The end!!!

The main purpose of this last blog post is to express my deep gratitude to everyone who made this trip the amazing and wonderful adventure it turned out to be. This trip literally would not have been possible if it hadn't been for the extreme generosity of everyone who opened their home to me and took me in. I stayed with friends, families of friends, friends of friends, a few complete strangers, and I did not have a single negative experience. People were kind and hospitable beyond my wildest dreams. All of my needs were graciously met--beyond just the basic shelter and food and showers and a place to do laundry, I was hooked up with a camera/cell phone, a winter coat and gloves, a phone charger, reading material, rides and access to various events, and much more.

I know for sure I would have run out of money early in my trip and I wouldn't have had nearly as fun, pleasant, pleasurable or comfortable a voyage if it hadn't been for all of you. I can only hope that one day I will be able to (if not repay) at least pay it forward and be as good a host to future wanderers and guests.

I am also grateful to everyone who read this blog or kept up with me in some other way while I was traveling. It was remarkably meaningful to me to know I wasn't forgotten about, because I certainly missed all of you. I'm sorry if I was true to my word and a little on the loquacious side. I hope you found my tales amusing.

I wish I could offer some great insight gained from this trip. But the fact of the matter is that it was pretty short, and I didn't really go to Europe to "find myself" in the first place. I went because I am a restless person full of wander lust. I love traveling, and don't get to do it enough, and I figured I should grab an opportunity when it seemed I had nothing better to do. I also haven't really had that much down time to reflect, since my life has remained fairly crazy since returning to the US.

Here are some condensed reactions and reflections. I am always happy to elaborate upon request.

-The world is a big and beautiful place. The more of it I see, the more I want to explore. It was a good reminder not to let other stuff get in the way of taking/making this kind of opportunity.

-Traveling by myself really increases my sense of self-confidence and competence. I'm pretty damn good at it.

-Came away satisfied. Had lots of fun and adventures. Even if I didn't write as much as I thought I would. Few regrets. One of which is losing three essential things from the list of six and another is not shelling out 8 euros to see Michaelangelo's David and da Vinci's in Florence. Also, there are still so many places I didn't get to go and still want to, but I see that more as deferred gratification than regret. Also, I wish I could have eaten more pasta in Italy. Or more in general.

-Got to see old friends and make new ones. :)

-Being abroad for 3 months changed my perception of being home. Although I missed the ease and comfort of being here while I was away, I felt sort of removed upon returning. I've been especially tuned into the commercialism and different quality of food. Food here really is much sweeter, saltier, richer and more intense than in Europe, in general. And there's more of it.

-Traveling hopefully renewed my excitement and energy for my real life and college too. We'll see.

-All my pictures are up on facebook. Hurray!

-I'm excited to see you and catch up! And I can't wait for the next adventure to begin.

Nearing the end

The hostel we stayed at in Lisbon is ranked in the top ten in the world on hostelworld.com. It was nice. There was free breakfast food out pretty much all day. The dorm rooms were large, airy and spacious. There was free internet available, and 24 hour reception, friendly helpful staff, and plenty of other amenities. But after the last two sweet, family-owned, tiny hostels with private accommodations, moving back into a communal living space like this was rather a step down.

We quickly gained nemeses in the form of a really weird French couple. There was this girl, sitting on her bed in the shared room on her laptop, for basically 8 hours straight. She was there when we arrived in the city and dropped off our stuff, and she was still there when we returned from a preliminary stroll, and still there when we left again for a late dinner. Occasionally, her boyfriend came to join her, and they both sat on the bed, staring at her computer and periodically saying "Ha" in approximate unison, apparently vaguely amused by something they were watching. Needless to say, Sara and I eyed them with distaste.

We didn't get to see much of Lisbon. It was really hilly. We ate some pastries at a little cafe. We also went out to dinner at one of the restaurants the hostel recommended. I ordered the "house steak" which came with an egg and bacon and gravy on top of it. It was quite interesting. This restaurant also sneakily got us to pay for appetizers. They brought a tray with a bunch of cheeses and fish spreads, bread, and olives. I figured they were just giving us a lot of free stuff. But actually they charge you for whatever you eat. Oh well. We also did witness a car/motorcycle accident. I still get phantom pain in my hand when I think about it.

Sara and I both set out and parted ways the next morning. I barely slept because I was stressed out and thinking about getting up at 5 am to get to the airport in time. I had an 8 am flight. So I got on my flight to London/Gatwick and Sara got on her flight back to New York a few hours later. It was really nice to have a visitor and travel companion for those two weeks, and we had a lot of fun together.

That day, Tuesday December 7th was long and stressful for me. I was basically in transit from 5am until 12 am. I flew to Gatwick, then took a bus to London, then was about to get on a bus to Leeds to see Mia at last, when I suddenly got a call from her saying she was in London and not going back for four more hours. So I had to adjust accordingly, change my bus, and seek her out in London. Then we wandered around Camdentown shopping for a while. I adjusted to cold weather, being in a big city, and being in a place where Christmas is more capitalistically in-your-face, and remembered why I'm not crazy about that. Being in Europe, and mostly away from that, up until that point did a lot to show me the other side of a holiday I've never really been able to appreciate before. So that was nice.

Anyway, it was really exciting and great to see Mia again. The week that followed was definitely a week of decompression for me. I was in Leeds to see her, and not to see the place, so I didn't do a whole lot. We slept in a great deal, and I got to know her friends, and we watched some movies, including Jaws which I immediately became obsessed with, and made me want to be a sailor/pirate/shark/shark-hunter more than ever! Mia and I were in pretty different emotional places, and it definitely wasn't the visit I was expecting, but I'm really glad I was there. I also got to hang out with fellow Udubber Helen Please (also the recipient of my self-created goofiest-last-name pass-down). That was super awesome, we hit it off and became good friends, and had a really long and stimulating debate about religion, probably encouraged and set off by my going to a Christmas Carol church service with her. Also at that event I got to try mulled wine and mince pies, very traditional English Christmas fare.

I went to a class or two with Mia and got a better sense of the similarities and differences between the UK and US university systems. Also a cool and interesting thing to do. There was a definite sense of my trip winding down all along. This really took me by surprise. I kept marveling that it felt like it had been so quick, and I definitely could have kept going and traveled more. I think this is an indication that I paced it really well. There was enough variety in where I was going, what kind of living situation I was in, how long I stayed and what I was doing that it stayed fun throughout. And before I knew it, I was on my way back home.

100% Cozy Lagos

The journey from Algeciras to Lagos, Portugal was one long adventure, or inconvenience, depending on how you look at it. I had researched and booked a bus that was supposed to go directly there, albeit with a few stops, including one in good old Sevilla. The tickets were pretty expensive, but it seemed the best and easiest way to do the trip. We were scheduled to leave at about 10:45 a.m. We got to the bus station, the only bus station we had dealt with in Algeciras so far, and to my knowledge the only one this small city had, to discover that the bus to Sevilla wasn't until 11. This made Sara worried and suspicious, and after looking at the ticket I had printed out, she said that we were supposed to go to the Port, and not to the bus station.

I tried to play it cool. By the time we made this realization we definitely did not have time to walk to the Port and find whatever buses might be there before missing the scheduled departure. So I figured if we took a bus only 15 minutes later, maybe we could switch to our original bus when it stopped in Sevilla. It definitely wasn't ideal, but I didn't want us to waste more worry over it than we needed to, so we rode the bus to Sevilla and agreed to sort it out when we got there.

Unfortunately, we were up for another frustration when we arrived. Well, several actually. There was some sort of demonstration, art project or (most likely) general transportation strike going on in Sevilla that day. There were hundreds of taxis just sitting empty in the streets. Also, there are two bus stations on opposite ends of town in Sevilla. One is right near where my apartment had been and sends out buses to other countries and far away places. The other is for local and regional buses. Our bus from Algeciras went to the latter, and our bus to Portugal was going to leave from the former. So we hiked across town with all our bags to try and figure out how to get to Lagos.

We then had another couple of stress-filled hours while we waited at the bus port, not sure if the tickets we had would get us onto the bus we needed, or when exactly that bus would roll up. Our original bus was supposed to get us to Faro (a town within a short cheap train ride of Lagos) at around 4:30. We didn't actually board a bus in Sevilla until 4. We finally got to Lagos around 8 or 9. But once there, all our problems were solved. Our hostel hostess Marie picked us up at the train station in her car and drove us back to her house/guest house. This was by far the nicest hostel I have ever stayed in. It was a big, cozy, comfortable, impeccable, lovely house. We were the only guests the night we arrived, so we got our pick of rooms between a slightly bigger one and a smaller one with sole access to the chill-out area on the roof (from whence there was a view of the ocean). This place also had a kitchen and a living room with active fireplace, computer with internet, TV with cable and movies. It was pretty fantastic, especially the first 24 hours when we had the whole place to ourselves.

We began exploring Lagos the next afternoon. It was a beautiful little town--full of boats, right on a gorgeous coast full of grottos, colorful cliff and cave formations and beaches. It was clearly a popular tourist destination as such a beach town, but it was not touristy in any of the ways I object to. This may have had much to do with it being the off-season. But it was not crowded or kitchy and I didn't feel like everyone was trying to sell me something. It was just a nice place to visit.

Before getting there Sara and I had talked about treating ourselves to a horseback-riding adventure. After consulting Marie, however, we decided it was too expensive and difficult to get there because we didn't have a car, and we were better off going on a guided boat tour of the grottos. We did that and it was really beautiful and epic. We took a LOT of pictures. And that was the main thing we did while we were there. The rest of the time we just relaxed. We went grocery shopping and made ourselves some food, we went out a few times, we walked on the beach and marina and we snuggled by the fireplace. We even chatted with some Americans who were doing a masters/teaching program in Madrid, but were spending their weekend at our hostel in Portugal.

Lagos was lovely and we were sad to head out after 3 nights. But we did all the same, and caught a bus to Lisbon (after yet another small transportation misadventure).

Walking the Rock

The night we returned to the family-run Lisboa Hostel in Algeciras, we discovered yet another gem in that mostly fairly unpromising town. One of our hosts recommended a tapas bar that was just next door. We went and checked it out and it was really fantastic. It seemed like the most authentic Spanish restaurant we visited, which makes sense since Algeciras is not very touristy, especially compared to Barcelona, Sevilla, Cordoba and Granada. It was also super cheap! That first night we had 4 or 5 different tapas, a glass of wine each and after dinner liquers (on the house!) for 8 euros altogether. We ended up going back and eating there again the next night and the waiter/possible owner gave us another round of free drinks as well as a serving of a fish/octopus salad we had ordered the night before, to enjoy as we decided what to order. It was pretty sweet.

Our post-Morocco plan was to take the ferry back to Algeciras, stay there for two nights and do an all-day trip to Gibraltar between those nights, then head off to Lagos, Portugal where we had booked a very positively reviewed hostel for the following 3 nights, then go to Lisbon for our last night before shipping off in different directions.

The trip to Gibraltar was sort of a mixed experience. Sara had heard a lot about it before coming to the region and was from the beginning arguing for a visit there. I was more skeptical. I'd heard of it but didn't really know what it was (just a rock? some sort of pilgrimage destination of religious or historical significance? I had no idea). It turns out (for those of you likewise in the dark on these matters) Gibraltar is one of the few remaining outposts of genuine British imperialism. It is this tiny island within easy walking distance from the coast of Spain which should by all logical implications belong to Spain but is in fact part of the UK. (Interestingly, even though it has been under GB control for hundreds of years, it still appears to be a sore subject to Spaniards. They get kind of embarrassed and unhappy if you mention it to them.) Everyone there speaks English, there are fish and chips pubs and UK department stores all over. It is, in fact, so obnoxiously, aggressively, kitchily English that it seems like one giant tourism stunt. Sara insisted, though, that that's just what colonies are like. It's over-the-top British and feels discordant just because, well, it is discordant.

Sara perhaps described the feel of it best as being like the Disneyworld Epcot portrayal of England. It is also a crazy tax haven, so there were a lot of shops, especially for cigarettes and booze, but everything else as well. However, there is another side to it. Most of the island is taken up by this giant rocky mountain (The Rock of Gibraltar). It's big, beautiful, green, impressive, and reportedly home to the only monkeys in Europe. I have to say, the monkeys were a big draw for both me and Sara, as they are for many other visitors. There are also a bunch of caves and battle sites and bits of history that tour guides will drive you up to and let you check out for the totally outlandish price of 25 euros per person. Sara didn't really want to hike up the mountain, but I was unwilling to get ripped off like that, so in the end we hiked, and I was very happy.

We managed to get through the gate to the scenic, attraction-heavy upper portion of the Rock just around the time they stopped charging admission. So we did the whole excursion for free!!! And we saw some mother-loving monkeys, my friend. I love wildlife in whatever form (even mice and rats and seagulls) and I'd never seen a monkey in the wild (for no lack of trying in South America), so I was really, really excited about this. These monkeys have gotten used to people, so you can get really close to them and they won't do anything to you. We saw monkeys climbing a gondola tower, monkeys stealing chocolate from people, running around, just chilling on the ground, we saw an adorable tiny little baby monkey, we even saw monkeys having sex (much to my surprise). We even had a sneak preview on the way up of one monkey running across a hotel roof. It was a very satisfying monkey experience.

We also stumbled upon an old Jewish cemetary that was up there and met this really bizarre and strange-looking Gibraltarian (his term, not mine). Without invitation or encouragement, he approached us and began a 30-40 minute uninterrupted monologue about the demographics, politics, lifestyle and culture of this crime-free strange tiny island of 25,000 inhabitants. And you thought I was bad!

Another fun fact, you have to walk across an active airstrip to get there! Overall, Gibraltar was weird but memorable and the views from the top (of Europe and Africa and the sea in between) were quite spectacular. We couldn't totally enjoy the sunset because we didn't want to get trapped on the mountain once it was done, but we caught some good glimpses and made it home. Win-win situation.

Rocking the Kasbah

One of my greatest goals throughout this entire trip was to get to Morocco. This was for a number of reasons. I know several people who have gone there and all have really seemed to love and rave about it. I suspected it would be really culturally interesting and beautiful, and the food would be delicious, and it would give me the sense of being somewhere truly foreign that I haven't really had up til now. I mean, some things have definitely been different, but I sort of wish I could have done this trip 50 or 100 years ago, before globalization really took off. But that's another story. I expected Morocco to look and feel more profoundly different from my experience than Western Europe did. I also have a goal of getting to the 6 continents besides Antarctica before I turn 23, and this way I could count Africa. :)

So, Sara and I planned to spend the week we had after my short-term lease was up and before she heads back home and I head back to England to see my friend Mia (at last!) traveling to/in Morocco and Portugal (where we both booked flights out of Lisbon). But that was just about all we planned-- ahead of time. Moving day was a hectic combination of trying to figure out where to go next and how to get there while simultaneously packing up all of our stuff (half of which had recently been stewing in a lake of water the washing machine produced).

Sunday Nov. 29 we struck out on the road again. We took a train toward Algeciras, one of the Spanish port cities that is closest to the Straits of Gibraltar and Morocco. We had a little confusion when the train stopped 2/3 of the way there, but we eventually figured out what the conductor had tried to tell us in Spanish when we got on, that we needed to transfer to a bus in the village Ronda. This was because from there the route was along these crazy winding mountain paths which we rode along in the dark. We didn't get to Algeciras until about 11 pm, and the city was weirdly shut down and deserted by then. It took a while to get our bearings and find the hostel we had booked, but when we did find it it turned out to be a real little gem. It's a family owned and run place, and the family was extremely sweet and charming. The room was clean and came with a private bathroom and a balcony.

We got there late enough that we couldn't really get anything to eat, so we had a pretty sad dinner of a can of tuna each and some raw pasta on my part (Sara insisted it was terrible for my teeth, but I thought it rounded out the tuna pretty well.) The next morning we grabbed some breakfast and made for the ferries to Tangier.

As it turned out, the ferry was reasonably indicative of some of the things that would be different in Morocco. It didn't leave until almost an hour after it was supposed to. The men who had sold me the tickets (aside from the whole ticket-selling operation being vaguely sketchy) had told me it would take about an hour and a half to make the crossing. It took more like 3.5. Another one of those 30-40 year old men whom this trip has taught me to be more wary of approached me and talked to me for a while on the ship's deck. After I realized that he was making Sara nervous and upset, I eventually broke off the conversation, but I do feel like I learned some interesting things from him. I was careful not to tell him where we were staying when he asked, though, and sort of talked around his suggestion that we meet up while we were in Tangier, and I was fairly alarmed when we happened to pass him on the street a few days later, though I think it was just a coincidence. Sara also pointed out that there were comparatively very few women on the boat.

This was definitely a recurring theme. Every time we went out and about in Tangier, we saw about 10 or 12 times as many men as women. There were a bunch of restaurants and tea houses that seemed to be entirely male zones. We had been warned, and we went in anticipating some unwanted attention for being two young white western women with uncovered hair, but it was definitely worse than I was expecting. I am generally dismissive when I hear about other people's fears and discomforts with this kind of thing. I pretty much always feel safe and confident wherever I go, I am used to feeling this way, and it is pretty hard to make me feel otherwise. But something about the situation in Morocco really did make me feel nervous, edgy, dis-empowered somehow.

It felt like every man we passed was openly staring at us, that most of the younger men were mocking us or trying to intimidate us, even if all they said was "Como estas?" It was the way they said it. It was the way that they felt they could say anything they wanted to us, even if it was totally obvious we wanted nothing to do with them. It was the fact that even a young boy, probably about 12, on the back of a motor bike felt he could yell something to two adult women with utter impunity. There was just something about the situation that felt deeply unfair, and it made me angry, and what made me even angrier was that there was nothing I could do about it. I am not used to being powerless to change a situation I don't like. But what could I do? This is a foreign culture, where I can scarcely communicate. I was there only a few days and had no way or opportunity of changing any of their attitudes or even discovering in a more scientific way what their attitudes even are. And perhaps it would have been ethnocentric and wrong for me to try.

Suffice it to say, I didn't fall in love with Morocco the way I planned to. It sort of rubbed me the wrong way from the minute we arrived. It didn't help any that our hotel was not "a short way from port" but actually well over 2 miles out of town. We tried to walk there with the directions I had, but we eventually got tired of lugging all of our heavy stuff that far, especially as the sun was setting and it was getting cold, so we hailed a cab (with difficulty) and rode the remainder of the way, which turned out to be just a few meters by then.

I have a strong suspicion that I would have liked other towns in Morocco better. I have heard several reports that Tangier is one of the less interesting and desirable cities to go to, that Marrakech, Fez, Meknes all would have been much cooler, and probably even Casablanca and Rabat would have been more enjoyable, especially as I had connections I might have been able to use to stay with people in those last two. But all those cities are also much deeper in the country and harder to access than Tangier. It also happened to be a big week-long festival, the festival of sacrificing sheep, the week we chose to go there, so most businesses, museums and authentic Moroccan restaurants were closed.

Eventually Sara and I decided that since we did not have that much time to travel, we hadn't really made any plans ahead of time, we didn't have even a guide book or much idea of what we were getting ourselves into, it was not an ideal time to visit anyway, and the misogynistic culture made us uncomfortable, we would go back to Spain and try and see the Rock of Gibraltar (high on Sara's to do list) and get to Portugal a bit sooner, rather than trying to delve deeper into the nation we were in. I would like to go back to Morocco one day and give it another chance--but I think I would like to have someone who knew the country, culture and language better than I do along with me.

We did have one day of mostly fun adventures. We wandered our way into the Medina and Kasbah of the town. Upon entering the Kasbah we were greeted by a man named Mustafa, who spoke to us in English, told us the tourist office and museum were closed, but that he was there to meet us, and then proceeded to give us a private tour of the neighborhood. We had sort of hoped to avoid this kind of thing--namely, getting hoodwinked into paying someone some unknown amount for a service (such as guidance) that we had not technically asked for. But in the end, I think it was for the best. He was very nice and showed us a lot of cool interesting things including Henri Matisse's house and what he claimed was his tomb (we're not totally convinced), some very old mosques, some beautiful views, and a restaurant that the Rolling Stones used to hang out in.

The tour took a turn for the sketchier when he brought us several stories up into a co-op, then left us with two strange men while he went off to pray. These men wanted to sell us a handmade woven silk/camel wool rug from the desert. They showed us several, showed how these were high quality, could not be pulled apart like the machine made kind, could not even be burned by a lighter. They also brought us some sweet mint tea, the drink of choice in the region, also called Berber Whiskey (since they don't drink real alcohol). I quickly fell for this drink and had at least 5 more cups in the next 24 hours.

Sara decided to go for it, and we started to barter. She feared for my life when the man suggested €290 and I suggested €10. It was a tense moment. But eventually she settled on a price they were both reasonably happy with, and we did not become corpses or hostages. All in all, it was a very exciting little tour. The streets were very narrow, winding and confusing, we definitely would have gotten lost and not understood as much if we had tried to tour the Kasbah on our own, and we would have encountered a lot more discomfort because of the men around us than we did with a guide. For that alone it was worth what we eventually paid him.

Despite all the challenges, we did get to try some delicious spit-roasted chicken on a sandwich and couscous before we left. We got to see a bunch of young children carrying a lamb around like it was their job. We had a beautiful view of the sea from our far-away hotel. We even saw a camel! Which may have been the highlight for me. And we made it back to Spain with a few more dry clothes than we had when we left.

Does it still count as a siesta if you just get up late?

It's been several weeks now since I last updated this thing, and consequently I now have more to write about than anyone ever thought possible. But I will try to cram in the essentials in a vaguely reasonable number of words/posts, and I'll even try to go in chronological order, but I'm not making any promises.

I had a total of three weeks in my cozy apartment in Sevilla. The week by week breakdown went more or less as follows: Week 1- relax, unwind after months of travel, explore Sevilla, walk around, hang out in internet centers, read. I think that was also the week I took a day trip to Cordoba. Week 2- plan Sara's visit, read Wuthering Heights, Sense and Sensibility, Breakfast at Tiffany's and most of Absalom, Absalom, write some crazy poetry, mostly inspired by said Faulkner book, wait for Sara to arrive. This was the week I took a day trip to Granada. During those two weeks I prepared almost all of my own meals (though they all truly stretched the lower limit of required preparation) and ate a shocking amount of muesli/granola, which I find to be delicious, and appropriate for breakfast, dinner, dessert and snacks.

Week 3 was the week that Sara finally arrived (Hi blog readers! -- Sara), something I had been looking forward to throughout the whole trip to that point. Week 3 resembled the two weeks preceding it in that it was low-key, involved a lot of sleeping and rest and was far from a flurry of activity, but we did get around to visiting the main sites in Sevilla, such as the giant Gothic Cathedral and the Moorish Alcazar palace, which I had been putting off until then. I also got to try a lot more local cuisine that week, since I could use having a visitor as an excuse for going out to eat / eating real meals like a normal person. That was the week I finally tried paella. Twice. And lots more tapas. Including octopus. On Thanksgiving. But before I get carried away with all that, a few words on my day trips.

Cordoba
A fascinating city, full of history. It took about 1.5 hours on the train each way. The whole city is surrounded by this crazy medieval fortress wall that the Arabs built when that whole section of the Iberian peninsula was under their control. Basically I spent the day walking around inside that Brown class I almost took last semester- "Living Together: Muslims, Christians and Jews in Medieval Iberia." I started the day by touring some ancient Caliph bath ruins, then I found one of three synagogues in Spain remaining from before the expulsion of 1492, went to a teeny museum on Spanish Jews and briefly visited the giant Mosque Cathedral. I didn't go inside because it was too expensive, but I could tell it was impressive and beautiful and cool all the same. The orange grove courtyard was nice. Apparently, the Arabs were big on those--I found more at the Alhambra, the Sevilla Catedral and the Alcazar.

Granada
I saw a wild pomegranate tree while I was illicitly tagging along behind a group of people who had paid for a tour guide (and bus) at the Alhambra. I've gotten really quite good at free-loading on this trip. Anyway, I recently discovered how delicious these things are, and after looking at the tree I started having a craving, and when I went back to Sevilla I bought myself one, only to discover that the Spanish word for pomegranate is in fact "granada." Coincidence? I think not. The main thing I did in Granada was tour the Alhambra, which is this crazy and amazing and huge old Arab palace. Really incredibly beautiful, with massive and extensive gardens. I also learned a lot about Washington Irving, one of America's earliest famous writers, who (lucky bastard) actually just got to chill out and live and write in the Alhambra for a few months at one point. That's when he wrote most of this book "Tales of the Alhambra" which originally put it on the map as a tourist destination. Pretty wacky stuff. And it's the 150th anniversary of the book this year, I think. Hence the museum exhibit.

I also had a tiny misadventure with a gypsy who caught me unaware as I approached G's cathedral (these Spaniards really like them some church). She stuck a piece of rosemary into my hand and proceeded to read my palm in mostly Spanish with some English thrown in now and then. At the end she asked put a cross on my forehead and then put her palm out and said "money." I was a little peeved. I had no interest in paying this woman for an unwanted, solicited, mostly incomprehensible and generally silly service. What's more, I didn't have any bills smaller than a 20 and although she offered to give me change, I didn't really want to go down that road. So I handed her the only coin I had, a meager 10 cents, and accepted her look of disdain gracefully.

Granada was also the trip upon which I was almost forcibly ejected from a train for the first time. It wasn't the first time I pushed my luck on a train, I spent a lot of time looking over my shoulder for fine-giving train officials in Scandinavia. In fact, this error was pretty innocent. When I went to Cordoba I took slower smaller older trains to avoid paying the really obnoxious main-line Spanish reservation fees. I just flashed my Eurail pass and rode. I figured I could do the same thing to Granada. But it turned out I was supposed to get a reservation, and wasn't allowed to ride without one. So the conductor held out his hand for 4 euros. Unfortunately, at that particular moment I was putting off a return to the ATM and had only 3.10 in currency on me. I wasn't sure if he was going to insist on throwing me off or not (because he didn't speak English, and I only kind of understand Spanish), but at the end of our talk he threw up his hands and never came back, so I can only assume he decided to let it go. He was pretty grouchy though.

I later chatted up and made friends with a middle aged San Franciscan couple who had been sitting a row or two behind me during this altercation on the train, and were waiting across from me for the train back to Sevilla later that night.

The best parts of the Sevillan cathedral, in my opinion, were the tower (formerly a mosque's minaret) that you could climb and see all of Sevilla from, and the tomb of Christopher Columbus, which I had no idea would be awaiting us there. It was also generally big beautiful and impressive. The Alcazar was cool, although I was less impressed than I might have been if I hadn't gone to the Alhambra first. The gardens there were also quite spectacular. And there were peacocks!

On Sara's first night in Sevilla we went out to dinner across the river. This was before we decided to purchase a small phrase book, and they had no English menu, so we picked items at random from the menu and hoped for the best. An excellent culinary adventure. We ended up with a really yummy tomato based stew with salty cod in it, and some meat we later discovered to be ox. Possibly ox calf. It was quite good. On our way back we saw a rat down by the water, which I thought was cool and Sara thought was terrible and upsetting. Especially when it started swimming. Then someone above our head started throwing small loaves of bread. We thought it might be AT us, but I think this restaurant just throws their leftover bread into the river for the fish. It was really crazy--the river positively started swarming and churning with fish. You could see thousands of them, right up at the surface, charging this bread and fighting over it. Exciting stuff.

And that pretty much covers the events of my latter two weeks in Spain. Except for our delicious, extremely non-traditional Thanksgiving dinner that culminated in me frequently stating "I'm a pirate and can drink as much as is needed," subsequently downing a bottle and a half of wine and, well...let's say I lived to tell the tale. Then of course there was the tragic saga of attempting to do laundry at my apartment. I think it's all dry now, but it took a good 4 or 5 days and several border crossings to get there. Soon I will write about my life post-Sevilla. It's been great, but despite a few landlady frustrations, Sevilla was a fantastic place to live, a beautiful city and it will always hold a special place in my heart, especially as it was technically the locale of my very first apartment. :)

Sevilla so far

I feel like I can breath a real sigh of relief in many ways. It feels really good to finally have caught up on this blog. I wish I could be caught up on posting pictures as well, because I am a bit worried that after being so many places in such a condensed period, I will forget what was where. But I don't seem to be able to upload stuff on the internet center computer, so it will have to wait, and I'll have to think of other things. Shouldn't be too hard.

I'm now on my fifth day in Sevilla. To be honest, I haven't done all that much since I got here. Sunday I unpacked, did some preliminary exploring of the town, met my landlady Virginia who:

a) has a cat
b) doesn't speak a word of English
c) lives in the apartment with the rest of us
d) smokes
e) talks to her cat a LOT
f) seems very nice, even though she has posted lists of rules all over the house.

I also met the other cohabitants of the apartment. They are two eighteen year old girls from the Netherlands (which they just refer to as Holland, which I prefer, but didn't think we were allowed to do anymore). Their names are Paola and Linda. They are both taking a 3 month language course here. They're very nice, although sometimes they prefer to talk to each other in Dutch than to me in English, or locals in Spanish (but who can blame them really?). My first night they invited me to join them at the birthday celebration of one of the other girls from their program. We had more tapas! (I ordered this really nice fried eggplant thing with honey). It's great that they are so friendly and inclusive, it will make the next few weeks less lonely.

I slept early hard and long my first night in my new bed. In the morning, I said to myself, "Ok Tinkle. You're in Spain. Now write!" And I did, a little. So that was nice. I haven't written much since, but maybe a similar tactic will succeed again. I also went grocery shopping, in that I'm-an-independent-adult-who-is-going-to-eat-at-home-for-a-while kind of way. A way I have never shopped before. It was kind of cool and exciting. No, I didn't buy any vegetables, unless you count tomato sauce (that tastes like ketchup), but you can't really hold that against me. I'm on a strict budget here!

A good portion of my quest the first few days I was here was finding stuff to read, stuff to write with, and places to use the internet. I must say, this trip has been a real eye-opener to me in terms of how dependent I've gotten to be on computers. Not having them, or needing to pay for them, and carefully track my use of them will do that. I don't like to think of myself as someone who spends that much time on computers, or needs them much. But they help a lot with keeping in touch with people, writing, and finding out about/organizing fun interesting things to do, which are all things that ARE important to me. But I'm trying to strike a good balance between using computers when I really need or want to, and occupying myself other ways the rest of the time.

I've been able to read for pleasure a lot on this trip, and that's been great. It's been a while since I had the time and motivation. But I guess not being in school makes that much easier. Plus spending all the time on trains. Unfortunately, I have already gotten through the 3 books I brought with me (The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas, Alphabet -a book of Danish poetry, and Crime and Punishment), as well as the ones I have picked up/borrowed along the way. Paola had a couple English books in her room that she lent me, but they are both how-shall-I-politely-say...not heavy lifting. Which is sort of more what I'm in the market for at the moment.

So I've been looking for bookstores with selections of English books (harder to find than you might think). Unlike much of the rest of Europe, most people in Sevilla don't speak any English at all. Spain and France have sort of remained islands of linguistic integrity. I think it's kind of cool. But it does make living here a bit more challenging for me. I am definitely going to try to pick up as much Spanish as I can, but knowing my limited ability with languages, I am not expecting a miracle of fluency.

Yesterday I had a great triumph: I joined the public library. It took me a few days to work up the energy to find it and check it out, but it was well worth it. They have computers with internet you can use for free, they have a decent collection of English books, they have English-Spanish dictionaries, they have books like Harry Potter and the Chronicles of Narnia that I can read in Spanish because I know them by heart, and they let me join for free! I'm sure I posed a strange candidate with my Spanish-illiteracy, my US passport and UK phone number, but I had a Sevilla address, and I guess that's all you really need. So now I'm restocked with reading material.

I also had a good near-death adventure on Tuesday. It doesn't translate that well as a story, so suffice it to say it involved getting lost and highways. I'm just always impressed by my special ability to change an ordinary day into a basic struggle for survival.

Wednesday I saw David Castillo and ate some pastry. It was nice to see a fellow Brownie! However, he was between trips to Portugal and Germany, so I won't see him again until next week. I also went into a hidden bar where local acts perform and do flamenco dancing for free! I have to say, the woman who was dancing was one of the ugliest people I have ever seen. It was quite ironic--you usually expect dancers to be, well, attractive. She also seemed extraordinarily unhappy and unplesant and unfriendly. But she was talented. I couldn't see her feet, and I really wish I could have, but the guitarist, singer, dancer combo and the incredible clapping and sense of rhythm were all very impressive, and felt like a good dose of real Spanish culture.

And that's pretty much what I've been up to so far. I'm hoping to catch some of the Sevilla Film Festival tonight, and I've been exploring the city a lot, trying to get a feel for it. From everything I've observed so far, Sevilla was a really good choice. The weather is pretty ideal, as is the size of the city, straddling the interesting-manageable continuum admirably. I'm looking forward to a relaxing few weeks. :)

Barcelona on

I should probably explain that at the same time that I was experiencing all this travel exhaustion and being burnt out by tourism, I was also pursuing a lead on an apartment in Sevilla, Spain. A few weeks ago I (or rather my mother, on my behalf) put an ad on craigslist saying that I was looking for a short-term lease in Morocco or southern Spain. This was always one of the important if half-baked pieces of my plan for this trip. I suspected that I would be tired of living out of a suitcase, hostals and other people's homes by the time November rolled around. I also suspected that I would want to retreat to a land of warmer weather. I also thought it would be a really cool experience to try actually living in a foreign country, as opposed to just passing through. That way I would get a really different perspective, and I could say I'd lived abroad. ;)

I wasn't sure when I headed out of Bosnia if anything like this would actually pan out. But as I was frantically trying to decide what to do with myself on a day to day basis, I was also reading a few responses to the craigslist post, some of them basically offering exactly what I wanted. The one that really caught my attention was through a company called HolaSevilla. They run a language program here, but they also set up accomodations and you can take one without the other if you like. The housing is for short stays, 2-12 weeks, exactly what I was looking for. The price was reasonable. So I went for it. I made the deposit my first night in Barcelona, as I was already making my way there.

I arranged to stay in a shared apartment in Sevilla for three weeks, from Nov. 8-29. More on that later. First, Barcelona.

It was pretty sweet. It was the first place I'd been in a while where it no longer felt like winter was approaching, which wins a lot of points in my book. The sun was shining, and there were palm trees everywhere, and lots of people outside. My first stop was absolutely a hostal with a shower, after all that train riding and wearing of the same outfit. After that I went a-wandering, and nervously entered a tapas restaurant. Nervous because I don't really understand tapas, and I didn't want to do it wrong. I wasn't sure how many items I should order, how big or filling they would be, etc. But it worked out. And it was yummy! Then I went and spent a few hours at the Picasso museum. Even with my relative apathy toward museums, and aversion to spending money, this was something I knew I wanted to do. I've always been into Picasso (and other off-beat artists and creators), and especially after finishing Gertrude Stein's book about chilling with him and the rest of the Lost Generation in Paris, I was pretty pumped about it. It was solid.

I also went to the Miro museum while I was in the city. I felt kind of the same way about Miro as I did about Picasso. He's kind of a crazy genius, doing something at the same time unsettling and hilarious, and that appeals to me. I just became aware of his existence last year, and it was nice to check out some more of his weird and wacky Spanish stuff. I think there's something about Spain that allows it's artists to use bolder colors. And you know me. I like colors.

Spain is, unfortunately, a big offender in the realm of mandatory Eurail reservation fees. But I managed to minimize them as much as possible by taking 13 hours to get from Barcelona to Sevilla instead of like 4-6. I took yet another night train on Saturday 11/7, but with the happy knowledge that it would be my last train of any kind for a while. Sunday, I found my way to my apartment in Sevilla and completely unpacked my backpack for the first time in 2 months.

It's raining. I'm going to Spain!

I was ready to leave Venice when my 5 hours were up. Shortly thereafter, I got on a train to Florence. I got to Florence in the evening, and still didn't know where I would sleep. I meandered my way to an internet cafe, got on Hostelworld.com and found a pretty reasonably priced place that ended up being totally great. It's this semi-chain, the main one was the Emerald Palace and I made my way there first. They had this awesome elevator, one of the really old kind with a metal grill you open yourself. The kind in old movies. Nice. But I wasn't destined to stay there, they sent me back to one of the other locales. Still really cool, with lots of fun Aussies and Americans and other people and computers with free internet access. The staff was really good too. I ended up staying there a second night last minute, because I thought I would take an overnight train to Barcelona, but then they wanted me to pay 57 Euro for the tickets even though I have a Eurail pass, so I ditched that plan.

Because I decided last minute to stay an extra night in Florence, they almost gave me a private double room! They were worried they wouldn't have enough dorm beds, but they were going to give it to me for 20 Euro, instead of the 13 it would cost for a regular bed or the 35 it would usually cost for the room. In the end though some of the other people who came later agreed to take the double, and I got my public bed and lower price. I thought it was cool how flexible and accomodating the staff of the hostel was though.


I explored Florence a bit the one full day I had there. I went to a few of the big old churches. One of the less famous ones was shockingly beautiful on the inside. The really famous one was kind of boring on the inside and there were MILLIONS of tourists, but there was this really cool crazy painted dome you could climb up to if you paid, which I didn't. I felt about Florence kind of the way I did about Venice. It was pretty, it was obviously very old, there were definitely a lot of great pieces of art hanging around, but it didn't really feel like a place I needed to spend much time especially with a non-existant budget. Maybe I'll go back some time and see the David and some Leonardo's and all that, but not this go round.

I left Florence early Thursday morning. I spent a good chunk of that day riding trains toward Nice. The route was pretty much right along the Mediterranean, and the views were beautiful and awesome, except that we went through a shit-ton of tunnels, so they were intermittant. In the early afternoon, the train stopped in Genova, Italy and I finally got to experience a bit of the country free of rain. I went down to the waterfront, where there was this huge kind of Disney looking pirate ship. I'm not sure what it was there for, but it made me smile. There was also a big statue of Christopher Columbus, which I thought was a little random.


I made it to Nice around 4 or 5 pm and I booked a night train to Barcelona that would be leaving around 10. I decided it wasn't worth it to check my backpack at the station, since the luggage area closed at 7 anyway, so I wandered around for most of the evening with it on my back. I walked to the water and dipped my feet in the sea, but instead of sand the beach was made of little pebbles and it wasn't that nice. I saw the sun set, but after that I was wandering around in the dark. I had a truly delightful and delicious dinner of my sweet chocolatey crepe, but after that I started descending into a completely irrational frame of mind.

There have been a few times during this trip when I have become vaguely obsessive about not spending money. It's been pretty muted when I have been staying with people, or rather it's been less of an issue. When I don't need to pay for lodging and mostly don't need to pay for food, and I need to pay much less for transportation because I'm staying in one place, it's pretty easy to stick to a travel budget of 100 dollars per week. Once I got cut loose and needed to pay for hefty train reservation fees, lodging, food, internet and phone use and any kind of entertainment, that budget quickly became unreasonable. But I sort of kept trying to stick to it anyway, which meant that every time I paid for food I got stressed out, and I felt too guilty to do anything like go into museums.


I realized later that this was pretty silly. I came to Europe to see and do things and have experiences, and as long as I have more than 50 dollars in my bank account, I really shouldn't be starving myself, literally or experientially. So what if I come back poor? I can always make more money, right? But anyway, the amount of travel, moving around, making decisions about which city, country and bed to sleep in in that intense pocket of days added up to make me go a little crazy while I was wandering around Nice. I also didn't have a map and got worried I wouldn't find my way back to the train station. But eventually I did, I got on my night train, and I tried to relax.

The night train could have been better. I was in a pretty uncomfortable reclining seat, directly behind me there was this guy who was talking on a cell phone for HOURS, and I think there was a crying baby too, though that may have been one of the other trains. I managed to scrape a little sleep anyway. I had to transfer trains in Toulouse early in the morning, but I also got to eat a croissant or two and brush my teeth, and my mood improved. Then, at last, Friday morning I was on a train to Spain.

Fine dining- of a kind

In a 24 hour period, I had a foccacia bread sandwich in Genova, Italy for lunch, a nutella crepe in Nice, France for dinner, a croissant in Touluse, France for breakfast and tapas in Barcelona, Spain for lunch. Although this fact in itself is what I would classify as "badass," it also reflects my completely insane lifestyle from last week.

I left Bosnia in the early afternoon on Monday 11/2. I spent the following 24 hours getting to Venice, first on a long bus ride to Zagreb, Croatia where I had a layover, and then on a night train from there. On the bus, the man sitting next to me clearly wanted to engage me in conversation, but I didn't even know enough Bosnian to tell him I didn't speak the language. He eventually figured it out (I tend to become a mute in countries where I don't know the language, because I don't like admitting more than I need to that I am foreign and ignorant), and then he resorted to offering me these dark, sweet vaguely-licorice flavored candies for the rest of the trip. It was pretty cute.

In my compartment on the train there were two French guys and an Italian, all around my age. I could have tried to talk to the French guys, or spent more time eavesdropping on their conversation, but I decided to try to get some sleep instead. I figured I would need the energy when I got to Venice. I did talk to the Italian a little, in English. He was very nice, and gave me some recommendations of where to go in Italy (Milan, his town, Lucca, a small university city, later seconded by another traveller, and some other similar place I forgot the name of). I didn't end up going to any of them yet, but hopefully I will later on the trip or on another. He also lent me his jacket to use as a pillow. He also happens to be a music critic for Vogue-Italia, which I think is pretty flipping cool, considering he's literally a few weeks out of university.

So I got to Venice around 7 am on Tuesday. I didn't have a plan of how long I would stay or where I would sleep, I kind of thought I would take a night train out, probably to Florence, if such a thing existed, so I could avoid paying for a hostel, which were more expensive in Venice than I had found in London and Budapest (the only places I have needed to use them thus far). I stored my bag at the train, and they charged a flat rate for the first 5 hours, so I figured I might come back to the train station 5 hours later and reevaluate my options.

Sadly, it was raining when I got to Venice. It hasn't rained too much on my trip, but it is kind of a big damper to my plans and spirits. It's nice to be inside when it's raining, to be somewhere warm and cozy with a book or a movie or a friend and a cup of tea. It's a lot less fun to be randomly roaming an unfamiliar city by yourself, looking for interesting things and inpsiration.

My first impression of Venice was that it was a very wet place. It is anyway. In the place of main streets, there are canals. Often when you follow a winding street for a little while, you dead end at a canal. Then with the rain, the sky was wet, and the ground flooded. They put down all these duckboards (I think that's what they call them?) and the famous plaza was like a giant wading pond. It was kind of cool and quirky and interesting, but it was also very wet.

It was also in Venice that it started to dawn on me in a big way that I'm not really cut out for proper tourism. When it comes down to it, I don't care that much about seeing popular famous places and things and going to museums. I like to be in places where no one is trying to sell me anything, and I vicerally object to places where the opposite is true. So Venice wasn't really my cup of tea, even though it is a really unique place that is fun to explore and look at.

...I've decided to break this up into more manageable chunks, because it's going to be long. See next installment coming soon!

Bosnia, at last

I ended up spending an entire week in Sarajevo, and each day more popped into my head to say about it. I really really loved Bosnia. I am a bit conflicted about telling the world this, because one of the things I liked best about it was how unspoiled it was by tourism. I guess I'm kind of a hipster that way. I like travelling, but a place is really only cool when I am the only one who knows how cool it is. It's just that a place feels more authentic when it isn't trying to sell itself to you, it's just being itself. On the other hand, it's selfish of me to keep Bosnia to myself when its economy and government are in such shambles and could probably benefit from the profits tourism bring. But I can't help it anyway, so it's a moot point.

I was staying with the Luftman-Kleinwaks family. Eric Luftman was friends with my dad in college and he and his wife Elise are both in the US foreign service, and they just started their 2 year post in Sarajevo a few months ago. They have two daughters Gavi (almost 13) and Sarit (just turned 8). They were a fantastic family to stay with and I was genuinely sad to leave them! I sort of felt like I could stay there forever and just become part of the family posted there. :) I bonded with the girls, even though they started out calling me Miss Tinkle and eventually shifted to Miss Shana when I told them they didn't need to address me so formally. I've never felt like such a grown-up! It was a bit trippy. Gavi made dinner for the 3 of us the first night and a half I was there, so I was shamed into cooking for them shortly thereafter. It pretty much never happens that I cook at all, let alone for other people, so that made me feel a bit like a grown up too, but in a good way. It was just spaghetti though. Any fool can cook spaghetti. :P Still, it's the first step.

They both reminded me a bit of myself, in different ways. Gavi and I have really similar taste in books. Her room was festooned with excellent fantasy novels with a few things like Freakonomics and Three Cups of Tea sprinkled in, lest we should forget how smart and knowledge-hungry and precocious she is (hard to do). Sarit, on the other hand, is a crazy little ball of energy, who will not be told what to do but is very good at turning the cannon the other way. Pretty hilarious.

As for the country, each day unleashed new surprises and joys. It was totally unlike anywhere else I've been, especially on this trip in Europe. There were mosques everywhere, for one thing, which I found really beautiful and awesome, especially since they're so foreign from my day to day experience. They were also mostly built in the Ottoman Empire in the 1500s to add to their aesthetic and historic value. One of my favorite moments was when I took an expansive walk into the hilly neighborhoods of Sarajevo on my fairly foggy second day, when suddenly the iman's call to prayer came wafting up to where I was from miles below. It was quite magical and surreal.

Sarajevo's old town is a joy. It feels like a very different world, sort of the way I imagine Turkey and Morocco and parts of the Middle East look and feel like. There were all these little bazaars and shops, and there were also all these metal-workers tinkering away at these beautiful crafts they make. And they drink this crazy kind of coffee out of these weird little containers- hard to explain, but it's really sludgy with grounds and bitter and they put lots of sugar cubes in it and serve it with Turkish delight. Needless to say, one cup had me pretty well wired.

Probably my favorite day in the area was the one when I took a walk to the Skakevac waterfall. The waterfall itself was pretty small and not THAT impressive, although it was lovely and interesting. The walk there wasn't fun so much as intense and strenuous. I felt like I was battling a deadly foe, intent on my doom. There must have been about 100 trees lying directly across the path I was trying to follow in the wet, muddy, slippery forest, and each time I came to one I needed to figure out a way over under through or around it. It was no easy task, and I learned that my new shoes, sturdy LL Bean walking shoes though they are, don't tread that well, especially on wet wood. I fell hard and often and I was wet, muddy and scratched up, and very tired and hungry and cold, by the time I finally emerged from the woods. I wasn't always sure I would, but I reigned victorious in the end. I should add also that I did not see another soul the whole 3 hours or so I was in the woods. I did meet a friendly Dutch couple on my way in, but they decided they weren't sturdy enough for it. A few minutes after they left, it began to hail. I pressed on.

When I finally came out of the woods, I met a fellow who was parking his car at his house near the start of the path. He said he had seen me on my way into the forest a few hours earlier. I remembered waving to a man in a car, and assented. He said, ¨Come in and have a drink.¨ I eagerly accepted.

Some of you might be thinking that it is unusual for strangers to invite other strangers into their homes in such a fashion, and that it is unwise to accept such offers when they are proferred. In this case, I had no such concerns. I had read in the LK's guidebook that this is part of the Bosnian culture- people are very friendly and hospital and often invite you into their homes and give you drinks and sometimes food. Having read this, I was really eager to experience it for myself. And indeed, I got my chance. The man (whose name was Dragon) brought me inside and I hung out with him and his German girlfriend Hannah for about an hour and a half. I drank two cups of typical Bosnian coffee and later a cup of tea. They also had me take off my wet socks and shoes and put on some of theirs and dry mine by the woodstove while I was there. It was totally awesome.

On the weekend, my last two days in the country, I went on some family adventures with the LK's. Saturday we went to the town of Mostar, where there is a famous old bridge (that was destroyed during the war, but later rebuilt, unlike much there which is still looking bad), another Old Town, (somewhat more touristy) and supposedly one of the newest UWCs, though I didn't spot it. Sunday I took my first ever horse and carriage ride in this pretty park near Sarajevo, and also tried roasted chestnuts. In those two days I also tried nearly all the traditional Bosnian cuisine. It's very meaty and fatty, and although I'm glad I tried it, I don't miss it too much. The same does not hold, however, for my hosts and the country itself. It was a really lovely week.

The last leg of Crazy Week

So if you've been following this blog, you may have noticed my unusual habit of leaving it un-updated for a while and then writing a festival of posts all at once. I know it's kind of goofy, but I don't have a computer with me most of the time, and I also don't get that many chunks of time when I feel like writing, so then I save up all my adventures and I want to share them all, but I am too wordy to put them all in one post because it would be the longest thing in history and looking at it would make you want to die. So this is just how I do it. Hope you don't mind.

The third of the three cities I went to see last week was Budapest. I once again traveled in the early morning, so I could have almost two days there but only need to pay for lodging for one night. This time I stayed in a hostel, only my second night in one on my trip so far. This hostel was REALLY cool. At first I thought it was sketchy, but it was just really non-traditional. It was basically just an apartment, where one of the rooms had about 8 beds. There was also a living room, a bathroom and a kitchen that all felt like a family residence. They provided some fruit and cake as snack/breakfast, and we could use the fridge and the stove as we liked. There were also supplies for tea and coffee at the ready. I'm afraid of gas stoves, so I never had any tea, but I liked that it was there.

There was also this little room in the entry where the people running it hung out. They had a tv going, and a couch one of them slept on, and a computer that played music and could do other stuff. I asked if I could use the internet, and he just moved over and offered me that computer. It was pretty goofy, and I didn't stay on long because I wasn't sure if he wanted it back or whatever. But cool, and free. There also wasn't any secure place to leave luggage, you just kind of left it in their room or your room and hoped for the best. It was a crazy place. Also, the apartment right next door seemed to be the home of an elderly couple. I kept glimpsing them through the window on my way in and hoping they would invite me in for tea and adopt me, but they never did.

Budapest was really cool. It felt really different from the other places I've been so far in Europe. The first day I explored and toured around on my own, and the second day I did a bit of that, and a bit of a free guided tour my hostel advertised. I'm really glad I did that. I got to hear a bit from a Budapest native the history of the place and the insider view, and where merchants were ripping tourists off, etc. Some amusing tidbits I got from guide Gabor:

Hungarian is a crazy language. To illustrate: the way Yoda talks in Star Wars was developed by translating the script into Hungarian, and then back into English. (I feel like I should check my sources on that one, but if true, awesome.)

He also told a few jokes about Hungary being a "post-communist country". It's no longer communist, but it's not exactly a regular functioning, economically successful democracy either.

-Hungary has two seasons: winter and construction.
(Because the latter is slow and inefficient and they pay workers to mostly sit around and do nothing).
-Tax dodging: the Hungarian national sport.
(Funny, but sad, as it creates a vicious cycle. He said 80% of the population REPORTS their earnings at minimum wage--obviously most of them actually make more than that.)

I also managed to show up on the anniversary of a big demonstration that happened in 1956, and only two days after their National Day, so there were flags everywhere and even a couple of demonstrations going on while I was there, though I didn't really know what they were saying. A lot of the buildings looked really gorgeous from far away and weren't that impressive close up, but they had a really old synagogue and church (both restored since WWII and communism) that were exceptions and were quite spectacular.

I tried goulash, though I found out the next day that it's pretty touristy and most Hungarians don't actually eat it that much. Oh well. I'm glad I tried it anyway. I also tried some Hungarian wine, which isn't that famous out of the country, but it is actually really well regarded and delicious if you know who to ask. It was a really pleasant little whirlwind tour.

And so, Monday the 26th I left Budapest after a little more than 24 hours. I got on a train to Zagreb, Croatia at 2 pm. I passed the ride reading and writing (mainly related to The Bell Jar). I got to Croatia in my raggedy former Soviet Union feeling train at around 8 pm. I had a moment of panic that no one would speak English, and I wouldn't be able to navigate my way to the bus station, but actually the info lady did, and the walk was pretty short and straightforward. Also, on the way, I found the coolest souvenir of all time. There was a Croatian license plate, just propped up on a wall next to the road, like someone had lost it and someone else thought they might find it if they left it like that.

I don't know if I did someone a great disservice by taking it, but I really doubt it, and I think it will be the coolest thing ever to put up on my wall when I get home. It was just sitting there BEGGING me to take it. But then when I was crossing the border I was really afraid that customs people would get mad and be like "WHY do you have this? Are you a spy?" and then I would get beaten and deported. So I am trying to figure out a way to ship it home, so I don't have to nervously lug this random, dirty, somewhat suspicious object around for the next month and a half, including BACK through Croatia.

Next up...Bosnia!!! (I can't resist. I think I've found a new favorite place. It's basically the coolest place I've ever been. But that's all I'll say now.)

Next stop, Vienna

Vienna didn't remind me as much of Before Sunrise as I thought it would. I didn't meet any dashing strangers on the train there. But one of the roommates of the girl I was staying with (Resa, a friend of my friend Ina, an Austrian Udubber) showed up at the exact moment I got to their door and tried to figure out which button to push. Which was kind of like a miracle. Or at least a convenient coincidence.

Resa was REALLY sweet and a very nice host. She gave me some Austrian lemon flavored beer that first night, and it was by far the best beer I have ever had. It didn't taste bitter or crappy at all, the way beer usually does, to varying degrees. It was just sweet and lemony and delicious.

I think I was in Vienna for three nights and two days, but it's all sort of a blur now. I walked around a lot, and even had a companion for the first day of it! Which was kind of a nice change of pace. She took me to this crazy Austrian art museum though, full of these messed up Expressionist painters, and it was great at first, but after an hour or so it made me hate life. Then I went to an Opera, which was a totally great opportunity and experience and all, but I got a standing seat in the balcony, and I'm too damn short, so I was climbing on the rails and supporting my weight in all kinds of bizarre and inappropriate and acrobatic ways for the entire 3.3 hour event, and there weren't any likeable characters in said opera (Lady Macbeth von Mzensk, which incidentally, has nothing to do with the Macbeths you Shakespeare buffs might be thinking of), so I went on having a rather depressed, bleak and Russian view of the world for the rest of the evening.

However! I also got to go to a cool Viennese cafe. The waitresses were really inattentive, rude and unpleasant, but that's part of the experience. Actually, I found rude to be kind of the shtick in Austria, and it was the first place I have been where I wouldn't want to live, just because most people are very rule-bound and unfriendly. People kept getting mad at me for STUPID stuff. Like I wasn't wearing/holding my backpack in the right way in the museum, and five different guards tried to get me to do it differently. I'm still not sure why it mattered or what the most correct position for my backpack would have been. Also I tried to pet a horse and got yelled at. It just made me kind of angry. Also in the cafe some dude started smoking a CIGAR at the table right next to us. That's when I remembered I was in Europe...

I really enjoyed Vienna, even though a lot of the people were douches. I even stumbled upon this random military festival, where I got to climb into a tank, and they were sending people on huge zip lines and kids were rock climbing and music was playing and there were all these army dudes in uniform everywhere. Very bizarre. But I saw the pretty buildings, and I relaxed a little bit, and Resa and her friends were super nice to me. So that was good too.

Pretty Prague

So I spent my last day in Germany rallying my spirits for The Great Tourist Surge. Between October 21 and 27 I was in 6 countries. It was crazy. But it was fun and interesting and good too, and I walked around a lot and saw a lot of cool stuff.

In Prague, I officially couchsurfed for the first time. This was one of the sources of my stress while I was at the Wards', because I wasn't sure how much time I needed to spend looking for hosts, or if I would actually find one, or what it would be like when I did.

But I did find this guy Phil who hosts people ALL the time at his apartment in Prague, along with his roommates. They are all studying at the Film School and they are a very international bunch (American foreign service brat, Ukrainian, Swedish, Colombian). However, they were working on a film the day I arrived, from 3 until "the evening", so I had to make sure I got there in time to get let in, and nab one of their phone numbers, and then I had to keep myself busy in the city until 10, when they said they would be back.

It turned out that they were still filming when I called them at 11:30, and had lost track of time and forgotten about me. They told me to wait outside the flat until Phil showed up, which was a little after midnight. I was pretty disgruntled about that. But other than that, they were really great and we "chilled out" together a bit, which was really nice. Then I crashed, exhausted from getting up at 4 am or whenever it was, and wandering the city for 8 hours.

I just remembered I already wrote my post for Prague in my journal. Hurray! Here it is:

I think Prague is my favorite place of all time. I spent years resenting my parents for coming here with Adam and not me, and the last few days expecting the city's splendor to snap me out of my slump, and my expectations of how cool it would be were not disappointed. I might have been expecting it to be more foreign or Russian or something--it feels very European, but it is totally unique. The varied and lovely color schemes of buildings- incorporating all colors, but always complementing each other, often in soft subtle pastels, make the city unrelentingly beautiful. The river and its bridges and the buildings that line it are stunning and breathtaking. And the PALACE overlooking the city is the most beautiful building I have ever seen--better than Notre Dame, Versailles, anything I can think of. Move over Montezuma (and AC), I've found a new dream castle for me.

I finally saw a changing of the palace guard (after about 4 other missed opportunities in other cities). It probably would have been anticlimactic after the castle if I hadn't accidentally become part of it by trailing the guards from their post to the place they swap instead of waiting for them from an outside vantage point. It was around the hour and I saw them start to march, and I didn't want to miss it! It was awkward but hilarious, for me.

Except for the language, I may have found my new home. It's calm, it feels clean and safe, it's bohemian, artsy, intellectual, lovely, old, romantic. I want to come back and see the castle again, and the inside too if possible.

I also found the Jewish quarter, and though I didn't tour or learn anything, it was nice to at least see these old buildings. It's cool they're still around.

I've lately been annoyed with myself because I can't work up the courage or resolve to go into random bars by myself to meet people and make friends. It's just hard to know which bars it would even work in! Especially since I don't speak the language in these places. I would feel like a real tool going into a bar and ordering a drink and sitting by myself. (Which I actually did in Prague, while waiting for my hosts to surface!) But maybe this will be resolved eventually...

Before I left for my trip I talked to Jon Cannon about Rules for Wandering. When he first asked me what mine were, I didn't think I had any. But then I thought about it more, and realized that if at all possible, I like to take a different route back than I take first, so I cover twice as much ground and don't go over the same streets twice. I also look for water. If I'm feeling really aimless, I get a map and try to find all the things on it that are labeled and/or look interesting.

On the big Charles bridge in Prague there were three street musicians playing. The first was a woman singing opera accompanied by a boombox. The second was this guy with a crazy array of percussion instruments, singing and drumming, and doing the didgeredoo. Kind of hard to explain...And the last was a jazz group, performing/singing Hello Dolly with their Czech accents. I just thought this mix was very funny.

OK, that's enough about Prague. It only covers my first day, and not my epic search for the secret Mecca known as "Bohemian Bagels." The end of the saga is that I found it, within 2 hours of needing to get back to my flat and get all my shit together to get back to the train station and catch my train to Vienna, and I had 55 Czech marks left in my wallet. A bagel with cream cheese cost 60. I asked a woman if she had an extra 5, and she didn't, so I scooped one out of the tip jar. I know it was wrong, but it's like a quarter, and I needed that damn bagel!

I also ended up in the REALLY touristy part of the city the second day, and I didn't think it was quite as cool as the rest, but all in all, it was pretty sweet.

Guess my good mood couldn't last forever

Since leaving Copenhagen, I've continued to experience a certain degree of malaise. I spent the majority of Friday on trains, getting to southern Germany. That was fine. Pretty relaxing and peaceful. I finished reading Crime and Punishment.

When I arrived in Stuttgart, although it was pretty late and I was tired, I decided to seize the moment, and went to an Irish pub in Boblingen to hear Dave (Kirsten's dad) play some rock standards with his American band. This area of Germany hosts the headquarters of the US army for all of Europe. So there are a lot of Americans and English speakers running around. There is also a lot of crazy army propaganda on the radio and television. It's all pretty strange.

I had a nice time in the pub, though I spent the first set worrying about the fate of my giant backpack sitting near the door under the coat rack. Since experiencing theft so recently, I was trying to be especially cautious. But eventually I got to put that in the car, and I could loosen up, get a drink and chat with some of the locals. Finally there were some pleasant young men my own age! :) I had to argue with one of them about the merits of American culture, but it was good-natured. One of his parents is Libyan, so I can sort of understand his distaste.

I've been staying for the past few days with my friend Kirsten's family. They are super nice and accommodating, and I feel totally at home here. There are 8 year old triplets (two boys and a girl). They are very cute, sweet, intelligent and energetic. The weekend was actually quite exhausting just because they were so eager to play. But the whole time I've been here I've felt a bit morose. I think it's largely because everything reminds me of Kirsten and makes me miss her! And that leads to a more general sense of loneliness. I've also been trying to plan the next stage of my journey, which I think is going to be the most difficult.

Basically my plan for the next few weeks is: 1-2 days in Prague, couchsurfing with strangers; 1-2 in Vienna, staying with the friend of a UWC friend, 1-2 days in Budapest, staying in a hostel. Then I need to find a way into Bosnia (where my Eurail does not work, and neither does the translator button on the bus website), where I will be staying for a few days with some friends of my parents in the foreign service, posted to Sarajevo. The tourism website for Bosnia has tips on how to avoid land mines.

After I leave Bosnia, I want to travel along the Mediterranean coast; Italy to France to Spain. But I don't really know anyone in any of these places at the moment. Once I get to Spain I want to go to Morocco and spend some time in both of these countries, and choose one to setup in for a more extended period, renting an apartment and just taking care of myself for a few weeks. However, as this gets closer, it is starting to seem less feasible. It seems in many ways smarter to just stay here, where I can relax and have other people take care of me. But I am determined to press on. I am feeling travel weary and full of trepidation. But I know there is a lot of awesome stuff still out there to see and do, and I might as well try to enjoy it. I've started getting some responses from Couchsurfing.org, and I am hoping that turns out to be a great experience, and not awkward and stressful. I don't know why I'm feeling so negative, but I hope I am able to snap out of it.

I'm also annoyed that I have to pay train reservation fees everywhere I go. They've been around 10 dollars or more, each time, and each time I get really mad. My Eurail pass was really expensive to begin with and I kind of thought it meant I could just hop on trains whenever I felt like it. But a lot of options require reservations, and I don't know the system well enough to know if I will have a seat if I don't reserve one. Grrr. It just makes me grouchy. But I guess I just have to accept it and try not to let it bug me as much.

So anyway, I'm setting off into the great unknown at the crack of dawn tomorrow, albeit against my will and better judgement. Hopefully all these cities will prove so cool and beautiful that I will return to a more jovial, excited and enthusiastic state of mind.

Copenhagen: not my scene

I'm sad to say, Copenhagen and I didn't get along too well. I think it was largely because I have gotten used to staying in smaller more manageable, idyllic towns where I don't feel like I need to go around and see the sites, but can just do what I feel like and relax and soak it in. Being in a real city, with lots of cars and bikes whizzing by me all the time and big buildings and everything else was a bit disconcerting at first. I think it also made me feel more alone- to be in this big place where I was so foreign and didn't speak the language or know where to go. Of course, most people there speak English, but still. I didn't feel an affinity for the place right away, instead I felt sort of uneasy.

I have found more and more on this trip that the places I like to be when I am touring cities alone are the places where it feels less like a city, less like a foreign country, and more appropriate to be alone. Namely, I gravitate toward parks and quiet walks by water. I guess it's a cop out, but it's free and someone stuck all those parks there in these crowded places for a reason. My FAVORITE part of Cph. that I saw was this canal where there were all these epic and very pirately, old fashioned sailing boats. I took pictures of a few of my favorites, which I will eventually put up on Facebook.

There was other good stuff. It grew on me as I explored. It's a pretty cool blend of old and modern, as many European cities are. There was a really cool exhibit up in preparation for the world emissions summit (or whatever they are calling that thing) called 100 Places to Remember (Before They Disappear). I wandered into the "free city of Christiana." I thought it would be interesting because it was founded by hippies in the early 70's, and people there can just sell and smoke hash and weed totally in the open. But it turned out to just feel kind of sketchy and uncomfortable. Ah well.

However my visit was tainted by an awkward interaction with a plump Greek man of about 30 who turned out to want more from me than friendship and pleasant conversation, and who for some reason demonstrated to me that he had literally a huge wad of cash with him. That was weird. And then while I was still recovering from that experience, I discovered that my bag that had had my passport, 30 UK pounds and chapstick had vanished from my backpack. I missed all three items, and the bag itself, very badly. And I was really mad at myself for not being more careful and somehow letting this happen, even though I had been trying to be careful all along.

In the end it was all right. The US embassy in Cph. turned out to be really efficient and pleasant. I had a new emergency passport less than 24 hours after losing the old one. And it was kind of cool to see how that whole process worked. But I feel like my Copenhagen angst was somehow warranted.

Magical Denmark

Fun facts:
1. Number of forms of currency I currently have with me: 5! USD, GBP, EUR, NOK, DKK. Could have gotten Swedish Kroners as well, but didn't want to overdo it.
2. Legos are Danish. I went by the summer home of the guy who owns the company. Apparently he breeds horses in his spare time.
3. Sunday, I saw a porpoise.

How Denmark has maintained its quaint, idyllic, old-fashioned charm:
-Sheep instead of lawnmowers. They probably have lawnmowers as well, but I haven't seen any yet.
-Burning wood instead of oil. Also, windmills never went out of fashion here.
-Their houses and churches are all painted white with red clay brick roofs.
-Children actually fly kites on the weekend.
-It's very flat and totally surrounded by water.
-There are actual houses with medieval straw thatched roofs, that people actually live in.

It's no wonder Hans Christian Anderson hails from this part of the world, if you ask me.

Denmark is really lovely. The pace of life seems slower here. Really, it has felt slower than Brown and the US in general most everywhere I've been, with the exception of London. People are cheerful and friendly. They eat a lot of fish and build a lot of bridges. And ride a lot of bikes.

Today I have been exploring the city of Arhus. It is the second biggest city, after Copenhagen, but it is quite small. The population is something like 250,000. I'm visiting my good friend Anne, which is really great and fun. On the way here, I met two huge African-American basketball players who are playing for Danish teams for the year to build up their stats to try to get into the NBA. Really random. It was kind of nice to meet some Americans though.

Anne and I went to an Occupation Museum today, which had a lot of artifacts and information from WWII, when the Nazis occupied Denmark, but there was a fairly active resistance force in the country. We also went to the main church in the city, which was beautiful, and we went to a crazy Turkish bazaar, which was mostly just bizarre. Aarhus is totally charming, particularly the old-fashioned, European architecture, and I think I could live here, except that it's expensive, and kind of cold. Tomorrow I head to Copenhagen.

The two main things I learned from my stay in the country with Rasmus's family: I don't understand Danish, and I'm not crazy about Danish food. They were really great though. :)

Sailing the seas, and other Scandinavian adventures

Ways I have gotten around Scandinavia so far:
1. Bus
2. Tram
3. Walking along an entire tram route in Oslo (to avoid getting lost without a map)
4. Trains
5. Hitching a ride from Torp airport to Asker, Norway from Olav and Asalan & a ride from Korsor to Keterminde with Rasmus's aunts (cars)
6. Hiding in the back of a two man van driving through Sweden
7. Sailing a yacht from Marsden, Sweden to Korsor, Denmark.
8. Ferry


Methods of transport I have not yet used extensively but would like to in my life:
1. Bicycle
2. Motorcycle
3. Helicopter
4. Hot air balloon
5. Horse
6. Camel
7. Elephant
8. Whale
9. Parachute/hang-glider
10. Submarine
11. Scuba diving

Let me know if I missed any good ones!

Sailing was as awesome as I hoped it would be. Even though we weren't actually sailing for that much of it, and it wasn't as hard core as it might have been. The boat had lots of modern amenities: flushing toilet, hot water, electricity, high tech navigation system, even an auto pilot feature we used most of the way. An engine and motor, which we also used most of the way, since the winds weren't really strong enough to counter the current and get us moving as quickly as we wanted. Also due to the electricity, Rikki was able to set up a wireless internet router and his laptop. The internet didn't work when we were way out to sea, but a lot of the trip it did.

He taught me a bit about navigation, though, and I got to try my hand at steering for a few minutes. I stood unofficial watch at the stern most of the day, just because I like to perch. I also took one of the three official watches through the night. Mine was 8 pm - 12 am. It was very trance-inducing and inspiring and amazing. It's hard not to believe in a greater power--call it God, fate, the universe, but something good and benevolent, when you are looking out at all that water, and realizing just how big the world is, and how many possibilities there are. And things just work out. If I hadn't taken and hated and dropped Hindi last fall, I might never have gotten the wake up call I needed, and taken this trip at this time, and then I would have been in class yesterday instead of on the stern of that boat. It really moved me.

Even my last-minute, haphazard attempts at getting in touch with contacts to stay with on land worked out seamlessly. Rasmus and his aunts passed through Korsor, the town Rikki and Stein dropped me off at in Denmark, on their way to Rasmus's family home outside Odense. They picked me up a few hours after I landed, and drove me straight there--no need to navigate or pay for buses or trains or anything.

It's really quite amazing how things have just been working out for me on this trip so far, with one or two minor exceptions. I guess it's partly due to my ability to roll with the punches, but sometimes it feels like a bit more than that and luck.

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One more adventure tale: Before we set sail from Marsden, we spent the night in harbor at an island there to wait out some stormy weather. We had some time to kill, so I went to explore the island on foot. I left around 6:30 pm and the sun began to set shortly thereafter. I struck out on the rocky path near the shores of this rugged, largely uninhabited place. However, it turned out to be a bit bigger than I expected, and as the sun set, I realized I could get lost if I didn't return to the boat before dark. I started running along the path instead of walking, to avoid that fate, but the rocks were wet from rain, and I didn't want to fall. At some point, I lost the path entirely and took to bush-wacking and rock-climbing in the gathering darkness. I found my way back to a path by following lights I saw ahead and telephone wires I eventually spotted. I figured where there are wires, there are usually roads, or other trappings of mankind. I was wrong, there was no road beside them, but they did bring me closer to a path I could follow back to the harbor, back to civilization. Once I was there, there was some light, and it wasn't too long before I found the boat again. It was a bit scary though, and I was glad to learn I have some instinct for survival. I guess it wasn't the first time I've learned that, but sometimes you need a good reminder.

Norway - A country I'm going to have to come back to.

I'm just going to go ahead and say it. I love Norway. Even though it is at least as expensive as everyone warned me it would be. And today it is chilly and rainy, and it definitely gets cold at night.

I spent Wednesday and Thursday primarily travelling. I packed up, got from Glenesk to London by train, during which I sat across from a girl who had a disconcerting habit of staring at me, found a youth hostel and went to bed there. I met some cool Australians in the room, but I didn't really feel like partying it up. Next morning I sorted myself out and traveled from London to Stansted airport, and took a flight to Oslo/Torp.

On the way to board the small Ryan Air plane (which cost me about 25 bucks, by the way :), I saw an elderly fellow struggling with the stairs and his luggage. He was weighed down by two bags of duty free alcohol. I asked him if he needed some help, and he assented. I carried all his booze onto the plane, and then I sat between him and a nice man named Lee, who was going to visit his wife and baby in Norway.

The fellow I helped was named Olav. He is about 75 and Norweigan. He was some kind of mechanical/naval engineer (similar to the sort of stuff my grandfather used to do) and he has had such an interesting life. He listed off all the places in the world he has been and lived, and it certainly put me to shame. He lived in the North Sea for 15 years. He lived in Libya. He's been basically everywhere. He's also been married for 48 years. He reminded me of my grandparents, and he semi-adopted me. A few minutes into the trip he asked me where I was going. I said, "I'm going to stay with a friend in Asker." (a suburb of Oslo). He said, "My son-in-law who is coming to pick me up lives in Asker. He can give you a free ride there." And I was like...Umm, OK! Sure! Seeing as free stuff is great, strangers are great, and basically risk-free hitch-hiking is absolutely my idea of a good time.

Olav's son in law was a Kurdish former-communist refugee from Iran who has been living in Norway for the last 20 years. His name was Asalan (I think. May have misheard). He was also really cool and nice. Olav wanted me to meet his wife, because she used to study at a college in Minnesota and speaks good English. Unfortunately, she also has a heart condition and she was fast asleep when we rolled up at their house. It was quite scary. I rode in the car with these guys for about an hour and a half (through the beautiful sunset scenery of rural Norway) to get to Olav's village Kongsberg. And for a little while there I thought I was going to have to witness this man dealing with the loss of his wife. But it turned out she was only sleeping. Phew! But we didn't really get to hang out or drink tea or anything. Then Asalan drove me to Asker and I met up with my UWC first year Robin, and his girlfriend Sarah. They have a cool basement apartment underneath his parents' house. Upstairs reside his parents, his cool, adorable 16 year old brother Magnus and his much younger brother Daniel (3). They're all super nice and welcoming. Basically from my first moment with Norweigans on, I have found them very friendly, warm, welcoming people.

The scenery reminds me a great deal of Maine and Vermont. The trees are changing color with the autumn, there are LOTS of them, there are farms and mountains, rivers, lakes and sea coast. The houses are cute and bright colors. I know there is more dramatic landscape to be had in other parts of the country, but so far I have really liked what I've seen.

The weather was really nice my first day in town, Friday. I was in Oslo from about 11:30 am until a bit after midnight. I spent a great deal of that time walking, and my legs were indeed tired by the end of the day. I didn't do or see anything in particular (I didn't have a map, or destinations in mind, and I was totally experiencing sticker shock everywhere I looked). I did accidentally stumble upon the cemetary where Henrik Ibsen was buried. That was pretty sweet. He's a good playwright, so I went to pay my respects. Then I enjoyed the very pleasant hills, grass and sunshine to be had there, cemetary as it was. Did a few stretches and sit-ups. :) I also found the National Library (which I identified by the semi-cognates those words are in Norweigan to languages I recognized). Browsed over a few cool paintings and an exhibit about Arctic exploring, navigation and map-making. I also found a lot of parks.

After that, I got lost. I wanted to get back to the central train station, but I was given bad directions, and I wandered into the residential neighborhoods. It was a bit frustrating. I don't like getting navigation wrong, and I like being able to rely on my wits and instincts. But eventually I did. I found some tram stops with tram maps on them. They listed the train station I was looking for on them, so I walked along tram lines, checking at each that I was still going in the right directions, until I finally arrived back at the station. It took a while, but it was pretty satisfying to manage on my feet, and not have to pay for any public transportation during the day.

I had about an hour's rest at the train station, and then I met back up with Robin and Sarah and we went to see some of their Norweigan friends, another couple. We hung out at their apartment for a while, drank some very pleasant beer and ate some pizza. They gave me some grief about being American, but I am both good natured and accustomed to semi-eloquently defending my native civilization, so I didn't mind much. After a while we went to a club next door, and heard some really nice live music in English. A lot of their music, and TV, and books are.

I must say, it has been a bit strange to finally break out of the English speaking world on this trip. I know most people around me can speak at least a moderate amount of English. But generally when I pass them, they don't. The signs and maps and street names and instructions are all in Norweigan, and more than anything so far, it makes me feel foreign, a bit lost and out of the know. It makes me feel a bit less self-sufficient as well. And a bit lonely. And Norweigan really is not an easy language to pick up. The pronunciation is so wacky and intense. But I like listening to it. And Robin and his family and Sarah and their friends have done a good job of making me feel welcome.