for that I apologize. I have a full bladder, but you pay by the time here, so I don't want to stop and then start again. I know, probably too much info. At the hostel, I met a guy named Josh who is from the US and has been living in Spain for several months, as he ran out of money while travelling. He is a really cool guy and we spent the day yesterday wandering around Venice and just 'splorin'. I've been slowly, very slowly getting better physically. My throat isn't scratchy anymore, but I still have a congested nose and now this peculiar dizziness. We learned that most of the glass items sold here are actually manufactured in China and passed off as the coveted "Venetian glass". Also, interestingly, apparently the canals are also trash bins as we saw a woman, most likely a local, casually toss her cigarette butt into one. There are SOOOOOOOOO many tourists here. It's no wonder everything is so expensive. We tried as best as possible to get away from the tourists. Yesterday, while eating our grocery store-bought focaccia in a little quiet plaza, two little boys were playing on a large cauldron-esque monument thing. I could tell that they're imaginary world was that they were on a ship, as one of the boys dropped "la mapa" - a piece of paper acting as a map of the oceans or something- into "l'acqua." So, after I finished eating, I groaned and slowly climbed up the monument, acting like a sea monster. The boys screamed and crawled backwards. I retreated and then ascended again. More squeals from the boys. I made a silly face and biting motions, while producing sea monster noises. Eventually, I fell backwards and lay still, to which the boys exclaimed, "E mata" - He's dead. It was fun. I learned that the Gondolieri - the men who operate the gondolas- make around 1000 euros a day. Last night, while Josh and I wandered around trying to find our way to a waterbus to go back to the hostel, we discovered a part of the city that is not meant to be discovered. If you do not want the magic of Venice to be ruined, please do not read on. . . . There were cars. Real cars. I saw them. I even touched one. It was such a disappointment. It was like being backstage at Disneyland and seeing Goofy with his head off. However, there have definitely been moments where I just looked around, took a deep breath, and thought to myself - and at times said to myself - "I am in Venice!" It's pretty amazing that I'm really here. Life is pretty amazing.
I had a cappucino with my new friend Josh at a little cafe just before coming here to the internet cafe. For some odd reason, the room is and has been rocking as if I were on a boat. Very strange. I've been here for a couple days. Where do I begin? It was very overwhelming when I arrived. It was getting close to nighttime so I had to find a hostel, since I didn't have a couchsurfing host. Fortunately, I found one, and all was good. I know I'm being rather vague here, and for that I apologize. I have a full bladder, but you pay by the time here, so I don't want to stop and then start again. I know, probably too much info. At the hostel, I met a guy named Josh who is from the US and has been living in Spain for several months, as he ran out of money while travelling. He is a really cool guy and we spent the day yesterday wandering around Venice and just 'splorin'. I've been slowly, very slowly getting better physically. My throat isn't scratchy anymore, but I still have a congested nose and now this peculiar dizziness. We learned that most of the glass items sold here are actually manufactured in China and passed off as the coveted "Venetian glass". Also, interestingly, apparently the canals are also trash bins as we saw a woman, most likely a local, casually toss her cigarette butt into one. There are SOOOOOOOOO many tourists here. It's no wonder everything is so expensive. We tried as best as possible to get away from the tourists. Yesterday, while eating our grocery store-bought focaccia in a little quiet plaza, two little boys were playing on a large cauldron-esque monument thing. I could tell that they're imaginary world was that they were on a ship, as one of the boys dropped "la mapa" - a piece of paper acting as a map of the oceans or something- into "l'acqua." So, after I finished eating, I groaned and slowly climbed up the monument, acting like a sea monster. The boys screamed and crawled backwards. I retreated and then ascended again. More squeals from the boys. I made a silly face and biting motions, while producing sea monster noises. Eventually, I fell backwards and lay still, to which the boys exclaimed, "E mata" - He's dead. It was fun. I learned that the Gondolieri - the men who operate the gondolas- make around 1000 euros a day. Last night, while Josh and I wandered around trying to find our way to a waterbus to go back to the hostel, we discovered a part of the city that is not meant to be discovered. If you do not want the magic of Venice to be ruined, please do not read on. . . . There were cars. Real cars. I saw them. I even touched one. It was such a disappointment. It was like being backstage at Disneyland and seeing Goofy with his head off. However, there have definitely been moments where I just looked around, took a deep breath, and thought to myself - and at times said to myself - "I am in Venice!" It's pretty amazing that I'm really here. Life is pretty amazing.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Switzerland, here I come (exclamation point)
Lugano, Switzerland
I'm in Switzerland for the day. It's beautiful here too. But I prefer Como. I had a traditional meal for lunch, I don't really even know what it was... some type of meat with noodles on the side. They use Francs here, not Euros. So I took care of some banking with the Swiss, a.k.a. I withdrew some Francs from the ATM. I have yet to buy some chocolate, yet I can assure you it will be a hefty quantity as the smallest denomination of money that I could withdraw from the ATM was 50 Francs, which is approximately (by my calculations) 50 US dollars. To be honest, I'm feeling a little ill. I awoke this morning with a scratchy throat. I thought it might have been because I slept with my mouth open, however, the scratchiness is still there hours later, and it takes some effort to swallow. So if you're reading this, think of me as healthy and happy. One last thing. The public bathroom experience I had was amazing. They are like self-contained space ships. Truly amazing. I guess you'll have to wait for my video journal to see what I'm talking about. I'm starting to get a little dizzy. I think I've had my fill of Switzerland for awhile -- this is probably due to the fact that I'm feeling ill. Okay, ciao.
I'm in Switzerland for the day. It's beautiful here too. But I prefer Como. I had a traditional meal for lunch, I don't really even know what it was... some type of meat with noodles on the side. They use Francs here, not Euros. So I took care of some banking with the Swiss, a.k.a. I withdrew some Francs from the ATM. I have yet to buy some chocolate, yet I can assure you it will be a hefty quantity as the smallest denomination of money that I could withdraw from the ATM was 50 Francs, which is approximately (by my calculations) 50 US dollars. To be honest, I'm feeling a little ill. I awoke this morning with a scratchy throat. I thought it might have been because I slept with my mouth open, however, the scratchiness is still there hours later, and it takes some effort to swallow. So if you're reading this, think of me as healthy and happy. One last thing. The public bathroom experience I had was amazing. They are like self-contained space ships. Truly amazing. I guess you'll have to wait for my video journal to see what I'm talking about. I'm starting to get a little dizzy. I think I've had my fill of Switzerland for awhile -- this is probably due to the fact that I'm feeling ill. Okay, ciao.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Connecting with Nature
Como, Italy
Today was amazing. It definately started off interestingly. I awoke midnight-ish because a couple guys in the room were snoring horribly. I grabbed my nearby earplugs and fell back asleep. I awoke later at around six o'clock this morning because their snoring was so loud it bothered me through the earplugs. I wanted to go back to sleep so I decided to focus on my breathing. "Breathe in acceptance, breathe out Love. Breathe in acceptance, breathe in Love." And, as I drifted off, it became, "Breathe in acceptance, breathe out Love Jumanji." That's how I fell back asleep.
I took the cable car up the mountain. At the top, the air was fresh, the view was beautiful, and there was a delicious campfire fragrance floating about. I walked for a bit to the lighthouse. I continued on for awhile, working up a sweat and enjoying it. Eventually, I noticed a small flower on the ground near the road. I decided I would use the macro feature on my camera to take a picture of it. So I kneeled down to snap the photo. As I got closer to the ground, I realized the folliage was alive with grasshoppers. I took some close-up pictures with my macro. I also observed that some of the grasshoppers were mating. So I took more pictures. Additionally, I just watched for awhile. It was very interesting because they were so comfortable procreating just out in the open, sometimes right next to another of their kind. And shortly after their legs flailed wildly, the one on bottom, presumably the female, would climb over to a bunch of leaves and proceed to eat, with the other grasshopper still clinging to its back. While I was watching one particular couple, I saw another grasshopper poop a short distance away. I hope all of this is not too graphic for anyone... it was just so fascinating I had to share. Later, I saw a bee and wanted to take a picture of it, or thirty. So I sat down on the ground and then spotted a ladybug. The bee flew away so I leaned in to shoot the ladybug, completely oblivious to the plants around me. Within moments, my arms were lined with little white bumps that stung and itched furiously. I doused my arms with some of my precious water, and shortly thereafter, it started to feel better. I experienced two other plants of the stinging, devil family, although different species, throughout the course of my photographic adventures. Later, while hiking through the forest, I broke into song, as often happens when I'm happy. No particular lyrics come to mind, but they were priceless if I can recall correctly. The sunset was exquisite. Vibrant flames of orange and red. Of course I managed to take photographs and shoot some video. I had a small meal on the mountain, followed by a conversation with an Italian man, translated by the owner of the restaurant. The Italian man shared with me his philosophy on President Bush, American wine vs. Italian wine, and also that he is a fascist. I don't know if he was joking. He also mentioned a time when he met an American man who liked very much to eat vegetable soup. I Love Italia.
Today was amazing. It definately started off interestingly. I awoke midnight-ish because a couple guys in the room were snoring horribly. I grabbed my nearby earplugs and fell back asleep. I awoke later at around six o'clock this morning because their snoring was so loud it bothered me through the earplugs. I wanted to go back to sleep so I decided to focus on my breathing. "Breathe in acceptance, breathe out Love. Breathe in acceptance, breathe in Love." And, as I drifted off, it became, "Breathe in acceptance, breathe out Love Jumanji." That's how I fell back asleep.
I took the cable car up the mountain. At the top, the air was fresh, the view was beautiful, and there was a delicious campfire fragrance floating about. I walked for a bit to the lighthouse. I continued on for awhile, working up a sweat and enjoying it. Eventually, I noticed a small flower on the ground near the road. I decided I would use the macro feature on my camera to take a picture of it. So I kneeled down to snap the photo. As I got closer to the ground, I realized the folliage was alive with grasshoppers. I took some close-up pictures with my macro. I also observed that some of the grasshoppers were mating. So I took more pictures. Additionally, I just watched for awhile. It was very interesting because they were so comfortable procreating just out in the open, sometimes right next to another of their kind. And shortly after their legs flailed wildly, the one on bottom, presumably the female, would climb over to a bunch of leaves and proceed to eat, with the other grasshopper still clinging to its back. While I was watching one particular couple, I saw another grasshopper poop a short distance away. I hope all of this is not too graphic for anyone... it was just so fascinating I had to share. Later, I saw a bee and wanted to take a picture of it, or thirty. So I sat down on the ground and then spotted a ladybug. The bee flew away so I leaned in to shoot the ladybug, completely oblivious to the plants around me. Within moments, my arms were lined with little white bumps that stung and itched furiously. I doused my arms with some of my precious water, and shortly thereafter, it started to feel better. I experienced two other plants of the stinging, devil family, although different species, throughout the course of my photographic adventures. Later, while hiking through the forest, I broke into song, as often happens when I'm happy. No particular lyrics come to mind, but they were priceless if I can recall correctly. The sunset was exquisite. Vibrant flames of orange and red. Of course I managed to take photographs and shoot some video. I had a small meal on the mountain, followed by a conversation with an Italian man, translated by the owner of the restaurant. The Italian man shared with me his philosophy on President Bush, American wine vs. Italian wine, and also that he is a fascist. I don't know if he was joking. He also mentioned a time when he met an American man who liked very much to eat vegetable soup. I Love Italia.
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