So it's all over. I'm home. Four days late and with tonsillitis, but I made it in one ragged piece. Our last night in London, we met up with 88 from Portugal and his friends and slept in, almost missing our flight...except that our flight turned out not to exist. Zoom cancelled it and our travel agency neglected to tell us, so we spent two nights in Gatwick airport (three for Kaje) and two extra nights wasting time in London, very dejected and disappointed. I had finally made peace with going home, and missing my time in Victoria and spending extra time in a cripplingly expensive city was a pretty rotten end...to a fantastic trip.
So here it is:
In 102 days, I visited 29 cities/towns in 16 countries.
I slept in 42 beds; on 4 buses, 2 ferries, and 3 trains; in 2 airports and 1 train station; in a treehouse and in a cave.
I got stung by a wasp, bitten by many bedbugs, got food poisoning, and had an eye infection.
I had to beg for money on two separate occasions.
I lit my hair on fire, broke my glasses, lost my bank card, and dropped my camera off a one-storey balcony.
My travel companion got robbed and we were forced to separate for a month.
I got yelled at by a Portugeuse Surf Nazi, a Finnish albino, and an old Portugeuse woman.
I went to prison.
I am now home, unemployed, ill, and massively in debt.
IT WAS SO WORTH IT.
Until next time (i.e. until I can drag myself out of debt and go on my next adventure)...
European Chelsea
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Sunday, December 03, 2006
One More for the Road
OMG. I am writing my last on-the-road blog. This is it, folks. Except for the emotional jetlagged email I will no doubt write when I get home. I am in disbelief.
Last I wrote we were in Prague. Trying to like beer. Never did succeed in that regard, but I did drink a total of I believe 7 beer on this trip. Pretty good, I think. Kaje liked to pour some of mine into hers when I was turned away though, and I would turn back and be pleased to discover that I had yet to choke down less than I had thought...So how much beer I actually consumed, I couldn´t really say. Anyway, Prague was good. We met a couple young American student photographers in our hostel and went out with them. We started at Banditos, the Mexican bar across the street where we ate like seventy-four meals and had many cocktails, one of which had a bunch of absinthe in it. Crazy and very potent stuff. Then we went to an underground bar called Kenny´s Music Island, owned by an illegal Nigerian immigrant named Kenny who sold weed over the counter. Yeah, you read that right, and no, weed is not legal in Prague. I think I have said all that I wanted to say about Prague. To sum up: I loved it. Almost as much as Paris. It is a close second.
After Prague, we went to Berlin, although only for a day, which was not enough for a city with that much going on. We did a free walking tour with a yelling kiwi guy with a spitting problem...not so pleasant in places like Parisser Platz. He was a really good guide though, and took us to all the highlights. Berlin has so much history, obviously, with Hitler and all that, and the Berlin partition during the Cold War. The Holocaust Memorial was really cool to see--it just opened after 7 years of construction and red tape. I´ll post a picture of that and everything else in my last emotional jetlagged post...All in all, Berlin: cool city.
OK, where to next? Seriously, it feels like we have been everywhere in the last month. Right, Amsterdam. On our way to Amsterdam, we made the mistake of not paying attention to which train car we were getting onto. Unfortunately, our train split somewhere along the way and we were on the wrong half of it. But German people are really nice, and three different incredibly helpful German people helped us make our train, wihch we had to run for...like, fast, with our packs on. First time we have had to do that, surprisingly, since we come close to missing every single train we take.
So Amsterdam was great. Yada yada yada. Crazy. I nearly got hit by a tram...like, really really close. I had to leap out of the way because it was ringing its bell. Kaje was on the other side and thought I was a goner.
Does this blog feel as scattered and random to you as it does to me? That´s what happens when you do a mad dash through a whole bunch of big cities. It is hard to keep straight and very hard to write a cohesive and coherent blog about. So this is what you are getting instead.
Next was Paris. Kaje almost peed her pants when she saw the Eiffel Tower. We met up with Aaron from Vienna and went to the Eiffel-Tower-Picture-Taking-Spot and took 7,509 pictures. I am not kidding. I am fairly sure that we have an entire GB of photos of the Eiffel Tower by itself. With and without lights. Day at night. Kaje in front of it. Me in front of it. Me and Kaje in front of it. Standing, squatting, sitting, lying down, standing on our heads. It was ridiculous. In fact, there was a couple parked at this spot (this place had Park ´n Pash written all over it) and they were laughing at us. We spent three and a half days in Paris, and I reckon about two of those were at the Eiffel Tower. We did manage to do some other things in Paris. Kaje went off and did some Paris things that I had done before and I just wandered around and enjoyed Paris. This place means a lot to me, I think because it is where I had my (shamelessly quoting Oprah) AHA moment on my last trip--where Alyson left me and I decided to stay, etc. Love this place. We went to a photo exhibit of Robert Doisneau´s photos (the guy who took the famous photo of the couple kissing...not the war one, but the one where the guy is dipping the girl) and it was great. Anyway, to sum up, Paris: fantastic. Still my favorite city.
Our next stop was unplanned before the trip. We wanted to see the German Christmas Markets and by the time we got to Berlin, they weren´t open yet. So we decided to stop by Cologne on our way to Frankfurt, to fly out. Cologne is where our friend Tobs lives. In order to explain why we decided to go to Cologne over every other place in Germany, you have to understand why we love Tobs so much. In order to explain that, we have to have our first...blog...REWIND...back to Rome...
OK, one of our final nights in Rome, we got moved to our third room in that hostel and met our new roommates, including Tobias from Germany and Emily from Australia. There were two other guys too but they were never around when we were, so we hadn´t met them. So one night, after several nights out until 3, 4, and 5am, we decided to spend a night in and catch up on our sleep. We went to be at 11 and passed out...then, in the middle of the night, I wake up (bottom bunk) to see a big, big man standing next to our bed, and Kaje (top bunk) having a little hissy. Turns out, Kaje woke up to find this big Frankenstein-sized man with his hand in her bed, sliding it towards her. So she (naturally) says really loudly, ¨Who are you? WHO ARE YOU?¨I thought this was a really funny thing to say to a guy who may or may not be trying to accost you, like ¨Who passes there? Identify thyself!¨ kind of thing, so I started to laugh. The Frankenstein´s Monster man disappears into the bathroom for a bit, then comes back into the room and is asleep in seconds. So Kaje is freaking out and she has woken up Em and Tobs and we all laugh and then Frankenstein starts snoring. Like, you have never heard snoring like this before in your life. Like, this guy needs an entire respiratory tract replacement because his is failing miserably. It was disgusting and loud and it kept the four of us up all night, from four until they left at eight. It was one of the worst but one of the funniest nights in a hostel on this trip, because we spent the whole night laughing. Kaje at one point called us ¨roomies¨and Tobs just loved this and used the word like every fifth word--imagine Arnold Schwartenegger saying ¨Roooooooomies¨ in his accent and you will appreciate how funny this is. So this night bonded us and we spent the next day with our little brother Tobs (he´s 19) and he uses the most awkward English phrases but is so happy and enthusiastic all the time, he is great. He sounds like he uses his German-English dictionary/thesaurus for everything and just picks the wrong words sometimes. He is good times, probably the most endearing person we have met on this trip.
So, naturally, we had to go see him. He and his younger brother Christian (Kiki to us), who is 18 but acts like he is about 43, came and met us at the train station in Cologne and took us around. We went to the Christmas markets, drank some gluvine (hot red wine...delicious) and ate traditional German food (enormous sausages) and drank beer (yuck) and laughed at our ¨Running gags¨(what Tobs calls our inside jokes). Then we went to Dortmund, a nearby city, where the boys live, and stayed at their house, which was so nice. Their parents were incredibly sweet and his mom drove us to the train station early in the morning to catch our train to the airport in Frankfurt. We stayed in a real house with a real family and rode in a real car. It was so nice, and made me realize that I might be OK with going home at this point.
Actually, this is how I feel about it...Hopefully those of you who are readers understand this feeling...
It is like when you are reading a really really great book and you get near the end and you don´t want it to end because then it will be over and you might not find another book this good for a long while. But then, you are near the end and you want to finish it, just to be done and see how it all turns out.
That is how I feel about the trip ending. We are on the home stretch. Less than a week to go, in the Canary Islands on what is meant to be a sunny beach rest period , except that it is cloudy and chilly (we had one great day...hopefully there will be more). We are both pretty burnt out, but trying to enjoy every last minute until our flight on Saturday...
Unbelievable.
Can´t wait to see you all!
Love,
Chels
Last I wrote we were in Prague. Trying to like beer. Never did succeed in that regard, but I did drink a total of I believe 7 beer on this trip. Pretty good, I think. Kaje liked to pour some of mine into hers when I was turned away though, and I would turn back and be pleased to discover that I had yet to choke down less than I had thought...So how much beer I actually consumed, I couldn´t really say. Anyway, Prague was good. We met a couple young American student photographers in our hostel and went out with them. We started at Banditos, the Mexican bar across the street where we ate like seventy-four meals and had many cocktails, one of which had a bunch of absinthe in it. Crazy and very potent stuff. Then we went to an underground bar called Kenny´s Music Island, owned by an illegal Nigerian immigrant named Kenny who sold weed over the counter. Yeah, you read that right, and no, weed is not legal in Prague. I think I have said all that I wanted to say about Prague. To sum up: I loved it. Almost as much as Paris. It is a close second.
After Prague, we went to Berlin, although only for a day, which was not enough for a city with that much going on. We did a free walking tour with a yelling kiwi guy with a spitting problem...not so pleasant in places like Parisser Platz. He was a really good guide though, and took us to all the highlights. Berlin has so much history, obviously, with Hitler and all that, and the Berlin partition during the Cold War. The Holocaust Memorial was really cool to see--it just opened after 7 years of construction and red tape. I´ll post a picture of that and everything else in my last emotional jetlagged post...All in all, Berlin: cool city.
OK, where to next? Seriously, it feels like we have been everywhere in the last month. Right, Amsterdam. On our way to Amsterdam, we made the mistake of not paying attention to which train car we were getting onto. Unfortunately, our train split somewhere along the way and we were on the wrong half of it. But German people are really nice, and three different incredibly helpful German people helped us make our train, wihch we had to run for...like, fast, with our packs on. First time we have had to do that, surprisingly, since we come close to missing every single train we take.
So Amsterdam was great. Yada yada yada. Crazy. I nearly got hit by a tram...like, really really close. I had to leap out of the way because it was ringing its bell. Kaje was on the other side and thought I was a goner.
Does this blog feel as scattered and random to you as it does to me? That´s what happens when you do a mad dash through a whole bunch of big cities. It is hard to keep straight and very hard to write a cohesive and coherent blog about. So this is what you are getting instead.
Next was Paris. Kaje almost peed her pants when she saw the Eiffel Tower. We met up with Aaron from Vienna and went to the Eiffel-Tower-Picture-Taking-Spot and took 7,509 pictures. I am not kidding. I am fairly sure that we have an entire GB of photos of the Eiffel Tower by itself. With and without lights. Day at night. Kaje in front of it. Me in front of it. Me and Kaje in front of it. Standing, squatting, sitting, lying down, standing on our heads. It was ridiculous. In fact, there was a couple parked at this spot (this place had Park ´n Pash written all over it) and they were laughing at us. We spent three and a half days in Paris, and I reckon about two of those were at the Eiffel Tower. We did manage to do some other things in Paris. Kaje went off and did some Paris things that I had done before and I just wandered around and enjoyed Paris. This place means a lot to me, I think because it is where I had my (shamelessly quoting Oprah) AHA moment on my last trip--where Alyson left me and I decided to stay, etc. Love this place. We went to a photo exhibit of Robert Doisneau´s photos (the guy who took the famous photo of the couple kissing...not the war one, but the one where the guy is dipping the girl) and it was great. Anyway, to sum up, Paris: fantastic. Still my favorite city.
Our next stop was unplanned before the trip. We wanted to see the German Christmas Markets and by the time we got to Berlin, they weren´t open yet. So we decided to stop by Cologne on our way to Frankfurt, to fly out. Cologne is where our friend Tobs lives. In order to explain why we decided to go to Cologne over every other place in Germany, you have to understand why we love Tobs so much. In order to explain that, we have to have our first...blog...REWIND...back to Rome...
OK, one of our final nights in Rome, we got moved to our third room in that hostel and met our new roommates, including Tobias from Germany and Emily from Australia. There were two other guys too but they were never around when we were, so we hadn´t met them. So one night, after several nights out until 3, 4, and 5am, we decided to spend a night in and catch up on our sleep. We went to be at 11 and passed out...then, in the middle of the night, I wake up (bottom bunk) to see a big, big man standing next to our bed, and Kaje (top bunk) having a little hissy. Turns out, Kaje woke up to find this big Frankenstein-sized man with his hand in her bed, sliding it towards her. So she (naturally) says really loudly, ¨Who are you? WHO ARE YOU?¨I thought this was a really funny thing to say to a guy who may or may not be trying to accost you, like ¨Who passes there? Identify thyself!¨ kind of thing, so I started to laugh. The Frankenstein´s Monster man disappears into the bathroom for a bit, then comes back into the room and is asleep in seconds. So Kaje is freaking out and she has woken up Em and Tobs and we all laugh and then Frankenstein starts snoring. Like, you have never heard snoring like this before in your life. Like, this guy needs an entire respiratory tract replacement because his is failing miserably. It was disgusting and loud and it kept the four of us up all night, from four until they left at eight. It was one of the worst but one of the funniest nights in a hostel on this trip, because we spent the whole night laughing. Kaje at one point called us ¨roomies¨and Tobs just loved this and used the word like every fifth word--imagine Arnold Schwartenegger saying ¨Roooooooomies¨ in his accent and you will appreciate how funny this is. So this night bonded us and we spent the next day with our little brother Tobs (he´s 19) and he uses the most awkward English phrases but is so happy and enthusiastic all the time, he is great. He sounds like he uses his German-English dictionary/thesaurus for everything and just picks the wrong words sometimes. He is good times, probably the most endearing person we have met on this trip.
So, naturally, we had to go see him. He and his younger brother Christian (Kiki to us), who is 18 but acts like he is about 43, came and met us at the train station in Cologne and took us around. We went to the Christmas markets, drank some gluvine (hot red wine...delicious) and ate traditional German food (enormous sausages) and drank beer (yuck) and laughed at our ¨Running gags¨(what Tobs calls our inside jokes). Then we went to Dortmund, a nearby city, where the boys live, and stayed at their house, which was so nice. Their parents were incredibly sweet and his mom drove us to the train station early in the morning to catch our train to the airport in Frankfurt. We stayed in a real house with a real family and rode in a real car. It was so nice, and made me realize that I might be OK with going home at this point.
Actually, this is how I feel about it...Hopefully those of you who are readers understand this feeling...
It is like when you are reading a really really great book and you get near the end and you don´t want it to end because then it will be over and you might not find another book this good for a long while. But then, you are near the end and you want to finish it, just to be done and see how it all turns out.
That is how I feel about the trip ending. We are on the home stretch. Less than a week to go, in the Canary Islands on what is meant to be a sunny beach rest period , except that it is cloudy and chilly (we had one great day...hopefully there will be more). We are both pretty burnt out, but trying to enjoy every last minute until our flight on Saturday...
Unbelievable.
Can´t wait to see you all!
Love,
Chels
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Praha? Czech!
I know, I know, it has been awhile. That is because nothing particularly blog-worthy has happened since I last wrote. No incarcerations. No robberies. No jumping off cliffs. No begging for money from random tourists. We have been eating well, drinking lots of red wine, and wandering around nice cities. Some people might call this a trip-gone-smoothly. I call it poor blog material. And anything that is blog-worthy is not blog-friendly, you know? Life is hard.
So last time I wrote, I was in Bosnia. I don't believe I talked about our last night in Sarajevo, when this Aussie guy called Greg invited us to this wine party. At the mention of wine, Kaje and I were, of course, keen, so we were all over it. Turned out to be one of the best deals of the trip. We paid the equivalent of 10 euros and got a free wine glass and got unlimited wine from a bunch of wineries all over Croatia, Bosnia, and Hercegovina (sp?). AND there were tons of canapes, all made with truffles...You know, those fancy things worth thousands of dollars because only hogs can dig them up from under the ground? (I think that's the story). So we ate lots and drank lots and hung out with the sophisticated artsy crowd of Sarajevo. Yes, we were the least sophisticated people there, by a considerable and very visible margin. I was wearing jeans and Uggs and a yoga zip-up...I was way underdressed and I was a bit too excited about the bottomless wine glass. There were pretty cigarette rep girls wandering around in red cocktail dresses giving free cigarettes and lighting them for you. Greg was all over that. I smoked a couple, due to massive peer pressure from Greg and the fag rep girls. And Sadam Hussein was there. There is a picture on Shutterfly with him in it. Kaje is in the foreground, laughing, and he is in the background. That was the day he got sentenced to death, so I can understand why he needed to go out drinking. After we closed down the party, we went to the place where Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated, sparking the beginning of WWI, and re-enacted the assassination. Is that rude?
Next day, we headed to Mostar, where I wrote the last blog. It is a town on a river with a famous bridge. During the Bosnian War, the Muslims and the Croats (Christians) banded together to oust the Serbs, then turned on each other and bombed and shelled each other, including the bridge. It's been rebuilt now, but the Muslims and Christians still live on opposite sides of the river and hate each other. The city, like Sarajevo, is full of bombed-out buildings and there are bullet holes everywhere.
We finally made it to Dubrovnik, Croatia, after days and days of trying to get there. It was really pretty, but really dead. There's really not that much to say about Croatia, to be honest. We ate four Italian meals, drank a lot of red wine, saw a beautiful sunset, hung out beside some very turquoise water. Could have been very romantic...but, alas, there were no guys around. We headed up to Split and took a ferry back to Italy, where we went straight to Florence for some more fabulous meals, some more wine, loads of shopping, and a couple CRAZY nights playing asshole with a motley crew of maniacs. I'm not kidding about it being crazy. I would say it was about as crazy as a night playing cards in a hostel can get. Crazy.
Next was Vienna, which was beautiful. We wandered around, saw the Sigmund Freud Museum (which bored the bejesus out of me...the coach isn't there...it's just a bunch of photos and report cards and books in display cases...I thought there would at least be some Phallic ink blots or something, but nothing), the Belvedere (where the famous Klimt painting "The Kiss" is...very, very cool to see in person). We drank coffee in Cafe Central, where Freud, Lenin, and Trotsky used to play chess, and went to the opera "La Boheme" (the opera on which Rent is based). We got standing spots though, and we were exhausted (hungover) and way underdressed (again) so we only stayed for the first act. Plus we couldn't see much, because all the action was on the 1/3 of the stage that we couldn't see. Which is probably why our entry was only 2 euros. It was pretty cool just to see the inside of the opera house, though. And to see a sequence from Rent, only without the heroin and HIV and homosexuality.
We had one crazy night in Vienna, thanks to Red Bull. Red Bull comes from Austria, so it is really cheap there, and Kaje and I were a little low-energy, so RB&V was the drink of the night...I ended up (accidentally) having seven Red Bull, which beats my record from last summer, and had some strange physiological and psychological effects. (Calm down, Mom, I'm fine. My heart has resumed its normal beating pattern and the shakes have subsided). Anyway, we had a good time and stayed up very, very late. So when we finally started to fade and went back to the room, four of us in our dorm were having a little chat and trying to find my camera, which was lost temporarily. Unfortunately, I'm realizing that I can't tell this story without being able to affect an angry Finnish accent and posting a picture of our long-haired Albino Finnish roommate, who we called Adolf. We were buds with Adolf earlier in the night, but he had gone to bed early as he had to work the next morning. See, Adolf actually lives in Vienna, but stays in a hostel. So we don't really have that much sympathy for him. He is staying in a dorm. In a youth hostel. Noise happens. So anyway, we're all making our way to bed and looking for my camera (overhead lights were off) and Adolph, who wears a black satin sleep mask over his eyes, sits upright in bed and yells (imagine the white-blonde ponytail, the sleep mask, and the Finnish accent now) "F*** you, asshole!" Initially, we froze in confusion. He said asshole, singular. Who was he addressing? Then he followed up with, "Take your town meeting somewhere else!" Tom (T-Dot), our Kiwi roommate, said, "What's a town meeting?" And Adolph said, "It's where people go to talk a lot." We thought this was pretty hysterically funny, so Adolph didn't get the response (silence) that he was hoping for. He moved out of our room the next day.
We are in Prague now, and it is beautiful. It is my favourite city yet in Europe...Paris has been bumped. We haven't had loads of fun yet, but I am making a valiant effort to like beer. I figure that if I am going to become a beer-drinker, the Czech Republic is the place to do it...But I don't think it's in the cards for me. I'll probably keep faking it as long as I'm here, though. It's cheaper than water...
The end of this trip is coming way, way too quickly.
I miss you all!
Love,
Chels
So last time I wrote, I was in Bosnia. I don't believe I talked about our last night in Sarajevo, when this Aussie guy called Greg invited us to this wine party. At the mention of wine, Kaje and I were, of course, keen, so we were all over it. Turned out to be one of the best deals of the trip. We paid the equivalent of 10 euros and got a free wine glass and got unlimited wine from a bunch of wineries all over Croatia, Bosnia, and Hercegovina (sp?). AND there were tons of canapes, all made with truffles...You know, those fancy things worth thousands of dollars because only hogs can dig them up from under the ground? (I think that's the story). So we ate lots and drank lots and hung out with the sophisticated artsy crowd of Sarajevo. Yes, we were the least sophisticated people there, by a considerable and very visible margin. I was wearing jeans and Uggs and a yoga zip-up...I was way underdressed and I was a bit too excited about the bottomless wine glass. There were pretty cigarette rep girls wandering around in red cocktail dresses giving free cigarettes and lighting them for you. Greg was all over that. I smoked a couple, due to massive peer pressure from Greg and the fag rep girls. And Sadam Hussein was there. There is a picture on Shutterfly with him in it. Kaje is in the foreground, laughing, and he is in the background. That was the day he got sentenced to death, so I can understand why he needed to go out drinking. After we closed down the party, we went to the place where Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated, sparking the beginning of WWI, and re-enacted the assassination. Is that rude?
Next day, we headed to Mostar, where I wrote the last blog. It is a town on a river with a famous bridge. During the Bosnian War, the Muslims and the Croats (Christians) banded together to oust the Serbs, then turned on each other and bombed and shelled each other, including the bridge. It's been rebuilt now, but the Muslims and Christians still live on opposite sides of the river and hate each other. The city, like Sarajevo, is full of bombed-out buildings and there are bullet holes everywhere.
We finally made it to Dubrovnik, Croatia, after days and days of trying to get there. It was really pretty, but really dead. There's really not that much to say about Croatia, to be honest. We ate four Italian meals, drank a lot of red wine, saw a beautiful sunset, hung out beside some very turquoise water. Could have been very romantic...but, alas, there were no guys around. We headed up to Split and took a ferry back to Italy, where we went straight to Florence for some more fabulous meals, some more wine, loads of shopping, and a couple CRAZY nights playing asshole with a motley crew of maniacs. I'm not kidding about it being crazy. I would say it was about as crazy as a night playing cards in a hostel can get. Crazy.
Next was Vienna, which was beautiful. We wandered around, saw the Sigmund Freud Museum (which bored the bejesus out of me...the coach isn't there...it's just a bunch of photos and report cards and books in display cases...I thought there would at least be some Phallic ink blots or something, but nothing), the Belvedere (where the famous Klimt painting "The Kiss" is...very, very cool to see in person). We drank coffee in Cafe Central, where Freud, Lenin, and Trotsky used to play chess, and went to the opera "La Boheme" (the opera on which Rent is based). We got standing spots though, and we were exhausted (hungover) and way underdressed (again) so we only stayed for the first act. Plus we couldn't see much, because all the action was on the 1/3 of the stage that we couldn't see. Which is probably why our entry was only 2 euros. It was pretty cool just to see the inside of the opera house, though. And to see a sequence from Rent, only without the heroin and HIV and homosexuality.
We had one crazy night in Vienna, thanks to Red Bull. Red Bull comes from Austria, so it is really cheap there, and Kaje and I were a little low-energy, so RB&V was the drink of the night...I ended up (accidentally) having seven Red Bull, which beats my record from last summer, and had some strange physiological and psychological effects. (Calm down, Mom, I'm fine. My heart has resumed its normal beating pattern and the shakes have subsided). Anyway, we had a good time and stayed up very, very late. So when we finally started to fade and went back to the room, four of us in our dorm were having a little chat and trying to find my camera, which was lost temporarily. Unfortunately, I'm realizing that I can't tell this story without being able to affect an angry Finnish accent and posting a picture of our long-haired Albino Finnish roommate, who we called Adolf. We were buds with Adolf earlier in the night, but he had gone to bed early as he had to work the next morning. See, Adolf actually lives in Vienna, but stays in a hostel. So we don't really have that much sympathy for him. He is staying in a dorm. In a youth hostel. Noise happens. So anyway, we're all making our way to bed and looking for my camera (overhead lights were off) and Adolph, who wears a black satin sleep mask over his eyes, sits upright in bed and yells (imagine the white-blonde ponytail, the sleep mask, and the Finnish accent now) "F*** you, asshole!" Initially, we froze in confusion. He said asshole, singular. Who was he addressing? Then he followed up with, "Take your town meeting somewhere else!" Tom (T-Dot), our Kiwi roommate, said, "What's a town meeting?" And Adolph said, "It's where people go to talk a lot." We thought this was pretty hysterically funny, so Adolph didn't get the response (silence) that he was hoping for. He moved out of our room the next day.
We are in Prague now, and it is beautiful. It is my favourite city yet in Europe...Paris has been bumped. We haven't had loads of fun yet, but I am making a valiant effort to like beer. I figure that if I am going to become a beer-drinker, the Czech Republic is the place to do it...But I don't think it's in the cards for me. I'll probably keep faking it as long as I'm here, though. It's cheaper than water...
The end of this trip is coming way, way too quickly.
I miss you all!
Love,
Chels
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Without further adieu...
OK, OK, I get it. You want pictures. I dont know if this is because of the whole "a picture is worth a thousand words" deal or if you would just rather see some pictures than read my looooong verbose blog posts, but here is a start. If this works. We all know how much I suck at computers.
This is a very random assortment and I know there are some duplicates. I will add more and put some captions on them when I have time/figure out how. The older people in the photos, to answer many many questions, are not fellow inmates but two homeless people who lived in our hotel in Thessaloniki (possibly not so much a hotel as a homeless shelter). They were hilarious. The video we have of them is priceless. The first are from London TWO months ago, the beach ones are from Sardinia, then most are recent...prison, etc. They will all be explained in due time. This is just a taster...
http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0AYt2jZs5Zs2Llw
Hope this works. Otherwise you will have to wait some more.
This is a very random assortment and I know there are some duplicates. I will add more and put some captions on them when I have time/figure out how. The older people in the photos, to answer many many questions, are not fellow inmates but two homeless people who lived in our hotel in Thessaloniki (possibly not so much a hotel as a homeless shelter). They were hilarious. The video we have of them is priceless. The first are from London TWO months ago, the beach ones are from Sardinia, then most are recent...prison, etc. They will all be explained in due time. This is just a taster...
http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0AYt2jZs5Zs2Llw
Hope this works. Otherwise you will have to wait some more.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Does This Mean I Have a Criminal Record?
Never in my life have I been so at risk for a deep vein thrombosis (DVT). For those of you readers who are doctors, MOAs or die-hard fans of Greys Anatomy, a DVT is a blood clot that forms in your leg--often after long periods of inactivity--that can travel to your lungs and kill you. I have spent the last three days sitting down. Literally I am pretty sure that I could count the number of steps I have taken in the last three days.
So last you heard from me, Kaje and I were preparing to take a 20-hour train to Zagreb, Croatia. Well, Eastern Europe threw us quite the little curveball in the form of a stern customs official 1.5 hours in to our journey. We were asleep when he came to ask for our passports, then took a look and said, "We have problem." We didnt even know what country we were leaving or entering, but as it turns out, it was the Former Yugloslav Republic of Macedonia (I wrote this out instead of "Macedonia" because it sounds a lot more sinister, no? And sinister is what it was...) and Canadians are not so well beloved by Macedonia. We apparently did not have the requisite paperwork, which needs to be applied for 48 hours in advance at a consulate. So the police officer ordered Kaje and I to get our luggage and deboard the train. I am thinking that we can just give him some money, but instead he put us in jail. OK, not jail jail, but a holding cell in the police station--an 8 by 10 room that was regularly monitored by angry Macedonians. We were left in there for 13 hours without food or water (although we did get a heater, which was nice because it was FREEZING) and were only allowed to leave to use the washroom. It was insane. At first, Kaje and I did all we could do--laughed a lot at the weirdness of being in JAIL, said "dont drop the soap" when she went to the bathroom, did Sudoku puzzles, and ate bananas and Nutella. That worked for about six hours. Then the angry Macedonian said that we would be extradited back to Thessaloniki at 5pm (OK, extradited wasnt the word she used but it seems appropriate). 5pm came and went...6...7...then we were told that the train that was supposed to come was a few hours late as it was encountering troubles at the Yugoslavian border and would not be there until 9 or 9:30. This is where I started getting angry and yelling. Kaje kept saying that she really wished we had a pack of cigarettes because it would just be really appropriate to chain smoke in jail...especially when I was having one of my little rants.) The time kept slipping by, no one was telling us anything, the staff changed over, they had our passports, and...the train that was supposed to be coming for us (the only train) was stuck at the border of a country that DOES NOT EXIST. This concerned me a good deal. Tod, our new American friend who reads Platoan philosophy on train rides, put it best: If a train is stuck in a country that isn`t, is the train? Hmmmm...So I started ranting and getting really paranoid. And then, suddenly, it was over. A disappointingly friendly police officer (because really, it makes for a much better story if we get treated badly the whole way) escorted us onto a train, gave us our passports, and said good night. In our passports, we now have a Macedonian entry stamp with another big "REJECTED" (or whatever) stamped over top.
We had to spend the night in the train station that night, which wasnt cool, especially if you remember my last post about lack of sleep and showers...So after arriving back at Square One in Thessaloniki at 1am (17 hours after leaving) we slept in the very dodgy, very cold train station and got on a train to Sofiya, Bulgaria early the next morning. This train was supposed to arrive at about noon, in time for us to transfer to Belgrade and on to Zagreb, but again things did not go according to plan. Our train broke, had to have its engine replaced (this is only beginning of Eastern European dodginess, seriously), then sat at EU customs and Bulgarian customs for well over an hour each. So we arrived four hours late, missing our connection. We had met some new friends on the train--a Kiwi Maori girl named Pita and an American dude (the eleventh child in his family!) named Tod. They were a lot of fun, and honestly were a godsend for this situation. It was -10 in Sofiya and could not have been much warmer inside the station, where we had to wait for five hours. So we picked up a Slovakian dude named Lubor and a British chap named Oliver and drank liters and liters of cheap Bulgarian red wine from plastic 2L jugs. It was actuallz really decent wine and we had a good laugh, waiting there and spending the equivalent of 10€ (which is about 19 of their currency...which we called the Bulgo) on more food than the two of us could have hoped to eat and six hot chocolates from McDicks (a McDonalds, by the way, that did not have fries or burgers...crazy). It was actually a pretty fun time, considering the fact that we were freezing in the train station (despite wearing about fourteen layers each) of a country that we never planned or wanted to visit. We all got on an overnight train to Belgrade that night, where Kaje passed out in her bunk to the degree that every time one of the millions of customs officials came to our cabin, she didnt wake up, despite yelling and poking. The Serbian customs man was all concerned and asked me, "What is wrong? She is ill?"
We all had to part ways this morning in Belgrade, which was quite sad. Going through an experience like Eastern Europe with people reallz brings you together...like war, you know? So Kaje and I jumped on a bus to Sarajevo, which is where we are now...
(That last part was all written two nights ago and saved because I was too exhausted to type anymore. It is now November 5 and I will continue where I left off...)
Sarajevo was amazing. It was incredible to see a place that so recently was at war, and that has evidence of this fact all over the city. We took a tour and visited to tunnel where Sarajevoans passed through to Bosnian Free Territory during the siege, for food and water. It was FREEZING and during the four years that Sarajevo was surrounded by Serbs, they had no water and no electricity, and there were daily shellings and bombings. There are bullet holes in buildings all over the city, marks in the sidewalks where bombs exploded (many of which are filled with red paint and called "Sarajevo Roses") and buildings completely gutted by bombs. On our way into the city, the guy from our hostel who picked us up at the station did not speak any English but every time we passed a building that had been bombed, he would point, make a bomb sound effect, and say matter-of-factly, "No money. No resolution." We thought this was pretty funny but then when you spend some time in the city, it isnt funny at all. The city is beautiful and the people are obviously pretty amazing. The guy at our hostel said that it was the best and worst time of his life, because the people of the city--who could have fled if they wanted to--stuck together in a way he has never seen before. Sarajevo is the coolest mix of religions--it is known for its religious tolerance. There are mosques, Jewish synagogues, and Christian churches within a square mile of each other, and our tour guide said that the most relevant question you can ask and the best way you can judge whether you like them is not by asking which religion or ethnic group they belong to, but by asking which football team they cheer for. I could rave about the city lots more, but I wont...I will just say that it is difficult to describe what is so special about Sarajevo, but it is really, really special.
OK, there is much more to say, but no time or energy to say it. More later!
Love you all!
Chels
So last you heard from me, Kaje and I were preparing to take a 20-hour train to Zagreb, Croatia. Well, Eastern Europe threw us quite the little curveball in the form of a stern customs official 1.5 hours in to our journey. We were asleep when he came to ask for our passports, then took a look and said, "We have problem." We didnt even know what country we were leaving or entering, but as it turns out, it was the Former Yugloslav Republic of Macedonia (I wrote this out instead of "Macedonia" because it sounds a lot more sinister, no? And sinister is what it was...) and Canadians are not so well beloved by Macedonia. We apparently did not have the requisite paperwork, which needs to be applied for 48 hours in advance at a consulate. So the police officer ordered Kaje and I to get our luggage and deboard the train. I am thinking that we can just give him some money, but instead he put us in jail. OK, not jail jail, but a holding cell in the police station--an 8 by 10 room that was regularly monitored by angry Macedonians. We were left in there for 13 hours without food or water (although we did get a heater, which was nice because it was FREEZING) and were only allowed to leave to use the washroom. It was insane. At first, Kaje and I did all we could do--laughed a lot at the weirdness of being in JAIL, said "dont drop the soap" when she went to the bathroom, did Sudoku puzzles, and ate bananas and Nutella. That worked for about six hours. Then the angry Macedonian said that we would be extradited back to Thessaloniki at 5pm (OK, extradited wasnt the word she used but it seems appropriate). 5pm came and went...6...7...then we were told that the train that was supposed to come was a few hours late as it was encountering troubles at the Yugoslavian border and would not be there until 9 or 9:30. This is where I started getting angry and yelling. Kaje kept saying that she really wished we had a pack of cigarettes because it would just be really appropriate to chain smoke in jail...especially when I was having one of my little rants.) The time kept slipping by, no one was telling us anything, the staff changed over, they had our passports, and...the train that was supposed to be coming for us (the only train) was stuck at the border of a country that DOES NOT EXIST. This concerned me a good deal. Tod, our new American friend who reads Platoan philosophy on train rides, put it best: If a train is stuck in a country that isn`t, is the train? Hmmmm...So I started ranting and getting really paranoid. And then, suddenly, it was over. A disappointingly friendly police officer (because really, it makes for a much better story if we get treated badly the whole way) escorted us onto a train, gave us our passports, and said good night. In our passports, we now have a Macedonian entry stamp with another big "REJECTED" (or whatever) stamped over top.
We had to spend the night in the train station that night, which wasnt cool, especially if you remember my last post about lack of sleep and showers...So after arriving back at Square One in Thessaloniki at 1am (17 hours after leaving) we slept in the very dodgy, very cold train station and got on a train to Sofiya, Bulgaria early the next morning. This train was supposed to arrive at about noon, in time for us to transfer to Belgrade and on to Zagreb, but again things did not go according to plan. Our train broke, had to have its engine replaced (this is only beginning of Eastern European dodginess, seriously), then sat at EU customs and Bulgarian customs for well over an hour each. So we arrived four hours late, missing our connection. We had met some new friends on the train--a Kiwi Maori girl named Pita and an American dude (the eleventh child in his family!) named Tod. They were a lot of fun, and honestly were a godsend for this situation. It was -10 in Sofiya and could not have been much warmer inside the station, where we had to wait for five hours. So we picked up a Slovakian dude named Lubor and a British chap named Oliver and drank liters and liters of cheap Bulgarian red wine from plastic 2L jugs. It was actuallz really decent wine and we had a good laugh, waiting there and spending the equivalent of 10€ (which is about 19 of their currency...which we called the Bulgo) on more food than the two of us could have hoped to eat and six hot chocolates from McDicks (a McDonalds, by the way, that did not have fries or burgers...crazy). It was actually a pretty fun time, considering the fact that we were freezing in the train station (despite wearing about fourteen layers each) of a country that we never planned or wanted to visit. We all got on an overnight train to Belgrade that night, where Kaje passed out in her bunk to the degree that every time one of the millions of customs officials came to our cabin, she didnt wake up, despite yelling and poking. The Serbian customs man was all concerned and asked me, "What is wrong? She is ill?"
We all had to part ways this morning in Belgrade, which was quite sad. Going through an experience like Eastern Europe with people reallz brings you together...like war, you know? So Kaje and I jumped on a bus to Sarajevo, which is where we are now...
(That last part was all written two nights ago and saved because I was too exhausted to type anymore. It is now November 5 and I will continue where I left off...)
Sarajevo was amazing. It was incredible to see a place that so recently was at war, and that has evidence of this fact all over the city. We took a tour and visited to tunnel where Sarajevoans passed through to Bosnian Free Territory during the siege, for food and water. It was FREEZING and during the four years that Sarajevo was surrounded by Serbs, they had no water and no electricity, and there were daily shellings and bombings. There are bullet holes in buildings all over the city, marks in the sidewalks where bombs exploded (many of which are filled with red paint and called "Sarajevo Roses") and buildings completely gutted by bombs. On our way into the city, the guy from our hostel who picked us up at the station did not speak any English but every time we passed a building that had been bombed, he would point, make a bomb sound effect, and say matter-of-factly, "No money. No resolution." We thought this was pretty funny but then when you spend some time in the city, it isnt funny at all. The city is beautiful and the people are obviously pretty amazing. The guy at our hostel said that it was the best and worst time of his life, because the people of the city--who could have fled if they wanted to--stuck together in a way he has never seen before. Sarajevo is the coolest mix of religions--it is known for its religious tolerance. There are mosques, Jewish synagogues, and Christian churches within a square mile of each other, and our tour guide said that the most relevant question you can ask and the best way you can judge whether you like them is not by asking which religion or ethnic group they belong to, but by asking which football team they cheer for. I could rave about the city lots more, but I wont...I will just say that it is difficult to describe what is so special about Sarajevo, but it is really, really special.
OK, there is much more to say, but no time or energy to say it. More later!
Love you all!
Chels
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Teasugaranddenim, Turkiye
If you're wondering, "Tea-sugar-and-denim" is how tourism people tell lingustically-challenged English-speakers to say for "thank-you" in Turkish. It sounds close enough. You'd think we'd manage to learn at least one word properly in each country, but Turkish is a challenge.
If any of you is in the least bit envious of my adventures in Europe, please consider the following. In the past two weeks I have:
-taken five overnight buses;
-slept in a bed infested with bed bugs;
-slept alternately upright and on the floor of the Athens airport;
-had 1 hot shower. You can't get bloody hot water in Turkey. Even in Pamukkale, the place that is positively bubbling over with hot mineral water, you can't get a hot shower. Ironic.
I am dirty. I am exhausted. I probably smell, but am so used to it that I don't even know it. (Just kidding, I smell like daisies).
But I love this place...especially Turkey. I am back on EU soil now, having reluctantly left Turkey three days ago. I shed a tear as I sailed away.
Olympos was terrific but starting to slow down. The first night there, I hung out with two Argentinian girls living in London and a Spanish dude from Barcelona. I was happy to just listen to them speak Spanish most of the time but they all spoke fantastic English as well. I really have to get my French skills polished up again. I feel shamed by my monolingualism when everyone in Europe needs fingers--sometimes on both hands--to count all the languages they speak. Shame. We all went up to the Chimaera, these mythological fires up this mountain. They're campfire-sized fires that perpetually burn and scientists don't know why. It smells like there is some sort of gas involved but it is supposed to have something to do with an ancient god being imprisoned by the mountain...or something. Educational, hey? Whatever, it was cool. Olympos is supposed to be pretty crazy but there wasn't that much going on when I was there, especially the second night. I was quite ill anyway that night...So Olympos wasn't quite what I expected but it was relaxing and mellow and now I can say that I have stayed in a bona fide treehouse. Check that off the life's to-do list...
Speaking of which, a couple days later I checked a big one of the life's to-do. I went paragliding in Oludeniz, this amazing beach near Fethiye. It's said to be the best place to do it in the world and I believe it. It was spectacular. Right before I was meant to go, I thought about my dad going parasailing in Mexico and looking down and seeing a big knot tying two pieces of rope together...I wondered if Turkey was more or less safety-conscious than Mexico, but didn't have time to really think that one through because I was ordered to run down this mountain slope...I was freaked as I started running but then I figured that I was strapped to a presumably-not-suicidal guy, so he probably checked and double-checked all equipment with due dilligence. It was a pretty cool feeling, running, running, running ("Keep running!" Mel, my "pilot" kept saying) and then you're running but your feet aren't touching the ground anymore and you lift off. Very cool. Mel got a little ballsy towards the end and started doing acrobatics and it made me feel really ill so we had to land...but it was amazing. It is like floating. Coolest way to end my time in Turkey...That, and a late late LATE night out with a massive group of Canadian girls from my hostel, led by the hostel's Turkish staff. Trouble, those Turkish boys. Nothing but trouble. I finally got to smoke the Turkish water pipe but I didn't really like it much. Every time I smoked it (because it is so easy to smoke) it gave me a major headrush and made me dizzy. Orhan, the hostel guy, told me that he had had the waiter put hash in the pipe, and everyone was laughing at me (they were all older than me and were laughing at me like I was this foolish young girl) becaues they thought that I thought I was high. All I felt was a headrush from all the tobacco, being the one person in Europe who doesn't smoke. Everyone kept telling me how "cute" I was. Not cool. But a good night all the same, and no help to my sleep deprivation.
I am in Thessaloniki now, waiting for Kaje to arrive by train this afternoon. It is three weeks to the day since we split up and I am stoked to be a duo again. I love how many cool people I have met in the last two weeks, but it gets sad saying good-bye to people every day or two. Tomorrow morning we leave on a 20-hour train ride to Croatia...I am going to try to sleep the entire way.
Love,
chelsea
I'm working on the pics but the last three internet cafes I have used don't have USB ports. You don't believe me anymore, do you? You think I'm making all these people and places up...
If any of you is in the least bit envious of my adventures in Europe, please consider the following. In the past two weeks I have:
-taken five overnight buses;
-slept in a bed infested with bed bugs;
-slept alternately upright and on the floor of the Athens airport;
-had 1 hot shower. You can't get bloody hot water in Turkey. Even in Pamukkale, the place that is positively bubbling over with hot mineral water, you can't get a hot shower. Ironic.
I am dirty. I am exhausted. I probably smell, but am so used to it that I don't even know it. (Just kidding, I smell like daisies).
But I love this place...especially Turkey. I am back on EU soil now, having reluctantly left Turkey three days ago. I shed a tear as I sailed away.
Olympos was terrific but starting to slow down. The first night there, I hung out with two Argentinian girls living in London and a Spanish dude from Barcelona. I was happy to just listen to them speak Spanish most of the time but they all spoke fantastic English as well. I really have to get my French skills polished up again. I feel shamed by my monolingualism when everyone in Europe needs fingers--sometimes on both hands--to count all the languages they speak. Shame. We all went up to the Chimaera, these mythological fires up this mountain. They're campfire-sized fires that perpetually burn and scientists don't know why. It smells like there is some sort of gas involved but it is supposed to have something to do with an ancient god being imprisoned by the mountain...or something. Educational, hey? Whatever, it was cool. Olympos is supposed to be pretty crazy but there wasn't that much going on when I was there, especially the second night. I was quite ill anyway that night...So Olympos wasn't quite what I expected but it was relaxing and mellow and now I can say that I have stayed in a bona fide treehouse. Check that off the life's to-do list...
Speaking of which, a couple days later I checked a big one of the life's to-do. I went paragliding in Oludeniz, this amazing beach near Fethiye. It's said to be the best place to do it in the world and I believe it. It was spectacular. Right before I was meant to go, I thought about my dad going parasailing in Mexico and looking down and seeing a big knot tying two pieces of rope together...I wondered if Turkey was more or less safety-conscious than Mexico, but didn't have time to really think that one through because I was ordered to run down this mountain slope...I was freaked as I started running but then I figured that I was strapped to a presumably-not-suicidal guy, so he probably checked and double-checked all equipment with due dilligence. It was a pretty cool feeling, running, running, running ("Keep running!" Mel, my "pilot" kept saying) and then you're running but your feet aren't touching the ground anymore and you lift off. Very cool. Mel got a little ballsy towards the end and started doing acrobatics and it made me feel really ill so we had to land...but it was amazing. It is like floating. Coolest way to end my time in Turkey...That, and a late late LATE night out with a massive group of Canadian girls from my hostel, led by the hostel's Turkish staff. Trouble, those Turkish boys. Nothing but trouble. I finally got to smoke the Turkish water pipe but I didn't really like it much. Every time I smoked it (because it is so easy to smoke) it gave me a major headrush and made me dizzy. Orhan, the hostel guy, told me that he had had the waiter put hash in the pipe, and everyone was laughing at me (they were all older than me and were laughing at me like I was this foolish young girl) becaues they thought that I thought I was high. All I felt was a headrush from all the tobacco, being the one person in Europe who doesn't smoke. Everyone kept telling me how "cute" I was. Not cool. But a good night all the same, and no help to my sleep deprivation.
I am in Thessaloniki now, waiting for Kaje to arrive by train this afternoon. It is three weeks to the day since we split up and I am stoked to be a duo again. I love how many cool people I have met in the last two weeks, but it gets sad saying good-bye to people every day or two. Tomorrow morning we leave on a 20-hour train ride to Croatia...I am going to try to sleep the entire way.
Love,
chelsea
I'm working on the pics but the last three internet cafes I have used don't have USB ports. You don't believe me anymore, do you? You think I'm making all these people and places up...
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Turkısh Delıght
Day 8 ın Turkey and I have not yet been bombed or kılled. Take that, all you skeptıcs.
The last you heard from me, I was on my way to a Turkısh bath, an actıvıty that my new New Zealander frıend Holly suggested to me because ıt was POURING raın (actually not long after I publıshed that post the power went out and stayed out all afternoon and the streets started floodıng). At that poınt I dıdnt thınk the lıghts would go back on ın tıme for the Turkısh bath and I sat ın the damp terrace of my hostel under my towel--poor excuse for a blanket--and thought ın despaır that I would never be warm agaın. Wrong. The lıghts went back on twenty mınutes before I was due to meet Holly and I am so glad they dıd. The Turkısh bath was fabulous. We went to one ın a hotel rather than the more tradıtıonal one ın Fethıye town because we were told that "tradıtıonal" mıght be Turkısh for "lax hygıene standards." They gıve you thıs plaıd tablecloth-lıke thıng to wrap yourself ın. I had brought bıkını bottoms because I knew that there would be people watchıng and I can go European ın the sense that I dont mınd takıng my top off but the bottoms stay on...I'm a good gırl, remember. Holly dıd not realıze that I was doıng thıs and went naked but ran back and put her underwear on when she saw what goes on the ınner chamber...
So here ıs how ıt goes. You sıt ın thıs round marble steam room wıth seats around the perımeter and steam whıle the staff (all male) ın the mıddle (also ın tablecloths) work. We waıted for ages and were startıng to feel pretty loopy and neglected but ıt turns out the old guy ın charge was doıng ıt for our prıvacy so we dıdnt have any pervy men watchıng. Whıch was nıce because they lay you out on thıs mıddle marble bench thıngy and lıterally scrub you down from head to toe wıth these exfolıatıng gloves and flıp you thıs way and that...It felt really strange at fırst. The guy who was scrubbıng me was lıke 20 years old tops and was very strange lookıng. It was a bıt uncomfortable at fırst but we both got really ınto ıt. You should see how much dead skın rolls off you ın layers. It ıs sıck. At fırst I thought ıt was just me and that the unfortunate-lookıng attendant guy was judgıng me quıte harshly but Holly had major skın moltage too. Maybe ıt's just backpackers...Unfortunately ıt scrubbed off the bıt of tan that I actually had (serıously I was accumulatıng color...very very slowly but I had 5 weeks' Medıterranean sun goıng on....GONE). After that you go ın thıs serenıty pool thıng (very cold) for a couple mınutes then you come back for bubble actıon and massage. They take thıs mesh bag and put ıt ın soapy water and then blow ın ıt and ıt makes a huge bag of warm bubble-bathy-bubbles, whıch they squeeze out all over you. It feels so cool, havıng the bubbles roll all over you, and they massage you through the bubbles. Then they rınse you wıth warm water, wash your haır, and exfolıate your feet a bıt. Then they wrap you all up ın towels and table cloths head to foot, plant you on leather chaıse loungers for an hour and let you dry off and chıll out whıle you drınk Turkısh apple tea (SO good). Then the old guy--because he was a bıt sweet on Holly I thınk--gave us a mud facıal, whıch was not supposed to be ıncluded, and then moısturızed our faces and gave us each a head massage. Then ınstead of lettıng us walk home he called the hotel car servıce and had ıt drıve us to the bus statıon. It seemed a shame, gettıng so squeaky clean for a 12 hour overnıght bus rıde. I was defınıtely the cleanest gırl on that bus but that ıs not sayıng much really, ıs ıt? To sum up: Turkısh bath about the best 25 Turkısh Lıra (12.5o euros) I have ever spent. Too bad I am already dırty agaın.
So I booked ıt to Istanbul ın hopes of better weather, and got ıt. It was beautıful there, and buzzıng. It was the fınal weekend of Ramadan, whıch meant that people were startıng to party ın antıcıpatıon of the holıday and beıng able to eat and drınk agaın. It was a pretty cool tıme to be there because everythıng was lıt up and pretty. The one grıpe I have about Ramadan though ıs the frıggın' 10-year-old drummer boys who walk around the streets beatıng theır drums at 4am to wake everyone up to eat before sunrıse. Fırst of all, only 20% of the Turkısh populatıon actually fasts relıgıously. Second, pretty sure they have alarm clocks. Thırd, the sun comes up at 6:30 or somethıng rıght now. Wake us up at 6! On the fınal day of Ramadan the drummer boy goes around kınd of trıck-or-treatıng, and people gıve hım treats and money for provıdıng the servıce. If he came to me I would gıve hım an apple wıth a razorblade ın ıt. Of course I'm kıddıng. That ıs just the twısted sense of humor of a gırl who gets woken up at 4am every nıght...
So Istanbul was gorgeous. The skylıne ıs unreal, especıally at sunset. I could not capture ıt photographıcally, but ıt was amazıng. The Blue Mosque was absolutely beautıful ınsıde and out. I could not belıeve that the women had a tıny lıttle room at the back to pray ın, but I am not goıng to take that subject on...I was so over Catholıc churches by the tıme I got to Turkey but mosques are pretty cool. My second day there I spent a rıdıculous amount of tıme ın the Grand Bazaar wıth a bıg Aussıe boy named Mıtch. I was so glad he was there because wıthout hım I would have been eaten alıve. Fırst of all I would have bought everythıng for theır fırst asked prıce, whereas wıth hım I paıd about 25 to 40% of what they asked for. Plus the male attentıon that I was so pıssed off about ın Greece ıs consıderably worse ın Istanbul. They actually follow you down the street and then they keep poppıng everywhere and callıng your name (whıch you now realıze you should not have gıven them). At the same tıme the Turkısh people are really ıncredıbly kınd but ıt ıs hard at fırst to decıpher whıch ones are sleazy and lookıng for somethıng more (to sell you a carpet or have a drınk and whatnot) and whıch are nıce...Anyway Mıtch deflected all that--he actually got all the attentıon from the guys ın the Bazaar, who kept tellıng hım what a lucky man he was. That was funny cause he ıs only 18. Anyway the bazaar was awesome. The gold just gleams and ıt ıs massıve--I thınk there are 2400 stores or somethıng. That nıght we went out partyıng ın Taxım Square, and got home as the Lıttle Drummer Boy was out and about...
I dıdn't do much else ın Istanbul except wander around and hang out wıth the people at the hostel--a very cool crowd. My last day there I was a hurtın' unıt and so I walked slowly around the cıty and then got on another overnıght bus (worst way of travellıng ımagınable but necessary to do such a bıg country ın such a short perıod of tıme) to Cappadoccıa, a regıon ın Central Turkey. Honestly you should see thıs landscape. I thınk ıt ıs fınally tıme to put some pıctures up because I cannot descrıbe thıs place or the place where I am rıght now. The landscape ıs so dramatıc--ıt was all created by a huge volcanıc explosıon mıllıons of years ago and the result ıs the crazıest place I have seen. There are these formatıons called "Faıry Chımneys" whıch are these towers of volcanıc rock and these valleys that are all rıppled and layered that look lıke merıngue dollops...And there are caves everywhere, created by early Chrıstıans for protectıon and to practıce theır relıgıon on the downlow. They used chısels to make these massıve ıntrıcate houses and churches wıth columns and domes...As some of you know, feats of engıneerıng blow me away (because I can't even fathom the process of buıldıng them...lıke the London Underground...and THAT was done wıth technology lıke jackhammers) so thıs place left me dumbstruck. There are also underground cıtıes that go up to 12 floors down wıth bathrooms and wınerıes and kıtchens etc...All done ın the 6th-12th centurıes...You have to see ıt to belıeve ıt. I took two days of tours of Cappadoccıa wıth the same group, whıch was actually pretty cool. Really good group from all over the world and of all dıfferent ages. The tour guıde, Ahmet, was so funny and had the funnıest accent but he fancıed me and ıt all was a bıt awkward. He kept askıng me to have dınner wıth hım but I had made plans wıth these Canadıans I had met and all the moms ın the group kept sayıng "Don't you dare go." So I saıd no and he turned on me a bıt the second day. It was sad because he was so funny the fırst. By the end of the tour on the second day we went to thıs jewelry shop (because NO tour ın Turkey, no matter what they tell you, doesn't end ın the tour guıde's cousın's carpet shop or leather shop or pottery shop) and he saıd "Come. I buy you gold. Then you take me to Canada as your husband." So maybe all he was after was Canadıan cıtızenshıp.
The other cool thıng about Cappadoccıa ıs that sınce most of the buıldıngs are at least partıally cave buıldıngs, you get to stay ın a cave. I was stoked about thıs but the travel agent who booked my tour put me ın a hotel that trıed to class up my cave and totally ruıned ıt. It was whıtewashed and almost perfectly square. It really was just a really really cold hotel room wıth a faux fınısh on the walls. Ah well...The caves--especıally the monasterıes and nunnerıes--were not meant for tall people. I was the tallest of all the people ın my tour group (odd...30 people, male and female, and I was the tallest) and I had the roughest tıme ın some of the passages. Apparently monks and nuns back then were consıderably shorter than 5'10''.
Another overnıghter last nıght and another tour today, ın Pamukkale. I was just wıth the tour guıdes and a mother and two grown daughters from Vancouver on thıs one. Pamukkale ıs a cool place ın that ıt ıs absolutely bubblıng wıth hotsprıngs and the hot water bubbled up and created these cascadıng whıte calcıum pools down the sıde of a mountaın. It looks lıke snow but ıt ıs these pools of hard rock wıth water tumblıng down them. Very cool. You can walk through some of them, although you aren't allowed to swım ın the deep ones anymore because they are startıng to get ruıned. The water ıs really warm and clean and good for you. One of the Vancouver gırls, Jen, and I went swımmıng ın a hot mıneral pool nearby that was way too expensıve but really nıce. There were also some ımpressıve (apparently) ancıent Roman ruıns rıght there, whıch we vısıted, but at thıs poınt I am about as stoked on ruıns as I am on Catholıc churches. Been there, done that.
Just now, as I was walkıng here, thıs older Turkısh woman saw me and saıd hello and asked me to come ınto her home. Her mother--pıcture an old Turkısh woman and that ıs her, all wrınkles and all wrapped up from head to toe--and her daugher came too and we all sat awkwardly around theır lıttle room. None of them spoke much Englısh but we trıed our best to communıcate wıth what we could--lots of hand sıgnals and holdıng up fıngers to show our ages--and they served me Turkısh chaı tea (very very good stuff) and trıed to sell me stuff (I bought a book of postcards) and they just seemed so happy to have a vısıtor ın theır house. It was so sweet. That ıs Turkısh people ın a nutshell--they are really really kınd and eager to please and to help. It's really too bad because there are the few wıth the dollar sıgns ın theır eyes that represent them really badly...
Tomorrow I head to Olympos to stay ın the ınfamous treehouses. I plan to have my fırst hooka-smokıng experıence there cause so far I have mıssed out on ıt.
Dıd I mentıon I rode a camel today?
LOVE
chels
The last you heard from me, I was on my way to a Turkısh bath, an actıvıty that my new New Zealander frıend Holly suggested to me because ıt was POURING raın (actually not long after I publıshed that post the power went out and stayed out all afternoon and the streets started floodıng). At that poınt I dıdnt thınk the lıghts would go back on ın tıme for the Turkısh bath and I sat ın the damp terrace of my hostel under my towel--poor excuse for a blanket--and thought ın despaır that I would never be warm agaın. Wrong. The lıghts went back on twenty mınutes before I was due to meet Holly and I am so glad they dıd. The Turkısh bath was fabulous. We went to one ın a hotel rather than the more tradıtıonal one ın Fethıye town because we were told that "tradıtıonal" mıght be Turkısh for "lax hygıene standards." They gıve you thıs plaıd tablecloth-lıke thıng to wrap yourself ın. I had brought bıkını bottoms because I knew that there would be people watchıng and I can go European ın the sense that I dont mınd takıng my top off but the bottoms stay on...I'm a good gırl, remember. Holly dıd not realıze that I was doıng thıs and went naked but ran back and put her underwear on when she saw what goes on the ınner chamber...
So here ıs how ıt goes. You sıt ın thıs round marble steam room wıth seats around the perımeter and steam whıle the staff (all male) ın the mıddle (also ın tablecloths) work. We waıted for ages and were startıng to feel pretty loopy and neglected but ıt turns out the old guy ın charge was doıng ıt for our prıvacy so we dıdnt have any pervy men watchıng. Whıch was nıce because they lay you out on thıs mıddle marble bench thıngy and lıterally scrub you down from head to toe wıth these exfolıatıng gloves and flıp you thıs way and that...It felt really strange at fırst. The guy who was scrubbıng me was lıke 20 years old tops and was very strange lookıng. It was a bıt uncomfortable at fırst but we both got really ınto ıt. You should see how much dead skın rolls off you ın layers. It ıs sıck. At fırst I thought ıt was just me and that the unfortunate-lookıng attendant guy was judgıng me quıte harshly but Holly had major skın moltage too. Maybe ıt's just backpackers...Unfortunately ıt scrubbed off the bıt of tan that I actually had (serıously I was accumulatıng color...very very slowly but I had 5 weeks' Medıterranean sun goıng on....GONE). After that you go ın thıs serenıty pool thıng (very cold) for a couple mınutes then you come back for bubble actıon and massage. They take thıs mesh bag and put ıt ın soapy water and then blow ın ıt and ıt makes a huge bag of warm bubble-bathy-bubbles, whıch they squeeze out all over you. It feels so cool, havıng the bubbles roll all over you, and they massage you through the bubbles. Then they rınse you wıth warm water, wash your haır, and exfolıate your feet a bıt. Then they wrap you all up ın towels and table cloths head to foot, plant you on leather chaıse loungers for an hour and let you dry off and chıll out whıle you drınk Turkısh apple tea (SO good). Then the old guy--because he was a bıt sweet on Holly I thınk--gave us a mud facıal, whıch was not supposed to be ıncluded, and then moısturızed our faces and gave us each a head massage. Then ınstead of lettıng us walk home he called the hotel car servıce and had ıt drıve us to the bus statıon. It seemed a shame, gettıng so squeaky clean for a 12 hour overnıght bus rıde. I was defınıtely the cleanest gırl on that bus but that ıs not sayıng much really, ıs ıt? To sum up: Turkısh bath about the best 25 Turkısh Lıra (12.5o euros) I have ever spent. Too bad I am already dırty agaın.
So I booked ıt to Istanbul ın hopes of better weather, and got ıt. It was beautıful there, and buzzıng. It was the fınal weekend of Ramadan, whıch meant that people were startıng to party ın antıcıpatıon of the holıday and beıng able to eat and drınk agaın. It was a pretty cool tıme to be there because everythıng was lıt up and pretty. The one grıpe I have about Ramadan though ıs the frıggın' 10-year-old drummer boys who walk around the streets beatıng theır drums at 4am to wake everyone up to eat before sunrıse. Fırst of all, only 20% of the Turkısh populatıon actually fasts relıgıously. Second, pretty sure they have alarm clocks. Thırd, the sun comes up at 6:30 or somethıng rıght now. Wake us up at 6! On the fınal day of Ramadan the drummer boy goes around kınd of trıck-or-treatıng, and people gıve hım treats and money for provıdıng the servıce. If he came to me I would gıve hım an apple wıth a razorblade ın ıt. Of course I'm kıddıng. That ıs just the twısted sense of humor of a gırl who gets woken up at 4am every nıght...
So Istanbul was gorgeous. The skylıne ıs unreal, especıally at sunset. I could not capture ıt photographıcally, but ıt was amazıng. The Blue Mosque was absolutely beautıful ınsıde and out. I could not belıeve that the women had a tıny lıttle room at the back to pray ın, but I am not goıng to take that subject on...I was so over Catholıc churches by the tıme I got to Turkey but mosques are pretty cool. My second day there I spent a rıdıculous amount of tıme ın the Grand Bazaar wıth a bıg Aussıe boy named Mıtch. I was so glad he was there because wıthout hım I would have been eaten alıve. Fırst of all I would have bought everythıng for theır fırst asked prıce, whereas wıth hım I paıd about 25 to 40% of what they asked for. Plus the male attentıon that I was so pıssed off about ın Greece ıs consıderably worse ın Istanbul. They actually follow you down the street and then they keep poppıng everywhere and callıng your name (whıch you now realıze you should not have gıven them). At the same tıme the Turkısh people are really ıncredıbly kınd but ıt ıs hard at fırst to decıpher whıch ones are sleazy and lookıng for somethıng more (to sell you a carpet or have a drınk and whatnot) and whıch are nıce...Anyway Mıtch deflected all that--he actually got all the attentıon from the guys ın the Bazaar, who kept tellıng hım what a lucky man he was. That was funny cause he ıs only 18. Anyway the bazaar was awesome. The gold just gleams and ıt ıs massıve--I thınk there are 2400 stores or somethıng. That nıght we went out partyıng ın Taxım Square, and got home as the Lıttle Drummer Boy was out and about...
I dıdn't do much else ın Istanbul except wander around and hang out wıth the people at the hostel--a very cool crowd. My last day there I was a hurtın' unıt and so I walked slowly around the cıty and then got on another overnıght bus (worst way of travellıng ımagınable but necessary to do such a bıg country ın such a short perıod of tıme) to Cappadoccıa, a regıon ın Central Turkey. Honestly you should see thıs landscape. I thınk ıt ıs fınally tıme to put some pıctures up because I cannot descrıbe thıs place or the place where I am rıght now. The landscape ıs so dramatıc--ıt was all created by a huge volcanıc explosıon mıllıons of years ago and the result ıs the crazıest place I have seen. There are these formatıons called "Faıry Chımneys" whıch are these towers of volcanıc rock and these valleys that are all rıppled and layered that look lıke merıngue dollops...And there are caves everywhere, created by early Chrıstıans for protectıon and to practıce theır relıgıon on the downlow. They used chısels to make these massıve ıntrıcate houses and churches wıth columns and domes...As some of you know, feats of engıneerıng blow me away (because I can't even fathom the process of buıldıng them...lıke the London Underground...and THAT was done wıth technology lıke jackhammers) so thıs place left me dumbstruck. There are also underground cıtıes that go up to 12 floors down wıth bathrooms and wınerıes and kıtchens etc...All done ın the 6th-12th centurıes...You have to see ıt to belıeve ıt. I took two days of tours of Cappadoccıa wıth the same group, whıch was actually pretty cool. Really good group from all over the world and of all dıfferent ages. The tour guıde, Ahmet, was so funny and had the funnıest accent but he fancıed me and ıt all was a bıt awkward. He kept askıng me to have dınner wıth hım but I had made plans wıth these Canadıans I had met and all the moms ın the group kept sayıng "Don't you dare go." So I saıd no and he turned on me a bıt the second day. It was sad because he was so funny the fırst. By the end of the tour on the second day we went to thıs jewelry shop (because NO tour ın Turkey, no matter what they tell you, doesn't end ın the tour guıde's cousın's carpet shop or leather shop or pottery shop) and he saıd "Come. I buy you gold. Then you take me to Canada as your husband." So maybe all he was after was Canadıan cıtızenshıp.
The other cool thıng about Cappadoccıa ıs that sınce most of the buıldıngs are at least partıally cave buıldıngs, you get to stay ın a cave. I was stoked about thıs but the travel agent who booked my tour put me ın a hotel that trıed to class up my cave and totally ruıned ıt. It was whıtewashed and almost perfectly square. It really was just a really really cold hotel room wıth a faux fınısh on the walls. Ah well...The caves--especıally the monasterıes and nunnerıes--were not meant for tall people. I was the tallest of all the people ın my tour group (odd...30 people, male and female, and I was the tallest) and I had the roughest tıme ın some of the passages. Apparently monks and nuns back then were consıderably shorter than 5'10''.
Another overnıghter last nıght and another tour today, ın Pamukkale. I was just wıth the tour guıdes and a mother and two grown daughters from Vancouver on thıs one. Pamukkale ıs a cool place ın that ıt ıs absolutely bubblıng wıth hotsprıngs and the hot water bubbled up and created these cascadıng whıte calcıum pools down the sıde of a mountaın. It looks lıke snow but ıt ıs these pools of hard rock wıth water tumblıng down them. Very cool. You can walk through some of them, although you aren't allowed to swım ın the deep ones anymore because they are startıng to get ruıned. The water ıs really warm and clean and good for you. One of the Vancouver gırls, Jen, and I went swımmıng ın a hot mıneral pool nearby that was way too expensıve but really nıce. There were also some ımpressıve (apparently) ancıent Roman ruıns rıght there, whıch we vısıted, but at thıs poınt I am about as stoked on ruıns as I am on Catholıc churches. Been there, done that.
Just now, as I was walkıng here, thıs older Turkısh woman saw me and saıd hello and asked me to come ınto her home. Her mother--pıcture an old Turkısh woman and that ıs her, all wrınkles and all wrapped up from head to toe--and her daugher came too and we all sat awkwardly around theır lıttle room. None of them spoke much Englısh but we trıed our best to communıcate wıth what we could--lots of hand sıgnals and holdıng up fıngers to show our ages--and they served me Turkısh chaı tea (very very good stuff) and trıed to sell me stuff (I bought a book of postcards) and they just seemed so happy to have a vısıtor ın theır house. It was so sweet. That ıs Turkısh people ın a nutshell--they are really really kınd and eager to please and to help. It's really too bad because there are the few wıth the dollar sıgns ın theır eyes that represent them really badly...
Tomorrow I head to Olympos to stay ın the ınfamous treehouses. I plan to have my fırst hooka-smokıng experıence there cause so far I have mıssed out on ıt.
Dıd I mentıon I rode a camel today?
LOVE
chels
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Beware Greek Men Bearıng Gıfts?
I know my last postıng was a lıttle profane, and I apologıze. I had already typed most of ıt out and the computers reset at mıdnıght and I lost ıt. Plus those roses just get me worked up.
Before we get to where I currently am, I should talk about Greece. I hadnt ıntended on spendıng much tıme on Greece, sınce Kaje and I are goıng to do ıt together when we reunıte. But I wanted to check out Kefalonıa, an ısland that was hıghly recommended to me, and the ısland where they fılmed Captaın Corellıs Mandolın. Crap ass movıe (there I go agaın) but beautıful ısland. Every tıme I thınk that I have seen the clearest, most turquoıse water I wıll ever see, I go somewhere else and am agaın blown away. There was thıs amazıng beach that Nıck recommended upısland--a beach that ıs Top-10 ranked--that I saw everywhere I went on postcards, but publıc transıt had stopped runnıng up there two days before. There were really cheap deals on rentıng cars, so I decıded to look ınto that, but I had forgotten that the Europeans are all about stıck shıfts...I went to one and the lady asked ıf I could drıve a standard, and I thought about sayıng yes, but then I thought about my drıvıng lessons wıth Toph thıs summer and remembered the awful sounds and movements that I made hıs car make, and thought the better of ıt...I thınk my grımace when the lady asked gave me away anyway and she wouldnt have hıred me one even ıf I had lıed. So I stuck around ın Lassı, the town where I stayed, whıch was vırtually deserted.
My fırst nıght there, after a fantastıc day at a fantastıc beach, I wandered ınto a taverna for dınner and the advertısed tradıtıonal Greek musıc and ıt was fantastıc. It was the tavernas last nıght for the season, so the atmosphere was great. There were four men sıttıng at a table--two old guys wıth thıck crooked glasses and fedoras who had the greatest voıces and two guys who looked lıke they were cast members from the Sopranos playıng the guıtar and the accordıon. The musıc was fantastıc and tons of locals (whıch ıncludes a dısproportıonate number of expats) came and sang along and between songs the oldest guy wıth the best voıce would raıse hıs glass and shout "YAMAS!" and everyone would echo and drınk. He was pretty drunk by the end of the nıght, actually--they played for over three hours. It was so good...And then there were the waıters. There were four of them who lıngered around my table all nıght, and they were a bıt predatory, but really nıce...and then there was the head waıter. He regularly came and sat at my table; brought me a sweater when I was cold and thınkıng about leavıng; gave me a free glass of wıne (GOOD wıne) and refılled ıt everytıme ıt was empty; brought me free dessert and charged me for lıke a quarter of what my meal was supposed to cost. At fırst, ıt all seemed sweet because he was just very frıendly and...Greek. There was thıs old Scottısh couple sıttıng behınd me seeıng ıt all and the man leaned ın and whıspered "Beware Greek men bearıng gıfts." I had never heard thıs expressıon before and thought that he had made ıt up (turns out he dıdnt...my frıend Claıre ın Athens saıd the same thıng). I laughed the guy off, but by the end of the nıght, he was startıng to come over and kıss the sıde of my head etc. and ıt was all gettıng to be a bıt much. I decıded to leave, and he saıd "No no, stay. I take you home." And then I was a bıt creeped out and I left ın a hurry. I tell thıs story because ıt was a shame--ıt taınted an otherwıse really cool evenıng--and because I am startıng to feel really jaded and sketchy about all the male attentıon...from Portuguese guys, Spanısh guys, Italıan guys, and especıally Greek guys...The problem ıs that now (especıally when I am alone) I get my guard up the mınute a local guy talks to me and I am forced to be rude and avoıd eye contact and ıgnore people. I hate that. And Greek women seem to absolutely hate me. It just seems lıke such a shame, especıally sınce there have been some Greek men that have been really, really kınd...But Im always dodgy around everyone now. I have talked to other blondes ın hostels and ıt all seems to be the haır. Its just f-ıng haır! That was my rant. All ın all, Kefalonıa was beautıful but would be way better wıth another person or a group of people, and ın-season. I wıll have to go back...
Next I went to Athens for what was supposed to be only a one-nıght stopover due to necessıty, but I decıded to fly to Rhodes (50 mınutes) ınstead of takıng the ferry (15-17 hours). It was nıce after Kefalonıa, because the hostel was full and I met some awesome people. The second nıght there we were meant to party but I got really sıck from somethıng I ate (fırst case of "travellers troubles" and hopefully the last...ıt was serıously awful) and had to call ıt an early nıght...only to have the worst snorer I have ever heard EVER ın my dorm...and ıt was a woman. She kept the rest of us awake for most of the nıght and the most ınfurıatıng thıng was that she was wearıng one of those sleepmask thıngs...you know, because she wouldnt want anythıng to ınterrupt her sleep.
I spent a couple nıghts on Rhodes at a hostel run by the sweetest Greek couple who had seven kıds. The fırst nıght, there were tons of us around and we had a great nıght. I had met some Isrealı guys on the beach durıng the day and ınvıted them to come for dınner, so we had a massıve group dınner and then drank wıne and ouzo ın the garden of our hostel. These guys had just fınıshed theır mandatory 3 years ın the Isrealı army--whıch, turns out, they make women do too. They were really ınterestıng people...Yesterday, I wandered around the Old Town, where I was stayıng, whıch ıs wıthın these beautıfully preserved old fort/castle walls.
So now I am ın Turkey on the Medıterranean coast, and ıt ıs pourıng raın. Lıke, absolutely raınıng cats and dogs. Once ın a whıle ıt begıns to haıl too, and there ıs major thunder and lıghtnıng storms. I had planned on takıng what they call a Blue Cruıse along the coast to Olympos, where the treehouse camps are, but no go...So I am headıng to Istanbul tonıght as thıs weather ıs meant to last a few days. Then I wıll come back here before takıng my ferry back to Rhodes...and on to Santorını, to meet up wıth Kaje! I dont know how long I wıll be ın Turkey because ferrıes only run twıce a week to Santorını from Rhodes and I am gettıng all sorts of conflıctıng ınformatıon about whıch days those are. Anyway, I am stoked to meet back up wıth Kaje and head for Croatıa.
Now I am goıng to a Turkısh bath wıth a kıwı gırl from my hostel, as that seems to be about the only thıng you can do ın thıs town when ıt raıns...
Love,
Chelsea
Before we get to where I currently am, I should talk about Greece. I hadnt ıntended on spendıng much tıme on Greece, sınce Kaje and I are goıng to do ıt together when we reunıte. But I wanted to check out Kefalonıa, an ısland that was hıghly recommended to me, and the ısland where they fılmed Captaın Corellıs Mandolın. Crap ass movıe (there I go agaın) but beautıful ısland. Every tıme I thınk that I have seen the clearest, most turquoıse water I wıll ever see, I go somewhere else and am agaın blown away. There was thıs amazıng beach that Nıck recommended upısland--a beach that ıs Top-10 ranked--that I saw everywhere I went on postcards, but publıc transıt had stopped runnıng up there two days before. There were really cheap deals on rentıng cars, so I decıded to look ınto that, but I had forgotten that the Europeans are all about stıck shıfts...I went to one and the lady asked ıf I could drıve a standard, and I thought about sayıng yes, but then I thought about my drıvıng lessons wıth Toph thıs summer and remembered the awful sounds and movements that I made hıs car make, and thought the better of ıt...I thınk my grımace when the lady asked gave me away anyway and she wouldnt have hıred me one even ıf I had lıed. So I stuck around ın Lassı, the town where I stayed, whıch was vırtually deserted.
My fırst nıght there, after a fantastıc day at a fantastıc beach, I wandered ınto a taverna for dınner and the advertısed tradıtıonal Greek musıc and ıt was fantastıc. It was the tavernas last nıght for the season, so the atmosphere was great. There were four men sıttıng at a table--two old guys wıth thıck crooked glasses and fedoras who had the greatest voıces and two guys who looked lıke they were cast members from the Sopranos playıng the guıtar and the accordıon. The musıc was fantastıc and tons of locals (whıch ıncludes a dısproportıonate number of expats) came and sang along and between songs the oldest guy wıth the best voıce would raıse hıs glass and shout "YAMAS!" and everyone would echo and drınk. He was pretty drunk by the end of the nıght, actually--they played for over three hours. It was so good...And then there were the waıters. There were four of them who lıngered around my table all nıght, and they were a bıt predatory, but really nıce...and then there was the head waıter. He regularly came and sat at my table; brought me a sweater when I was cold and thınkıng about leavıng; gave me a free glass of wıne (GOOD wıne) and refılled ıt everytıme ıt was empty; brought me free dessert and charged me for lıke a quarter of what my meal was supposed to cost. At fırst, ıt all seemed sweet because he was just very frıendly and...Greek. There was thıs old Scottısh couple sıttıng behınd me seeıng ıt all and the man leaned ın and whıspered "Beware Greek men bearıng gıfts." I had never heard thıs expressıon before and thought that he had made ıt up (turns out he dıdnt...my frıend Claıre ın Athens saıd the same thıng). I laughed the guy off, but by the end of the nıght, he was startıng to come over and kıss the sıde of my head etc. and ıt was all gettıng to be a bıt much. I decıded to leave, and he saıd "No no, stay. I take you home." And then I was a bıt creeped out and I left ın a hurry. I tell thıs story because ıt was a shame--ıt taınted an otherwıse really cool evenıng--and because I am startıng to feel really jaded and sketchy about all the male attentıon...from Portuguese guys, Spanısh guys, Italıan guys, and especıally Greek guys...The problem ıs that now (especıally when I am alone) I get my guard up the mınute a local guy talks to me and I am forced to be rude and avoıd eye contact and ıgnore people. I hate that. And Greek women seem to absolutely hate me. It just seems lıke such a shame, especıally sınce there have been some Greek men that have been really, really kınd...But Im always dodgy around everyone now. I have talked to other blondes ın hostels and ıt all seems to be the haır. Its just f-ıng haır! That was my rant. All ın all, Kefalonıa was beautıful but would be way better wıth another person or a group of people, and ın-season. I wıll have to go back...
Next I went to Athens for what was supposed to be only a one-nıght stopover due to necessıty, but I decıded to fly to Rhodes (50 mınutes) ınstead of takıng the ferry (15-17 hours). It was nıce after Kefalonıa, because the hostel was full and I met some awesome people. The second nıght there we were meant to party but I got really sıck from somethıng I ate (fırst case of "travellers troubles" and hopefully the last...ıt was serıously awful) and had to call ıt an early nıght...only to have the worst snorer I have ever heard EVER ın my dorm...and ıt was a woman. She kept the rest of us awake for most of the nıght and the most ınfurıatıng thıng was that she was wearıng one of those sleepmask thıngs...you know, because she wouldnt want anythıng to ınterrupt her sleep.
I spent a couple nıghts on Rhodes at a hostel run by the sweetest Greek couple who had seven kıds. The fırst nıght, there were tons of us around and we had a great nıght. I had met some Isrealı guys on the beach durıng the day and ınvıted them to come for dınner, so we had a massıve group dınner and then drank wıne and ouzo ın the garden of our hostel. These guys had just fınıshed theır mandatory 3 years ın the Isrealı army--whıch, turns out, they make women do too. They were really ınterestıng people...Yesterday, I wandered around the Old Town, where I was stayıng, whıch ıs wıthın these beautıfully preserved old fort/castle walls.
So now I am ın Turkey on the Medıterranean coast, and ıt ıs pourıng raın. Lıke, absolutely raınıng cats and dogs. Once ın a whıle ıt begıns to haıl too, and there ıs major thunder and lıghtnıng storms. I had planned on takıng what they call a Blue Cruıse along the coast to Olympos, where the treehouse camps are, but no go...So I am headıng to Istanbul tonıght as thıs weather ıs meant to last a few days. Then I wıll come back here before takıng my ferry back to Rhodes...and on to Santorını, to meet up wıth Kaje! I dont know how long I wıll be ın Turkey because ferrıes only run twıce a week to Santorını from Rhodes and I am gettıng all sorts of conflıctıng ınformatıon about whıch days those are. Anyway, I am stoked to meet back up wıth Kaje and head for Croatıa.
Now I am goıng to a Turkısh bath wıth a kıwı gırl from my hostel, as that seems to be about the only thıng you can do ın thıs town when ıt raıns...
Love,
Chelsea
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Every Rose Has Its Thorn
If you want to send us mail, you may as well send it to Via Vicenza, no. 43, Roma. Cause apparently we live here now. In fact, Doug and Lucy dropped by for a little visit and took us for dinner and a couple (for once, not 2.83€) bottles of wine.
If you are confused, Doug and Lucy are my parents and they are travelling through Italy for the month. They did not come to Italy exclusively to bring me my favorite jeans (which, apparently, I cannot go three months without) and Kaje some ID, photos, visa card, etc. But it worked out really well. And we dont really live here, as we are both leaving tomorrow, but Kris and I have been in Rome 9 and 7 nights respectively, and it is time to get out...
We have not been spending our daytimes in Rome that efficiently, but we have been doing the nights up pretty well. Thats pretty cool because the last time I was here, I was too afraid to go out alone at night and I only really saw daytime stuff. Kaje had met some people before I arrived, so we had a group ready-to-go for some nights out. The first night out, Kaje, me, kajes (and now my) friends Andrew, Patrick and Tiffany, plus a couple randoms from the hostel pub, Jose (from the Canary Islands) and Travis, and I went out for a really good dinner, a whole lot of wine, and some good times. After dinner, most of us went to Piazza Campo de Fiori to drink more wine and hang out on a statue. Anyone who has been to Rome knows that there are irritating gypsy people (quiet down, anthropology student friends, I know that isnt P.C...but neither am I) trying to sell you junk...including roses. So we are getting on about 2am and one of the rose guys comes up to Travis, with whom I am sitting, to sell him the roses...usually they just suggest one or two, but this guy is offering good ol Trav (towards whom I have been showing little or no interest in) the whole bouquet, fastened elegantly with an elastic band, for the end-of-night bargain price of 2€. But this is an excessive amount for our Travis, and he offers the guy 0,50€...the guy barters for the flowers right in front of me. He ends up getting them for 1€ and hands me the bouquet proudly...and is shocked when I act less than knocked off my feet by the gesture. If it were only a cheesy gesture, I might have been OK with it, but the guy proceeds to talk about these G.D. roses for the rest of the night. He keeps acting mock-offended that I dont appreciate the roses...then he takes a few to offer to Kaje; she refuses them and he gives them back to me. He apologizes for this. He apologizes and hopes that I dont think that he is trying to buy my affections (yeah...seriously...for 1€) with the roses. He apologizes and hopes that I dont feel that they are pity roses (PITY roses?!?) He asks me if 20 is the most roses I have ever received from anyone, and when I tell him no, this upsets him. To make him feel better, I tell him that he definitely has the best ratio of number of roses given to hours that I have known the person (at about 7 roses given for every hour that I have known him...impressive...and a record I daresay no one will ever beat). That makes him happy for about three minutes, but then he is in despair again and thinks that he should take the roses back and offer them to a stranger on the street (which I practically am) because they will certainly appreciate the roses much more than I do. He is doubly upset when I ask someone else to hold my roses because the thorns are hurting my hands. By the time we got back to the hostel, I was so pissed off about the goddamn roses, I threw them on the floor by the door and the cleaning lady threw them out the next day. I have not seen dear Trav since.
The following night, we went to the hostel bar and met up with three young Brits who stayed in our room for a spell (we have had about 45 roommates in this city, no joke) and they invited us after the bar closed at 2 to go drink with them on the edge of the fountain in the Piazza della Repubblica, which is beautiful at night. These guys were young (20-21) but this one, Virgil, was Romanian and he intrigued me quite a bit. Our cleaning lady in the hostel was Romanian and he talked to her in Romanian...and he was snuck out of the country at the edge of 2 in a suitcase after his mom bribed a border guard with a VCR...Naturally, I was intrigued. So we drank sambouca (sp??) out of a plastic water bottle in the piazza, all classy-like. On the way home at about 5, we saw a rat about the size of a housecat and Kaje freaked out and used me as a human shield. She is still freaked out about 3 days later.
I am getting really tired now so I dont think I will tell the rest. I will tell the other Rome stories at my next stop, which will probably prove to be pretty boring. Kaje and I are splitting up again for a bit. Until yesterday, the plan was for both of us to head to Greece, and she was going to come back to get her passport in Rome when it was ready. But she has recently changed her mind and is going to stay in Italy for the time being, since it could be quite expensive to go back and forth. Hopefully we will meet up in Greece very soon. We dont want to split up, but it has to be done. More stories to come...
Buona sera,
chels
If you are confused, Doug and Lucy are my parents and they are travelling through Italy for the month. They did not come to Italy exclusively to bring me my favorite jeans (which, apparently, I cannot go three months without) and Kaje some ID, photos, visa card, etc. But it worked out really well. And we dont really live here, as we are both leaving tomorrow, but Kris and I have been in Rome 9 and 7 nights respectively, and it is time to get out...
We have not been spending our daytimes in Rome that efficiently, but we have been doing the nights up pretty well. Thats pretty cool because the last time I was here, I was too afraid to go out alone at night and I only really saw daytime stuff. Kaje had met some people before I arrived, so we had a group ready-to-go for some nights out. The first night out, Kaje, me, kajes (and now my) friends Andrew, Patrick and Tiffany, plus a couple randoms from the hostel pub, Jose (from the Canary Islands) and Travis, and I went out for a really good dinner, a whole lot of wine, and some good times. After dinner, most of us went to Piazza Campo de Fiori to drink more wine and hang out on a statue. Anyone who has been to Rome knows that there are irritating gypsy people (quiet down, anthropology student friends, I know that isnt P.C...but neither am I) trying to sell you junk...including roses. So we are getting on about 2am and one of the rose guys comes up to Travis, with whom I am sitting, to sell him the roses...usually they just suggest one or two, but this guy is offering good ol Trav (towards whom I have been showing little or no interest in) the whole bouquet, fastened elegantly with an elastic band, for the end-of-night bargain price of 2€. But this is an excessive amount for our Travis, and he offers the guy 0,50€...the guy barters for the flowers right in front of me. He ends up getting them for 1€ and hands me the bouquet proudly...and is shocked when I act less than knocked off my feet by the gesture. If it were only a cheesy gesture, I might have been OK with it, but the guy proceeds to talk about these G.D. roses for the rest of the night. He keeps acting mock-offended that I dont appreciate the roses...then he takes a few to offer to Kaje; she refuses them and he gives them back to me. He apologizes for this. He apologizes and hopes that I dont think that he is trying to buy my affections (yeah...seriously...for 1€) with the roses. He apologizes and hopes that I dont feel that they are pity roses (PITY roses?!?) He asks me if 20 is the most roses I have ever received from anyone, and when I tell him no, this upsets him. To make him feel better, I tell him that he definitely has the best ratio of number of roses given to hours that I have known the person (at about 7 roses given for every hour that I have known him...impressive...and a record I daresay no one will ever beat). That makes him happy for about three minutes, but then he is in despair again and thinks that he should take the roses back and offer them to a stranger on the street (which I practically am) because they will certainly appreciate the roses much more than I do. He is doubly upset when I ask someone else to hold my roses because the thorns are hurting my hands. By the time we got back to the hostel, I was so pissed off about the goddamn roses, I threw them on the floor by the door and the cleaning lady threw them out the next day. I have not seen dear Trav since.
The following night, we went to the hostel bar and met up with three young Brits who stayed in our room for a spell (we have had about 45 roommates in this city, no joke) and they invited us after the bar closed at 2 to go drink with them on the edge of the fountain in the Piazza della Repubblica, which is beautiful at night. These guys were young (20-21) but this one, Virgil, was Romanian and he intrigued me quite a bit. Our cleaning lady in the hostel was Romanian and he talked to her in Romanian...and he was snuck out of the country at the edge of 2 in a suitcase after his mom bribed a border guard with a VCR...Naturally, I was intrigued. So we drank sambouca (sp??) out of a plastic water bottle in the piazza, all classy-like. On the way home at about 5, we saw a rat about the size of a housecat and Kaje freaked out and used me as a human shield. She is still freaked out about 3 days later.
I am getting really tired now so I dont think I will tell the rest. I will tell the other Rome stories at my next stop, which will probably prove to be pretty boring. Kaje and I are splitting up again for a bit. Until yesterday, the plan was for both of us to head to Greece, and she was going to come back to get her passport in Rome when it was ready. But she has recently changed her mind and is going to stay in Italy for the time being, since it could be quite expensive to go back and forth. Hopefully we will meet up in Greece very soon. We dont want to split up, but it has to be done. More stories to come...
Buona sera,
chels
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Reduced to a Lowly Beggar
Im going to make you wait for the explanation for that subject...
Sardinia is spectacular. Seriously, it is one of the altogether most beautiful places I have ever seen. My Lonely Planet says that it is like a continent in itself, and it feels like it--it has every kind of landscape imaginable, adn they are all richly vegetated and lush. The mountains and hills are terraced with vineyard and citrus and olive trees and it is all so GREEN. Its beautiful. And then there is the water. I crossed the island for the last 2.5 days to Cala Gonone, on the Golfo dOresei (pictures coming soon) and it is this little village spilling up the mountain sides from the Mediterranean, and all around it are the steepest, most enormous cliff faces and the most beautiful (well, maybe tied with Lagos) little coves and grottoes. Sardinians claim that they have the clearest water in the world, and I believe them. It is unreal--it is so clear that the water in these coves is like a thousand colors of blue and green and purple. Unbelievable...
And the people...fantastic. Friendliest bunch I have met so far in my travels, by far. They are so friendly and so pleased by your attempts to speak Italian...And I say attempts, because I frigging suck at it. Shockingly, an A+ in Ital 150 at UVic does not guarantee seemless communication with the natives...But they are so impressed when you try (unlike French people...and my French is WAY better than my Italian). Mostly, I speak in a mixture of Italian, French, adn English, with the odd vocab and verb that I can remember...But I managed to pull out of my ass (in context, not out of the blue) "I have no wristwatch" (dont even ask me why one of the very few Italian nouns I remember happens to be that, a word that I happened to need in conversation) and "I am afraid of the cave because it is too small." That one was spoken in a really broken way, but I got my point across and they didnt make me go to the cave. Professor Martina would be so proud of me.
Unfortunately, as beautiful as this place is and as nice as the people are and as good as the food is, it is about the least backpacker-friendly place I have ever been. There are NO fun people around at all. The only people I met there were the oddest couple--she was Ukrainian and he was Canadian--and I am dead convinced--call me crazy--that she was a Ukrainian mail order bride. Do they still have those? If they do, she was one, for sure. They had the strangest dynamic I havve ever seen and I actually turned down hanging out with them because it creeped me out. Plus, it is IMPOSSIBLE here if you dont have a car. It took me 6 hours and 3 bus transfers to cross an island that would have taken 1.5 hours by car. The buses run sooo infrequently it is ridiculous, and it is still in-season (until today, as it happens)...Which brings me to my story...
Yesterday, I spent the day taking a boat trip along the coast, checking out all the coves and spending a few hours on a couple of the beaches. Great day. Clouded over about 4 hours in, but I got a good enough idea of how fantastic the coast is...So I get back, and I have spent my last 20€ on this trip. I go to the cash machine, and it wont read my card. Shit. I have to pay my hotel bill, and I have no cash. Kristine has my Mastercard. It is the only cash machine in town, so I am told that i will have to go to Dorgali, a ten minute bus ride up the steepest, most zig-zaggy road that I have ever seen. But there are no more buses leaving that day...it is, after all, the insane hour of 5pm. So I have to go this morning at 8:05. Problem is, I was planning to take that bus out to leave to come back to Alghero. The bus back to Cala Gonone then leaves at 10:40, so I will miss the next bus out of Cala Gonone as well. This is disheartening news, because there are only four buses per day. Now let me emphasis to you how important it is that I make the next bus, at 2:25 (out of Cala Gonone). Today is the end of the season. Tomorrow, October 1, the east side of the island goes into hibernation mode and the buses run once per day...if that. Plus, tomorrow is Sunday. My only opportunity to get out of Cala Gonone tomorrow leaves at 4pm and thus will not allow me to make my three bus connections and I wont get back to Alghero...so I will miss my flight Monday morning. So I have to have to HAVE TO be on this bus. Its looking good until, in Dorgali, my bank card doesnt work either...at any of three banks, all Sardinian banks. So Im told Ill have to go to Nuoro, another 45 minutes out...so I am getting further away from Cala and closer to the time I need to catch the bus from there, AND I dont even have enough cash to make it to Nuoro...I thought briefly about hitchhiking, but then I think about my parents finding out and giving me a look similarly reproachful and disappointed to the one Nana Portugal gave me after The Incident...They would not be impressed. Plus I could get raped and murdered. So....picture this now...I actually walked around Dorgali and begged for money. It honestly had to be one of the most humbling experiences of my life. I learned the following: Germans are very, very generous. Brits are not. Old Italian men are also very generous. Old Italian women look at beggars like they are lepers. I got my 7€, only costing me my pride, and got on the bus to Nuoro, where I find a national bank and get my cash. So now I know that i may or may not make the bus at Cala Gonone because the same bus that drops me off there will be the one leaving (back to Nuoro, to transfer to Sassari, to transfer to Alghero, to transfer to Fertilia) 10 minutes later. It looks unlikely. The busstop to get back on the bus is up this big hill from my hotel, and i still have to pay and check out. So I start crying. This 30-something Italian woman (Giovanna) across the aisle asked me what was wrong...i told her the whole story, most of which I think she understood, and as we were coming into Cala Gonone and I was ready to admit defeat, she went up to the bus driver and started talked to him in mile-a-minute Italian and the bus driver actually stopped behind my hotel and waited for me to go in and pay, and then let me get back on (without a ticket! Giovanna said he said I had bought too many bus tickets today) and we were on our way...If I have not properly conveyed the panic of htis whole scenario, believe me, there was panic. Sardinia is not for backpackers--that is the moral of this story.
After that saint of a bus driver helped me out, everything worked out great with my transfers (although I put my hand on a wasp and got stung) and I arrived safely back in Fertilia, ahead of schedule. Now, if the weather cooperatres, I have one last day on the beach to recover from today.
I will post pictures soon. I will be reuniting with Kaje in Rome in two days...thank God. I am ready for the fun to start again.
Ciao,
Chels
Sardinia is spectacular. Seriously, it is one of the altogether most beautiful places I have ever seen. My Lonely Planet says that it is like a continent in itself, and it feels like it--it has every kind of landscape imaginable, adn they are all richly vegetated and lush. The mountains and hills are terraced with vineyard and citrus and olive trees and it is all so GREEN. Its beautiful. And then there is the water. I crossed the island for the last 2.5 days to Cala Gonone, on the Golfo dOresei (pictures coming soon) and it is this little village spilling up the mountain sides from the Mediterranean, and all around it are the steepest, most enormous cliff faces and the most beautiful (well, maybe tied with Lagos) little coves and grottoes. Sardinians claim that they have the clearest water in the world, and I believe them. It is unreal--it is so clear that the water in these coves is like a thousand colors of blue and green and purple. Unbelievable...
And the people...fantastic. Friendliest bunch I have met so far in my travels, by far. They are so friendly and so pleased by your attempts to speak Italian...And I say attempts, because I frigging suck at it. Shockingly, an A+ in Ital 150 at UVic does not guarantee seemless communication with the natives...But they are so impressed when you try (unlike French people...and my French is WAY better than my Italian). Mostly, I speak in a mixture of Italian, French, adn English, with the odd vocab and verb that I can remember...But I managed to pull out of my ass (in context, not out of the blue) "I have no wristwatch" (dont even ask me why one of the very few Italian nouns I remember happens to be that, a word that I happened to need in conversation) and "I am afraid of the cave because it is too small." That one was spoken in a really broken way, but I got my point across and they didnt make me go to the cave. Professor Martina would be so proud of me.
Unfortunately, as beautiful as this place is and as nice as the people are and as good as the food is, it is about the least backpacker-friendly place I have ever been. There are NO fun people around at all. The only people I met there were the oddest couple--she was Ukrainian and he was Canadian--and I am dead convinced--call me crazy--that she was a Ukrainian mail order bride. Do they still have those? If they do, she was one, for sure. They had the strangest dynamic I havve ever seen and I actually turned down hanging out with them because it creeped me out. Plus, it is IMPOSSIBLE here if you dont have a car. It took me 6 hours and 3 bus transfers to cross an island that would have taken 1.5 hours by car. The buses run sooo infrequently it is ridiculous, and it is still in-season (until today, as it happens)...Which brings me to my story...
Yesterday, I spent the day taking a boat trip along the coast, checking out all the coves and spending a few hours on a couple of the beaches. Great day. Clouded over about 4 hours in, but I got a good enough idea of how fantastic the coast is...So I get back, and I have spent my last 20€ on this trip. I go to the cash machine, and it wont read my card. Shit. I have to pay my hotel bill, and I have no cash. Kristine has my Mastercard. It is the only cash machine in town, so I am told that i will have to go to Dorgali, a ten minute bus ride up the steepest, most zig-zaggy road that I have ever seen. But there are no more buses leaving that day...it is, after all, the insane hour of 5pm. So I have to go this morning at 8:05. Problem is, I was planning to take that bus out to leave to come back to Alghero. The bus back to Cala Gonone then leaves at 10:40, so I will miss the next bus out of Cala Gonone as well. This is disheartening news, because there are only four buses per day. Now let me emphasis to you how important it is that I make the next bus, at 2:25 (out of Cala Gonone). Today is the end of the season. Tomorrow, October 1, the east side of the island goes into hibernation mode and the buses run once per day...if that. Plus, tomorrow is Sunday. My only opportunity to get out of Cala Gonone tomorrow leaves at 4pm and thus will not allow me to make my three bus connections and I wont get back to Alghero...so I will miss my flight Monday morning. So I have to have to HAVE TO be on this bus. Its looking good until, in Dorgali, my bank card doesnt work either...at any of three banks, all Sardinian banks. So Im told Ill have to go to Nuoro, another 45 minutes out...so I am getting further away from Cala and closer to the time I need to catch the bus from there, AND I dont even have enough cash to make it to Nuoro...I thought briefly about hitchhiking, but then I think about my parents finding out and giving me a look similarly reproachful and disappointed to the one Nana Portugal gave me after The Incident...They would not be impressed. Plus I could get raped and murdered. So....picture this now...I actually walked around Dorgali and begged for money. It honestly had to be one of the most humbling experiences of my life. I learned the following: Germans are very, very generous. Brits are not. Old Italian men are also very generous. Old Italian women look at beggars like they are lepers. I got my 7€, only costing me my pride, and got on the bus to Nuoro, where I find a national bank and get my cash. So now I know that i may or may not make the bus at Cala Gonone because the same bus that drops me off there will be the one leaving (back to Nuoro, to transfer to Sassari, to transfer to Alghero, to transfer to Fertilia) 10 minutes later. It looks unlikely. The busstop to get back on the bus is up this big hill from my hotel, and i still have to pay and check out. So I start crying. This 30-something Italian woman (Giovanna) across the aisle asked me what was wrong...i told her the whole story, most of which I think she understood, and as we were coming into Cala Gonone and I was ready to admit defeat, she went up to the bus driver and started talked to him in mile-a-minute Italian and the bus driver actually stopped behind my hotel and waited for me to go in and pay, and then let me get back on (without a ticket! Giovanna said he said I had bought too many bus tickets today) and we were on our way...If I have not properly conveyed the panic of htis whole scenario, believe me, there was panic. Sardinia is not for backpackers--that is the moral of this story.
After that saint of a bus driver helped me out, everything worked out great with my transfers (although I put my hand on a wasp and got stung) and I arrived safely back in Fertilia, ahead of schedule. Now, if the weather cooperatres, I have one last day on the beach to recover from today.
I will post pictures soon. I will be reuniting with Kaje in Rome in two days...thank God. I am ready for the fun to start again.
Ciao,
Chels
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Separate Ways
So I am in Sardinia without Kristine. No, she did not "pull an Alyson;" if anything, I did. We got to the airport yesterday and were told that, despite the fact that the police officers assured us that Kaje could fly with the photocopy of her passport and the police report, it is "against Ryanair rules." It was really awful. We had only a few minutes to decide whether I would take the flight without her and it was a really shitty decision. Kris said that she didnt want me to miss anything that I really wanted to see (Sardinia is Top 5 for me) but more than that, I was concerned about the extra expense of missing the flight. Not only is there a "missed flight fee" (dont think that "missed" is the appropriate word when they wont let you on a flight for something entirely beyond your control) of 75£ (about $170), but also the lost cost of the two flights and the cost of getting to Italy by train. Since I barely have enough money for this trip in the first place, the idea of at least $300 in extra expenses was upsetting. But then, I didnt want to leave Kris to take the train alone...Textbook definition of a dilemma, I believe.
So after some tears in the airport, we decided that I would go while Kaje heads to Nice to wait out her temporary passport, and we will meet up in Italy in one week. After the decision was made, the tears dried up and Kris was all business. She reminded me of me three years ago after I was left in an airport. Actually maybe that isnt true, because she was way more confident than I was. I said before I left, "You can do this," and she said, "I know I can." It was pretty cool to see.
So although I knew that there was a possibility of us splitting up for a few days in the course of this trip, it feels really strange. I am having to try out my solo traveller legs again, and it feels wrong. So far, Sardinia is crap. There is honestly not a single person around--in my hostel or on the streets--and the beach right by us has had some sort of flood, so it isnt very pleasant. I know there is beautiful Sardinia out there, because I spent all summer at work google-imaging it; I just need to go out and find it...Alone, which isnt going to be the same.
Love,
Chelsea
So after some tears in the airport, we decided that I would go while Kaje heads to Nice to wait out her temporary passport, and we will meet up in Italy in one week. After the decision was made, the tears dried up and Kris was all business. She reminded me of me three years ago after I was left in an airport. Actually maybe that isnt true, because she was way more confident than I was. I said before I left, "You can do this," and she said, "I know I can." It was pretty cool to see.
So although I knew that there was a possibility of us splitting up for a few days in the course of this trip, it feels really strange. I am having to try out my solo traveller legs again, and it feels wrong. So far, Sardinia is crap. There is honestly not a single person around--in my hostel or on the streets--and the beach right by us has had some sort of flood, so it isnt very pleasant. I know there is beautiful Sardinia out there, because I spent all summer at work google-imaging it; I just need to go out and find it...Alone, which isnt going to be the same.
Love,
Chelsea
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Adios, Spain
We tried to give Spain a chance. We really did. I was warming to Barcelona--it´s vibrant and lively and has fantastic food. Loved Gaudi´s Parque Guell--it is like Dr. Suess land (will post pictures soon!). We went out dancing with our Aussie friend Sal until 4:30am (although that night I cut my foot and bled all over my shoe. We were dancing to Walking on Sunshine, but turns out I was actually Walking on Broken Glass....hahahah...sorry). We finally got some typical Spanish weather and spent some QT on the beach...
Despite all the cautionary tales (we´ve already met scores of people who have had their stuff stolen, especially in Barcelona) we were completely unprepared for what happened yesterday. Kristine had her bag stolen from the beach with everything in it. Everything. Passport, camera, 300€, journal, books, credit cards, etc. These people are obviously really good at what they do, as they seized a 30 second window of opportunity, after Kris had just flipped over and I had my face in the opposite direction with my iPod on. There were these annoying, very loud loudspeaker messages about jellyfish and I think it provided a distraction. It was an awful, awful day but Kaje is hangin´in.
We were actually working on the following lists before this happened, only now we aren´t joking.
Top 5 Things We Hate About Spain
1) Thieves--they´re everywhere. Pretty much everyone in the police station had
been robbed, including a person who had a broken Coke bottle held to
his throat and one who had her bag physically removed from across her
body by two men while her husband watched on helplessly.
2) Rude, rude people who won´t let us on the metro with our packs on.
3) All service people everywhere--I really think that Spain should introduce
SuperHost into the high school curriculum.
4) Madrid food. Worst meals I´ve eaten in my life. Restaurants with cigarette butts and trash all over the floor. Maybe FoodSafe should also be compulsory.
5) Disgusting hostel washrooms.
This list goes hand in hand with these lists...
Top 10 Things We Miss About Lagos
1) The beaches. Absolutely amazing. And people don´t steal your stuff there.
2) The Aussie boys (you know who you are)
3) Nana Portugal--despite her violent streak, she ran a tight ship.
4) Our own private bagno cleaned twice daily by #3
5) Arthur the crazy hostel guy.
6) The Chicken Man.
7) Fishbowls.
8) 5pm cheese snack.
9) The terrace.
10) 11pm ¨piano"
Top 5 Things We Miss About Home (Not including people)
1) Our own beds.
2) Sushi (Ebizo for me, Momo for Kaje)
3) Tim Horton´s
4) Baths in clean, Maria-cleaned bathtub
5) We can´t think of a fifth thing. That´s a pretty good sign, I think, since we have 2+ months to go.
We leave for Sardinia later today, and I am stoked about that. I´ve wanted to go there for ages and I am looking forward to a mellow week on beautiful beaches. The weather is beautiful again, so it should be just what we need. Between partying, bad mattresses, and partying, I honestly feel like I haven´t really slept in 2 weeks. But I´m not here to sleep, am I?
Love,
Chels
Despite all the cautionary tales (we´ve already met scores of people who have had their stuff stolen, especially in Barcelona) we were completely unprepared for what happened yesterday. Kristine had her bag stolen from the beach with everything in it. Everything. Passport, camera, 300€, journal, books, credit cards, etc. These people are obviously really good at what they do, as they seized a 30 second window of opportunity, after Kris had just flipped over and I had my face in the opposite direction with my iPod on. There were these annoying, very loud loudspeaker messages about jellyfish and I think it provided a distraction. It was an awful, awful day but Kaje is hangin´in.
We were actually working on the following lists before this happened, only now we aren´t joking.
Top 5 Things We Hate About Spain
1) Thieves--they´re everywhere. Pretty much everyone in the police station had
been robbed, including a person who had a broken Coke bottle held to
his throat and one who had her bag physically removed from across her
body by two men while her husband watched on helplessly.
2) Rude, rude people who won´t let us on the metro with our packs on.
3) All service people everywhere--I really think that Spain should introduce
SuperHost into the high school curriculum.
4) Madrid food. Worst meals I´ve eaten in my life. Restaurants with cigarette butts and trash all over the floor. Maybe FoodSafe should also be compulsory.
5) Disgusting hostel washrooms.
This list goes hand in hand with these lists...
Top 10 Things We Miss About Lagos
1) The beaches. Absolutely amazing. And people don´t steal your stuff there.
2) The Aussie boys (you know who you are)
3) Nana Portugal--despite her violent streak, she ran a tight ship.
4) Our own private bagno cleaned twice daily by #3
5) Arthur the crazy hostel guy.
6) The Chicken Man.
7) Fishbowls.
8) 5pm cheese snack.
9) The terrace.
10) 11pm ¨piano"
Top 5 Things We Miss About Home (Not including people)
1) Our own beds.
2) Sushi (Ebizo for me, Momo for Kaje)
3) Tim Horton´s
4) Baths in clean, Maria-cleaned bathtub
5) We can´t think of a fifth thing. That´s a pretty good sign, I think, since we have 2+ months to go.
We leave for Sardinia later today, and I am stoked about that. I´ve wanted to go there for ages and I am looking forward to a mellow week on beautiful beaches. The weather is beautiful again, so it should be just what we need. Between partying, bad mattresses, and partying, I honestly feel like I haven´t really slept in 2 weeks. But I´m not here to sleep, am I?
Love,
Chels
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Madrid: It`s no Lagos
I probably shouldn`t be writing this right now because I am exhausted. I think we`re still recovering from Lagos. Kaje and I have both been feeling homesick--for Lagos. We were there so long (7 nights in the end...we kept extending whenever leaving time was coming on) and met so many rad people and Lagos was so amazingly beautiful and cheap that Madrid has paled in comparison...which may or may not have anything to do with Madrid.
By the time we leave tonight we`ll have been here three days, although the first day was a write-off as we were recovering from a really unpleasant overnight train. There was only one couchette available, so Kris and I shared it. I took the first shift, she took the second. It was the worst feeling when she came at 3am to send me to the chair--the worst sleeping conditions around. We slept most of that day (in the worst hostel situations we`ve had yet, despite the fact that this place was #1 world-rated) and then went out with this nerdy Long Islandian fast-talker that Kaje met on the train. We went for sangria in Plaza Mayor, a beautiful square that reminded me of Saint Mark`s in Venice and then out for an overpriced sushi dinner that didn`t really satisfying Kris`and my serious sushi cravings.
Yesterday, we shopped a bit and then decided that it was time to finally injest some culture, so Lagos was like a culture vacuum. We went to the Prado and pretended for about twenty minutes to be interested in the room after room of Jesus pictures and portraits of unfortunate-looking royalty and then both admitted that we were faking it. But...today we went to the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum, which is supposed to be like a 1500-to-present survey course in western art history, which it was. It was really cool to see art by painters that I`ve studied and my favorite Georgia O`keeffe painting was there, which was really cool. I was stoked by the time we left. Culture isn`t so bad after all (but I still really miss Lagos).
Last night, we went out with a strange mix of people for tapas and out drinking. Our tapas weren`t quite what we expected (but we had great sangria and a cheese platter that was unbelievable) and we drank too much sangria and ended up leaving the bar by 2:30. After what we`ve been doing lately, that felt lamely early.
Boring blog, hey? We`re heading to Barcelona tonight...Hopefully that`ll compare to Lagos, but I somehow doubt it. It`s all downhill from here...(haha).
Love,
chelsea
By the time we leave tonight we`ll have been here three days, although the first day was a write-off as we were recovering from a really unpleasant overnight train. There was only one couchette available, so Kris and I shared it. I took the first shift, she took the second. It was the worst feeling when she came at 3am to send me to the chair--the worst sleeping conditions around. We slept most of that day (in the worst hostel situations we`ve had yet, despite the fact that this place was #1 world-rated) and then went out with this nerdy Long Islandian fast-talker that Kaje met on the train. We went for sangria in Plaza Mayor, a beautiful square that reminded me of Saint Mark`s in Venice and then out for an overpriced sushi dinner that didn`t really satisfying Kris`and my serious sushi cravings.
Yesterday, we shopped a bit and then decided that it was time to finally injest some culture, so Lagos was like a culture vacuum. We went to the Prado and pretended for about twenty minutes to be interested in the room after room of Jesus pictures and portraits of unfortunate-looking royalty and then both admitted that we were faking it. But...today we went to the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum, which is supposed to be like a 1500-to-present survey course in western art history, which it was. It was really cool to see art by painters that I`ve studied and my favorite Georgia O`keeffe painting was there, which was really cool. I was stoked by the time we left. Culture isn`t so bad after all (but I still really miss Lagos).
Last night, we went out with a strange mix of people for tapas and out drinking. Our tapas weren`t quite what we expected (but we had great sangria and a cheese platter that was unbelievable) and we drank too much sangria and ended up leaving the bar by 2:30. After what we`ve been doing lately, that felt lamely early.
Boring blog, hey? We`re heading to Barcelona tonight...Hopefully that`ll compare to Lagos, but I somehow doubt it. It`s all downhill from here...(haha).
Love,
chelsea
Friday, September 15, 2006
What Happens in Lagos...
This is our friend Sommer the flight attendant and her Latin almost-lover, Felipe. If you heard him speak, you would understand why we left him a 75% tip.
Thats Kristine in her valliant effort to maneuvre Canada into third place in the International Beer Bong competition.
Thats the bartender making our fishbowl...
This is Kaje and I with our new Best Friend Forever Meryl from Britain. She was our comrade on our day with the Portugeuse Surf Nazi.
Paradise
And this doesnt even do it justice...Honestly, it is unbelievable. I am in love with this place.
I Heart Portugal
I positively cannot believe I am actually getting emails saying they want more blog entries...I am pretty flattered by that, since I really didnt (still cant figure out apostrophes on these keyboards) think anyone would actually read this thing.
So its day twelve and Kris and I are taking a much, much, MUCH needed down day. Its really our first one since we arrived in Europe and the last few days have been mayhem. I dont think I ever wrote from Lisbon, so Ill start there...
We loved Lisbon. After Porto was a big disappointment, we were way into Lisbon´s cool atmosphere. I find it really, really difficult to pinpoint what I liked so much about it. Our hostel was fantastic and we met a WestJet flight attendant from Calgary, Sommer, about five minutes after we arrived, and we spent most of our time there with her. We spent most of our time in Lisbon just wandering around and doing nothing that would interest anyone reading...It was really, really muggy and hot. Our last night was probably our best one in Lisbon. After eating at non-authentic Portugeuse restaurants for days (Kaje and I took some time to get our appetites back and every time we ordered something, we got something very unexpected and often very unappetizing) we went out for a legit Portugeuse dinner with Sommer. We sat on the big main promenade in a sidewalk restaurant and had a budget-busting seafood dinner made in copper plates..very authentic and delicious. We also killed three bottles of wine and tried to help Sommer pick up Felipe, a waiter Sommer had met days before and partied with. He was about the most charming and attractive (in a Id-never-like-you-in-Canada-Don-Juan kind of way) waiter Ive ever had so we left him an outrageous tip (on our final bottle of wine we tipped 75%...and tipping isnt customary in Portugal) but it didnt work. He walked us back to the hotel after dinner but he didnt stay...I guess the tip was a bit of waste, really.
So now we are in Lagos in the Algarve in Southern Portugal and it is absolutely amazing. I could honestly stay here forever. They say Lagos is like a black hole--it sucks people in and doesnt let them go and I think this is true because nearly everyone weve met here stayed extra nights. Kris and I have added two nights to our already-lengthy four-night stay. The coast is absolutely beautiful, with the most gorgeous little grottoes with cute little beaches with perfect sand. The colors of the water in these little coves is indescribable. It is heaven. Today Im nursing a couple weird patches of sunburn (the sun is still really strong) and am staying away from the beach, but it is really hard.
Were staying at a hostel called Carlos House, which is honestly part of the reason why so many people stay so long. It is the most social hostel Ive ever been in. It has this rooftop terrace where everyone congregates and drinks before going out together. Its really nice. the first night, we just went to the beach and drank and hung out. Kaje and I met some really cool Australian boys (actually I think there are probably more Australian guys around here than Portugeuse)...The next night and last night, we went out to bars and partied until 4 in these packed tiny little bars that are like the size of the average bedroom. We had a blast dancing and drinking these enormous 10-person drinks in huge fishbowls with three-foot long straws. Last night, Kris and some other Canadians did Canada proud by doing a beerbong to win points for Canada on this board. She looked like she was going to die while she was doing it, but she pulled through. I dont think Ive ever been so proud. (haha). Dont worry, there are pictures.
Eurokris is really kicking it into high gear...I have on nights and off nights, but she is off to a running start.
Wow this is getting really really long...One more story. We went surfing the other day--Kris, this rad British girl Meryl, and I with this surf school called Fun Ride. This Portugeuse guy (Paul) and a guy from California (Mikey) came and picked us up in Lagos and took us to the West Coast, where the best surfing is, and gave us a lesson. It was really fun but a really weird day. Paul was a bit of a Nazi as far as surf instructors go. He was really lacking in the positive reinforcement department, and we had to do TONS of practice on the beach before we got to go in the water and he kept barking "Again!" and getting really frustrated with us and telling us that we obviously hadnt listened to shit. We all thought that we were doing alright and we were having fun (although we had to hold our surfboards out of the water and go one at a time for a long time in crashing surf and it was sooo tiring) but he told us were shit..Literally, on the way home I told the girls that I was proud of us (we all got up by the end of the day, but only briefly because we were in shallow water) but Paul informed us that we were shit surfers. At the end of the day, it was freezing and windy and we got changed and were standing around in our bathing suits and they just disappeared and started cooking sardines on this grill behind their hut. We went back to warm up and they ignored us for two hours and talked in Portugeuse and didnt make any mention of taking us home. They gave us sardines though, which were surprisingly really good once you got past the removing the innards and all that. It was strange, because it really didnt have the makings of a good day but it was actually was a fantastic one.
Wow this has gotten really long, and there is still so much more to say. Is anyone still actually reading? To sum up--Portugal is great fun and beautiful and I dont want to leave...But we are headed to Madrid after a couple more days on the beach.
So its day twelve and Kris and I are taking a much, much, MUCH needed down day. Its really our first one since we arrived in Europe and the last few days have been mayhem. I dont think I ever wrote from Lisbon, so Ill start there...
We loved Lisbon. After Porto was a big disappointment, we were way into Lisbon´s cool atmosphere. I find it really, really difficult to pinpoint what I liked so much about it. Our hostel was fantastic and we met a WestJet flight attendant from Calgary, Sommer, about five minutes after we arrived, and we spent most of our time there with her. We spent most of our time in Lisbon just wandering around and doing nothing that would interest anyone reading...It was really, really muggy and hot. Our last night was probably our best one in Lisbon. After eating at non-authentic Portugeuse restaurants for days (Kaje and I took some time to get our appetites back and every time we ordered something, we got something very unexpected and often very unappetizing) we went out for a legit Portugeuse dinner with Sommer. We sat on the big main promenade in a sidewalk restaurant and had a budget-busting seafood dinner made in copper plates..very authentic and delicious. We also killed three bottles of wine and tried to help Sommer pick up Felipe, a waiter Sommer had met days before and partied with. He was about the most charming and attractive (in a Id-never-like-you-in-Canada-Don-Juan kind of way) waiter Ive ever had so we left him an outrageous tip (on our final bottle of wine we tipped 75%...and tipping isnt customary in Portugal) but it didnt work. He walked us back to the hotel after dinner but he didnt stay...I guess the tip was a bit of waste, really.
So now we are in Lagos in the Algarve in Southern Portugal and it is absolutely amazing. I could honestly stay here forever. They say Lagos is like a black hole--it sucks people in and doesnt let them go and I think this is true because nearly everyone weve met here stayed extra nights. Kris and I have added two nights to our already-lengthy four-night stay. The coast is absolutely beautiful, with the most gorgeous little grottoes with cute little beaches with perfect sand. The colors of the water in these little coves is indescribable. It is heaven. Today Im nursing a couple weird patches of sunburn (the sun is still really strong) and am staying away from the beach, but it is really hard.
Were staying at a hostel called Carlos House, which is honestly part of the reason why so many people stay so long. It is the most social hostel Ive ever been in. It has this rooftop terrace where everyone congregates and drinks before going out together. Its really nice. the first night, we just went to the beach and drank and hung out. Kaje and I met some really cool Australian boys (actually I think there are probably more Australian guys around here than Portugeuse)...The next night and last night, we went out to bars and partied until 4 in these packed tiny little bars that are like the size of the average bedroom. We had a blast dancing and drinking these enormous 10-person drinks in huge fishbowls with three-foot long straws. Last night, Kris and some other Canadians did Canada proud by doing a beerbong to win points for Canada on this board. She looked like she was going to die while she was doing it, but she pulled through. I dont think Ive ever been so proud. (haha). Dont worry, there are pictures.
Eurokris is really kicking it into high gear...I have on nights and off nights, but she is off to a running start.
Wow this is getting really really long...One more story. We went surfing the other day--Kris, this rad British girl Meryl, and I with this surf school called Fun Ride. This Portugeuse guy (Paul) and a guy from California (Mikey) came and picked us up in Lagos and took us to the West Coast, where the best surfing is, and gave us a lesson. It was really fun but a really weird day. Paul was a bit of a Nazi as far as surf instructors go. He was really lacking in the positive reinforcement department, and we had to do TONS of practice on the beach before we got to go in the water and he kept barking "Again!" and getting really frustrated with us and telling us that we obviously hadnt listened to shit. We all thought that we were doing alright and we were having fun (although we had to hold our surfboards out of the water and go one at a time for a long time in crashing surf and it was sooo tiring) but he told us were shit..Literally, on the way home I told the girls that I was proud of us (we all got up by the end of the day, but only briefly because we were in shallow water) but Paul informed us that we were shit surfers. At the end of the day, it was freezing and windy and we got changed and were standing around in our bathing suits and they just disappeared and started cooking sardines on this grill behind their hut. We went back to warm up and they ignored us for two hours and talked in Portugeuse and didnt make any mention of taking us home. They gave us sardines though, which were surprisingly really good once you got past the removing the innards and all that. It was strange, because it really didnt have the makings of a good day but it was actually was a fantastic one.
Wow this has gotten really long, and there is still so much more to say. Is anyone still actually reading? To sum up--Portugal is great fun and beautiful and I dont want to leave...But we are headed to Madrid after a couple more days on the beach.
The photos are coming soon...I am uploading them to Shutterfly right now and it is taking YEARS.
Love,
Chels
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Novelty bars, trash cans, and burning hair
So that last blog entry was dated wrong, obviously...I don´t know how to change it.
So now Kaje (Kristine for those of you who have never heard me call her that) and I are in Porto, Portugal after a really hectic couple days. The night of our last full day in London (two days ago--the day I wrote that last entry) was pretty crazy. We met three guys from Ontario in our hotel bar and hung out with them and their two friends from Barcelona. It was cheap (well, cheap for London) beer night, so they drank lots and lots of beer and I drank lots of G&T and we ended up going to Cheers, a novelty bar based on the TV show. Seriously, don´t ask me why in a city of traditional British pubs, we ended up at one very, very loosely based on an American sit-com, but we did...This Cheers turns into a full-on techno-playing disco at 10:30 on Tuesday nights though, so even with all the pictures of Norm and Cliff and Cheers quotes on the walls, it didn´t really accomplish the effect it was going for. Anyway, the craziest thing that happened was that we leaned in to take a picture of the five of us in the booth and my hair dipped into a candle and started on fire. I didn´t actually notice but this guy Matt had to put it out with his hand and Kris says there was actual flame. It was a very expensive and very debauched night, I lost a chunk of hair (not noticeable unless you´re looking for it) and I was very, very sick the following day. As in, I threw up in various trash cans around the city in broad daylight as well as over the railing into the Thames River. Can´t say I have ever done that before. It was an awful, awful day and Kaje and I have both agreed to dial it down a bit...for now.
Last night some girls from Germany arrived in the middle of the night and apparently I sleepwalked to their side of the room and, according to Kaje, tried to help them put their sheets on their bed. I don´t know if I believe her though because when I asked these girls if that were true, they looked really confused. But Kaje thinks that´s because they don´t know what sleep-walking is.
So we had a very mellow and introspective day today, sitting by the river in Porto and wandering around. Porto is pretty, but not really an ideal spot for young, cheap tourists...so we´re going to head to Lisbon tomorrow.
I´ll post some pictures really soon. The computer I´m on right now is archaic and I think it would take years.
Love,
Chelsea
So now Kaje (Kristine for those of you who have never heard me call her that) and I are in Porto, Portugal after a really hectic couple days. The night of our last full day in London (two days ago--the day I wrote that last entry) was pretty crazy. We met three guys from Ontario in our hotel bar and hung out with them and their two friends from Barcelona. It was cheap (well, cheap for London) beer night, so they drank lots and lots of beer and I drank lots of G&T and we ended up going to Cheers, a novelty bar based on the TV show. Seriously, don´t ask me why in a city of traditional British pubs, we ended up at one very, very loosely based on an American sit-com, but we did...This Cheers turns into a full-on techno-playing disco at 10:30 on Tuesday nights though, so even with all the pictures of Norm and Cliff and Cheers quotes on the walls, it didn´t really accomplish the effect it was going for. Anyway, the craziest thing that happened was that we leaned in to take a picture of the five of us in the booth and my hair dipped into a candle and started on fire. I didn´t actually notice but this guy Matt had to put it out with his hand and Kris says there was actual flame. It was a very expensive and very debauched night, I lost a chunk of hair (not noticeable unless you´re looking for it) and I was very, very sick the following day. As in, I threw up in various trash cans around the city in broad daylight as well as over the railing into the Thames River. Can´t say I have ever done that before. It was an awful, awful day and Kaje and I have both agreed to dial it down a bit...for now.
Last night some girls from Germany arrived in the middle of the night and apparently I sleepwalked to their side of the room and, according to Kaje, tried to help them put their sheets on their bed. I don´t know if I believe her though because when I asked these girls if that were true, they looked really confused. But Kaje thinks that´s because they don´t know what sleep-walking is.
So we had a very mellow and introspective day today, sitting by the river in Porto and wandering around. Porto is pretty, but not really an ideal spot for young, cheap tourists...so we´re going to head to Lisbon tomorrow.
I´ll post some pictures really soon. The computer I´m on right now is archaic and I think it would take years.
Love,
Chelsea
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Cheerio!
I'm new to this blogging deal so I'm not entirely sure how I'm supposed to do this. Do I write like I know people are reading it or do a journal-type thing? I don't know, so here goes...
We're in London, day two. Day one doesn't really count though because we spent most of it sleeping. We're still pretty jetlagged and twice we've tried to lay down for "nap" and slept for hours and hours. We figure that at least sleeping is the only thing in London that's cheap, because nothing else is. Multiplying the cost of everything (already high) by 2.4 to convert to pounds is a really big buzzkill. The only London things we've done so far are ride a double-decker bus and go to Buckingham Palace, which I wasn't altogether impressed by. I expected a big grand lawn and all that but it didn't have one. Actually I had to ask a police officer (who had a machine gun and three rifles, by the way) if it was Buckingham Palace at all, which probably seemed really stupid. But then a guy wearing a Texas Longhorns shirt and a Texas something-or-other hat asked us in a Texan drawl if we knew where the Hard Rock Cafe was...Then I didn't feel as stupid. If it doesn't sound like I'm altogether impressed with London, I actually am. It's really beautiful and quaint. I wish we were spending more time here.
Today was supposed to be our crazy all-London day but we accidentally slept until noon (Ativan is nothing to kid around with, we've learned) so tomorrow is going to be it. Then we're off to Portugal tomorrow night.
It's day two, Kristine is still here and has no obvious intention of leaving, which already makes her the best person I've ever been to Europe with.
I know I'm probably not supposed to sign off of these post things, but it feels wrong not to, so I'm going to every time as if it's a letter.
Love,
Chelsea
We're in London, day two. Day one doesn't really count though because we spent most of it sleeping. We're still pretty jetlagged and twice we've tried to lay down for "nap" and slept for hours and hours. We figure that at least sleeping is the only thing in London that's cheap, because nothing else is. Multiplying the cost of everything (already high) by 2.4 to convert to pounds is a really big buzzkill. The only London things we've done so far are ride a double-decker bus and go to Buckingham Palace, which I wasn't altogether impressed by. I expected a big grand lawn and all that but it didn't have one. Actually I had to ask a police officer (who had a machine gun and three rifles, by the way) if it was Buckingham Palace at all, which probably seemed really stupid. But then a guy wearing a Texas Longhorns shirt and a Texas something-or-other hat asked us in a Texan drawl if we knew where the Hard Rock Cafe was...Then I didn't feel as stupid. If it doesn't sound like I'm altogether impressed with London, I actually am. It's really beautiful and quaint. I wish we were spending more time here.
Today was supposed to be our crazy all-London day but we accidentally slept until noon (Ativan is nothing to kid around with, we've learned) so tomorrow is going to be it. Then we're off to Portugal tomorrow night.
It's day two, Kristine is still here and has no obvious intention of leaving, which already makes her the best person I've ever been to Europe with.
I know I'm probably not supposed to sign off of these post things, but it feels wrong not to, so I'm going to every time as if it's a letter.
Love,
Chelsea
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