The very artistic picture that Emily and I drew about our day in the village :)
Swing.
The village women!
Our lovely dining experience.
Pup.Monday, July 27, 2009
Bulgarian Village Pics :)
The very artistic picture that Emily and I drew about our day in the village :) Swing. The village women! Our lovely dining experience. Pup.
Romania :)
The Van!
Paul's face when the bill came...
Billy and I walking across the border!
Train Hair
Traveler.Sunday, July 26, 2009
Bulgaria Day Three ((A Bulgarian Wedding))
This would be my first actual day spent in the country that I was supposed to be in. Emily and I were spending our day on an SAS trip to a Bulgarian village. It took about 1.5 hours to get there and when I stepped off the bus, my eyes bugged out. We were in the middle of nowhere, a country-side so desolate that I was surprised to know that even 180 people inhabited the village of Dybovik. I could look in all four directions and only see cornfields and wheat fields for miles and miles. Each road led to a field of some sort.
We had the Mayor of the village tour us around a bit, taking us to the local theater/library. The library smelled like an old used bookstore… it was amazing. I ran my fingers along the spines and dust actually collected on my hands. The books all looked ancient, unread, and it made me feel sad. I saw a Mark Twain autobiography and The Shining, both translated into Bulgarian, both sporting dusty covers. I briefly wondered what the people of the village did in their spare time, if not read. There was nothing around for miles and miles.
We then visited the church, which was some kind of Orthodoxy. The Priest greeted us at the door and we were welcomed by this tiny lady, Gena, who was at least 7o. She resembled a small nun. Her face was so sweet and I made sure to have my picture taken with her. We each were handed two candles to light, one for life and one for death. I lit my life candle and stuck it on the stand, and then lit my death candle and stuck it in a pile of sand. After we all participated in this ancient tradition, we made our way to the Mayor’s office.
At one time, Dybovik had over a thousand inhabitants, but then people started to move away and just never came back. Now most of the villagers are over the age of 65, and have lived in the village all of their lives. The Mayor, Tanya, explained that there was no school in the village, and that any children they might have must travel to the nearest schoolhouse which happens to be 25 miles away. I found this distressing. Many children just don’t go to school because of the distance and time it takes to travel so far every day on such little amounts of income. She told us that this town used to thrive, but now they just kept marking villagers off mostly because of death. Their village was not doing well.
We walked to Tanya’s house for the lunch that was being prepared for us by the women of the village. While walking, I made sure to take a long look around me. These houses were not shacks, but they were much, much smaller than the average American one-story. Gardens full of vegetables and flowers and fruit trees crowded yards and competed for growing space. This was their life; growing crops was this village’s main source, and probably only source of income. It was incredibly sobering.
Then we rounded the corner and were greeted by at least ten smiling old lady faces. An elderly man was blowing into what looked like a bagpipe, and the women were all wearing traditional Bulgarian dress. It was stunning. I waited my turn and ripped off my piece of bread from the homemade bread bowl, and dipped it in seasoning. Then I drank from the same cup that everyone was given to drink from, a bitter homemade wine that I downed to be polite. I walked to the next lady who gave me a hug and placed a crown of popcorn on my head. We were all adorned with crowns of popcorn to keep the evil spirits away. It was customary.
We moved in a herd to the “guest room”, an outdoor lounge area filled with picnic tables and garlic cloves strung from the railings and ceilings, also to keep the spirits away. Food was sitting on our tables, and we delved in while the ladies sang and danced for us. It was amazing. The food that was on our table, however, was only appetizers.
Appetizer Menu:
Stuffed Vine leaves (rice, carrots, onion, sunflower oil, dill, celery, parsley, and served with a yoghurt sauce)
Tarator (Cold soup of yoghurt, cucumbers, garlic, dill, and sunflower oil)
Fried Zucchini with yoghurt sauce, garlic, and dill.
Fried donut-like pastries
Potato cakes with egg and cheese
Then we were served lunch:
Traditional Shopska salad (tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, sweet peppers, feta cheese)
Bulgur (Rice) with chicken (paprika, sunflower oil, parsley, mint)
Rice a la Doubroudja (rice, zucchini, carrots, pepper, okra, and green beans)
Drinks? Homemade red wine and brandy. I tried the Brandy (the guy pumped it right out of the barrel into my glass) because I’d never tasted brandy before… and my eyes watered and my tongue burned and I choked and sputtered gracefully. I don’t think I’ll ever drink brandy, ever again.
We also had homemade plum juice, which tasted exactly like the prune juice I had to drink as a kid. I was not a fan.
Dessert:
Homemade Baklava and homegrown watermelon. They were both so refreshing.
We got a tour of the garden area, which was huge. Billy and I ate our way through the garden: Apples, grapes, watermelon, peppers, eggplant, carrots, peaches, and unidentifiable berries. We are pretty much guaranteed travelers’ diarrhea in a few days. There was also a wooden swing hanging from a tree by the side of the house, which Emily and I had a field day taking turns on.
We all gathered back at the table for the traditional “marriage” ceremony. The women of the village wanted two volunteers to dress up in traditional Bulgarian marriage garb so they could show us what a wedding ceremony looked like. Billy volunteered, and he told me to volunteer with him, but before I got the courage to raise my hand, another girl beat me to it.
They dressed up and the women danced around and then everyone started dancing and shouting. It was the best time, especially on a super full stomach. I took only a million pictures, and then we had to say our goodbyes.
Everyone joined hands and literally danced down the road in this long snake-like line to the bus. Other villagers who witnessed our rowdiness cheered us on, and I think I laughed so hard, trying to kick my feet and move forward at the same time. It was hilarious.
I gave each woman a hug, and we kissed cheeks, saying goodbye probably forever. It’s weird how people can communicate without ever speaking the same language. They showed us an authentic Bulgarian village, and accepted us into their homes by cooking and dancing and singing with us, and not one of them spoke English. I find that to be miraculous, amazing, truly an experience I will never in my life forget.
I got on the bus and had to hold back my tears. The Mayor was crying and blowing us kisses. The women were waving their hands, and walking slowly back to their own homes. These people have probably never seen an American before us. They probably don’t get out of the village much, and certainly don’t do the “tourist” thing. This was a first for them as much as it was for us.
This whole experience made me understand the Bulgarian way of life more than anything else possibly could have, and from this experience, I probably feel more connected to Bulgaria than any other country I’ve visited, aside from Austria. These women cultured me, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
A.
We had the Mayor of the village tour us around a bit, taking us to the local theater/library. The library smelled like an old used bookstore… it was amazing. I ran my fingers along the spines and dust actually collected on my hands. The books all looked ancient, unread, and it made me feel sad. I saw a Mark Twain autobiography and The Shining, both translated into Bulgarian, both sporting dusty covers. I briefly wondered what the people of the village did in their spare time, if not read. There was nothing around for miles and miles.
We then visited the church, which was some kind of Orthodoxy. The Priest greeted us at the door and we were welcomed by this tiny lady, Gena, who was at least 7o. She resembled a small nun. Her face was so sweet and I made sure to have my picture taken with her. We each were handed two candles to light, one for life and one for death. I lit my life candle and stuck it on the stand, and then lit my death candle and stuck it in a pile of sand. After we all participated in this ancient tradition, we made our way to the Mayor’s office.
At one time, Dybovik had over a thousand inhabitants, but then people started to move away and just never came back. Now most of the villagers are over the age of 65, and have lived in the village all of their lives. The Mayor, Tanya, explained that there was no school in the village, and that any children they might have must travel to the nearest schoolhouse which happens to be 25 miles away. I found this distressing. Many children just don’t go to school because of the distance and time it takes to travel so far every day on such little amounts of income. She told us that this town used to thrive, but now they just kept marking villagers off mostly because of death. Their village was not doing well.
We walked to Tanya’s house for the lunch that was being prepared for us by the women of the village. While walking, I made sure to take a long look around me. These houses were not shacks, but they were much, much smaller than the average American one-story. Gardens full of vegetables and flowers and fruit trees crowded yards and competed for growing space. This was their life; growing crops was this village’s main source, and probably only source of income. It was incredibly sobering.
Then we rounded the corner and were greeted by at least ten smiling old lady faces. An elderly man was blowing into what looked like a bagpipe, and the women were all wearing traditional Bulgarian dress. It was stunning. I waited my turn and ripped off my piece of bread from the homemade bread bowl, and dipped it in seasoning. Then I drank from the same cup that everyone was given to drink from, a bitter homemade wine that I downed to be polite. I walked to the next lady who gave me a hug and placed a crown of popcorn on my head. We were all adorned with crowns of popcorn to keep the evil spirits away. It was customary.
We moved in a herd to the “guest room”, an outdoor lounge area filled with picnic tables and garlic cloves strung from the railings and ceilings, also to keep the spirits away. Food was sitting on our tables, and we delved in while the ladies sang and danced for us. It was amazing. The food that was on our table, however, was only appetizers.
Appetizer Menu:
Stuffed Vine leaves (rice, carrots, onion, sunflower oil, dill, celery, parsley, and served with a yoghurt sauce)
Tarator (Cold soup of yoghurt, cucumbers, garlic, dill, and sunflower oil)
Fried Zucchini with yoghurt sauce, garlic, and dill.
Fried donut-like pastries
Potato cakes with egg and cheese
Then we were served lunch:
Traditional Shopska salad (tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, sweet peppers, feta cheese)
Bulgur (Rice) with chicken (paprika, sunflower oil, parsley, mint)
Rice a la Doubroudja (rice, zucchini, carrots, pepper, okra, and green beans)
Drinks? Homemade red wine and brandy. I tried the Brandy (the guy pumped it right out of the barrel into my glass) because I’d never tasted brandy before… and my eyes watered and my tongue burned and I choked and sputtered gracefully. I don’t think I’ll ever drink brandy, ever again.
We also had homemade plum juice, which tasted exactly like the prune juice I had to drink as a kid. I was not a fan.
Dessert:
Homemade Baklava and homegrown watermelon. They were both so refreshing.
We got a tour of the garden area, which was huge. Billy and I ate our way through the garden: Apples, grapes, watermelon, peppers, eggplant, carrots, peaches, and unidentifiable berries. We are pretty much guaranteed travelers’ diarrhea in a few days. There was also a wooden swing hanging from a tree by the side of the house, which Emily and I had a field day taking turns on.
We all gathered back at the table for the traditional “marriage” ceremony. The women of the village wanted two volunteers to dress up in traditional Bulgarian marriage garb so they could show us what a wedding ceremony looked like. Billy volunteered, and he told me to volunteer with him, but before I got the courage to raise my hand, another girl beat me to it.
They dressed up and the women danced around and then everyone started dancing and shouting. It was the best time, especially on a super full stomach. I took only a million pictures, and then we had to say our goodbyes.
Everyone joined hands and literally danced down the road in this long snake-like line to the bus. Other villagers who witnessed our rowdiness cheered us on, and I think I laughed so hard, trying to kick my feet and move forward at the same time. It was hilarious.
I gave each woman a hug, and we kissed cheeks, saying goodbye probably forever. It’s weird how people can communicate without ever speaking the same language. They showed us an authentic Bulgarian village, and accepted us into their homes by cooking and dancing and singing with us, and not one of them spoke English. I find that to be miraculous, amazing, truly an experience I will never in my life forget.
I got on the bus and had to hold back my tears. The Mayor was crying and blowing us kisses. The women were waving their hands, and walking slowly back to their own homes. These people have probably never seen an American before us. They probably don’t get out of the village much, and certainly don’t do the “tourist” thing. This was a first for them as much as it was for us.
This whole experience made me understand the Bulgarian way of life more than anything else possibly could have, and from this experience, I probably feel more connected to Bulgaria than any other country I’ve visited, aside from Austria. These women cultured me, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
A.
Bulgaria Day Two ((Because I couldn't get enough...))
It was around 9:30AM, and I walked off of the ship on my way to Romania, once again. Paul, Lindsey, Michelle, and Liz sat in the Taxi beside me not knowing what to expect. My hopes were still high and mighty set on traveling to Romania’s capital, but after stepping out of the taxi at the border (déjà vu), I gave up on that. We were heading to Constanta once again. I felt like I was re-living yesterday but with different company. I told them we could walk to the closest village and then catch a bus (which is what I did the first time), but they opted for the shady-looking van that should have had “Free Candy” painted on the side of it.
For 20 Lei, the driver would take us to Constanta and back whenever we pleased… it was a really amazing deal. So, as I crawled into the backseat of the sketchy vehicle, I tried not to pay attention to the blood-looking stains on the backs of the seats, or the fact that a million flies were probably laying eggs on my clothes and hair. When we were all seated, the driver (this really heavy, permanently drowsy-looking man who didn’t speak a lick of English) turned the key and it rumbled and squealed and took about five minutes to actually start… we all looked at each other and burst out laughing. Lindsey said that if her mother knew she was crossing the border into Romania in a van like this, she would call the Embassy having a fit. Paul said he felt like an illegal immigrant crossing the border. I tried to picture my family feeling comfortable in the rusty van and could not. This trip indeed would never be forgotten.
On the way to Constanta, the van got pulled over. I was not surprised in the slightest, and it was actually the most hilarious thing. We all reached around to make sure our seatbelts were buckled and for the first time realized there were no seatbelts in the van. This somehow did not surprise me either. This van had to have been used in the Soviet Union. It was ridiculous. We were ridiculous.
We made it to Constanta, thank the Lord, in one piece. This was not the Constanta that I witnessed yesterday with Billy and Cameron, however. This was beach-y and pretty. We ate lunch under a terrace outdoors, and I ordered this huge pizza calzone, which was heavenly. After walking around for a bit, and devouring soft serve that resembled straight up Mousse, we got back in the van and were taken to a small, very sad-looking village called Neptune. Not even joking. We had previously explained that we wanted to find some touristy shops (I still needed my Romanian flag), and thus we were taken to Neptune. It would have been cool had there been other shoppers around, but I felt the pain of these people’s financial issues when I looked at my surroundings. Huts containing wooden trinkets and hygiene products lined the area, and the sellers sat in chairs staring puppy-like at us, beckoning us to just take a look. I finally bought some things that I surely did not need but the poverty in these peoples’ eyes was sickening. The one older woman gave me a hug once I paid her a few Lei and smiled gratefully. Maybe I did need a wooden, hand-made trinket box after all.
I looked at my surroundings once more, the Romanian border I had become so weirdly familiar with, and grinned, knowing that I would not be back. At least until I could hit up Dracula’s castle…then maybe that will be another story.
And there are never a shortage of stories, ever.
A.
For 20 Lei, the driver would take us to Constanta and back whenever we pleased… it was a really amazing deal. So, as I crawled into the backseat of the sketchy vehicle, I tried not to pay attention to the blood-looking stains on the backs of the seats, or the fact that a million flies were probably laying eggs on my clothes and hair. When we were all seated, the driver (this really heavy, permanently drowsy-looking man who didn’t speak a lick of English) turned the key and it rumbled and squealed and took about five minutes to actually start… we all looked at each other and burst out laughing. Lindsey said that if her mother knew she was crossing the border into Romania in a van like this, she would call the Embassy having a fit. Paul said he felt like an illegal immigrant crossing the border. I tried to picture my family feeling comfortable in the rusty van and could not. This trip indeed would never be forgotten.
On the way to Constanta, the van got pulled over. I was not surprised in the slightest, and it was actually the most hilarious thing. We all reached around to make sure our seatbelts were buckled and for the first time realized there were no seatbelts in the van. This somehow did not surprise me either. This van had to have been used in the Soviet Union. It was ridiculous. We were ridiculous.
We made it to Constanta, thank the Lord, in one piece. This was not the Constanta that I witnessed yesterday with Billy and Cameron, however. This was beach-y and pretty. We ate lunch under a terrace outdoors, and I ordered this huge pizza calzone, which was heavenly. After walking around for a bit, and devouring soft serve that resembled straight up Mousse, we got back in the van and were taken to a small, very sad-looking village called Neptune. Not even joking. We had previously explained that we wanted to find some touristy shops (I still needed my Romanian flag), and thus we were taken to Neptune. It would have been cool had there been other shoppers around, but I felt the pain of these people’s financial issues when I looked at my surroundings. Huts containing wooden trinkets and hygiene products lined the area, and the sellers sat in chairs staring puppy-like at us, beckoning us to just take a look. I finally bought some things that I surely did not need but the poverty in these peoples’ eyes was sickening. The one older woman gave me a hug once I paid her a few Lei and smiled gratefully. Maybe I did need a wooden, hand-made trinket box after all.
I looked at my surroundings once more, the Romanian border I had become so weirdly familiar with, and grinned, knowing that I would not be back. At least until I could hit up Dracula’s castle…then maybe that will be another story.
And there are never a shortage of stories, ever.
A.
Bulgaria Day One ((When tourists become travelers))
So, the moment I arrived in Varna, Bulgaria, I left. It was this huge whim, this spontaneous border-hoppin’, lets-just-do-it-and-not-think plan. Billy told me that he was finding a ride Romania, this country that is not SAS-approved and should anything happen, SAS would kill us for going, and he was traveling with this guy Cameron who I had literally just met moments before saying, “Sure. Why not? Let’s go to Romania!”
Like I said, it was a whim. No directions, different currency, goodbye Bulgaria, hello Romania… Cameron and I exchanged short version life-stories in the cab over to the bus station, and he turned out to be a really chill person. We walked into the train station, our cocky, naïve American-selves, and found out that the lady who controlled transportation to the Romanian border only speaks German. Go figure. I stood up straight, cleared my throat, and the only Germanic phrase that comes to mind is, “Das Schlafzimmer ist phantastisch fur eine Party!”. ((The bedroom is fantastic for a party!)) Billy only knows Spanish, aside from English, and I was greatly surprised when Cameron started spitting out clipped German phrases and sayings. I joined in. Where is the bathroom? How much does this cost? I sounded like an idiot. And then…then! I re-gained my German speaking self and began conversing normally. It was glorious. Between mine and Cameron’s unpracticed Deutsch, we communicated with the lady and got a taxi ride to the Romanian border (a 2 hour drive). Sweeet.
The 2 hour ride was relaxing. The windows were down, my hair was flying, and I was sitting in the backseat with Billy who was sleeping with his mouth open. Cameron was chatting nonstop with the driver, who spoke no English, and I smiled in the moment. Countryside, windmills, fields and fields of sunflowers, gypsies on the side of the hilly road, I took it all in.
We reached the border, paid the taxi, and walked from Bulgaria to Romania. That was certainly a first. I can’t say I’ve ever walked across a country line before, and it wasn’t anything short of exhilarating. It took about 3o minutes for our passports to be stamped and checked, and while I was pacing, my ankle gave out and I gracefully (if not in slow motion) fell off the curb and gashed my knee into the pavement. That’s right… not only did I walk across the border line… I donated my blood to the pavement, too. It was intentional, I swear.
We did not have a plan once we reached the border. Stupid, right? There were no taxis in sight, and the long stretch of country highway beckoned. Billy and Cameron suggested we hitchhike to the capital of Romania, Bucharest. I felt safe with these guys, who were not much taller than me, and I trusted them to not make stupid judgments. And yet…I found myself sandwiched between them, sticking out my thumb into oncoming traffic. Don’t cringe and freak out… we walked for about 30 minutes with no luck (thank goodness) of being picked up by a non-English speaking horror film freak. We walked right into a village, Vama Veche, and stepped onto a bus going somewhere, anywhere. I felt like we should have had a little Journey playing in the background of our lives.
I have never felt less like a tourist and more like a traveler any other time in my life. If I had a traveler moment, it was stepping onto this bus, sitting down in my own sweat, and grinning at Billy and Cameron. We were in Romania. A country we were not supposed to be in, an adventure right around the corner… anything could happen. We could be anywhere. It was this great revelation, this epiphany.
Anyway, we met these three English-speaking Romanians who asked where we were headed. We told them about Bucharest, maybe Transylvania to see Dracula’s castle (which would be AMAZING!), and they told us to follow them onto the train because our stop was right next to theirs. They seemed pretty legit, and not guys who would take advantage of us in anyway, so we walked with them to the train station and stood in line for our tickets. It occurred to them to ask how long we would be staying in Romania, and because Cameron had an SAS hiking trip leaving at 4:30 the next morning, we should probably be back on our ship around midnight that night.
The one guy took off his sunglasses, stared at us, and flat out laughed. “No. No way. You cannot go to Bucharest, and certainly not Transylvania. No way.”
Apparently, Bucharest is about 5 hours away by train from where we were, and Transylvania about 3 hours past Bucharest. So much for our “whim” traveling… we ended up buying tickets to the closest city, Constanta, and the train ride there was the best part.
The three of us stuck our heads out of the train window, three puppies shootin’ the breeze, and watched at least ten nude beaches fly by… it took me a while to lift my jaw from the ground… stark naked men (very heavy and hairy) actually posed for the train passengers, and then waved us along as if they were clothed and waving for a taxi. It was hilarious and repulsive, and it was one of those things that you cannot pull your eyes away from. Billy and Cameron just laughed and shook their heads.
Constanta was insane. We stepped off the train (me in a nude stupor), and into taxi/van/gypsy child haven. Little kids with holes in their pants, barefoot and filthy, ran up to us asking for money. They pulled on our clothes, and tugged on my hands. Taxi cab drivers called out to us in Romanian languages, signaling for us to come over, flipping us off, opening doors for us to get in…
It was a confusing mess. I gave the kids some money, and then they wanted a picture with me, so of course, I took out my camera. One taxi driver, Orhan, called us over and spoke to us in English. “Why you listen to everyone here? I give you best deal. Where you want to go?”
For whatever unearthly reason, we got into his taxi and he drove us around the city, giving us great insight into Romanian history, believe it or not. We got out, walked around for a bit, and hopped back in his cab around 9pm for a ride back to the border. It was a full day, and Orhan was brilliant and if anything, undercharged us for his services. It was amazing.
We had to call for a taxi at the border to take us back to Varna, which we did, and I could not help but to reflect on the day. We didn’t do much, per say, but I was a traveler instead of a tourist. When I looked over at Cameron, he was passed out all leaned over on the door. Billy’s head was drooping on his chest. It was my turn to laugh and shake my head.
Two months ago I did not know these guys, but that day in Romania will always belong to us, three friends, three travelers.
Like I said, it was a whim. No directions, different currency, goodbye Bulgaria, hello Romania… Cameron and I exchanged short version life-stories in the cab over to the bus station, and he turned out to be a really chill person. We walked into the train station, our cocky, naïve American-selves, and found out that the lady who controlled transportation to the Romanian border only speaks German. Go figure. I stood up straight, cleared my throat, and the only Germanic phrase that comes to mind is, “Das Schlafzimmer ist phantastisch fur eine Party!”. ((The bedroom is fantastic for a party!)) Billy only knows Spanish, aside from English, and I was greatly surprised when Cameron started spitting out clipped German phrases and sayings. I joined in. Where is the bathroom? How much does this cost? I sounded like an idiot. And then…then! I re-gained my German speaking self and began conversing normally. It was glorious. Between mine and Cameron’s unpracticed Deutsch, we communicated with the lady and got a taxi ride to the Romanian border (a 2 hour drive). Sweeet.
The 2 hour ride was relaxing. The windows were down, my hair was flying, and I was sitting in the backseat with Billy who was sleeping with his mouth open. Cameron was chatting nonstop with the driver, who spoke no English, and I smiled in the moment. Countryside, windmills, fields and fields of sunflowers, gypsies on the side of the hilly road, I took it all in.
We reached the border, paid the taxi, and walked from Bulgaria to Romania. That was certainly a first. I can’t say I’ve ever walked across a country line before, and it wasn’t anything short of exhilarating. It took about 3o minutes for our passports to be stamped and checked, and while I was pacing, my ankle gave out and I gracefully (if not in slow motion) fell off the curb and gashed my knee into the pavement. That’s right… not only did I walk across the border line… I donated my blood to the pavement, too. It was intentional, I swear.
We did not have a plan once we reached the border. Stupid, right? There were no taxis in sight, and the long stretch of country highway beckoned. Billy and Cameron suggested we hitchhike to the capital of Romania, Bucharest. I felt safe with these guys, who were not much taller than me, and I trusted them to not make stupid judgments. And yet…I found myself sandwiched between them, sticking out my thumb into oncoming traffic. Don’t cringe and freak out… we walked for about 30 minutes with no luck (thank goodness) of being picked up by a non-English speaking horror film freak. We walked right into a village, Vama Veche, and stepped onto a bus going somewhere, anywhere. I felt like we should have had a little Journey playing in the background of our lives.
I have never felt less like a tourist and more like a traveler any other time in my life. If I had a traveler moment, it was stepping onto this bus, sitting down in my own sweat, and grinning at Billy and Cameron. We were in Romania. A country we were not supposed to be in, an adventure right around the corner… anything could happen. We could be anywhere. It was this great revelation, this epiphany.
Anyway, we met these three English-speaking Romanians who asked where we were headed. We told them about Bucharest, maybe Transylvania to see Dracula’s castle (which would be AMAZING!), and they told us to follow them onto the train because our stop was right next to theirs. They seemed pretty legit, and not guys who would take advantage of us in anyway, so we walked with them to the train station and stood in line for our tickets. It occurred to them to ask how long we would be staying in Romania, and because Cameron had an SAS hiking trip leaving at 4:30 the next morning, we should probably be back on our ship around midnight that night.
The one guy took off his sunglasses, stared at us, and flat out laughed. “No. No way. You cannot go to Bucharest, and certainly not Transylvania. No way.”
Apparently, Bucharest is about 5 hours away by train from where we were, and Transylvania about 3 hours past Bucharest. So much for our “whim” traveling… we ended up buying tickets to the closest city, Constanta, and the train ride there was the best part.
The three of us stuck our heads out of the train window, three puppies shootin’ the breeze, and watched at least ten nude beaches fly by… it took me a while to lift my jaw from the ground… stark naked men (very heavy and hairy) actually posed for the train passengers, and then waved us along as if they were clothed and waving for a taxi. It was hilarious and repulsive, and it was one of those things that you cannot pull your eyes away from. Billy and Cameron just laughed and shook their heads.
Constanta was insane. We stepped off the train (me in a nude stupor), and into taxi/van/gypsy child haven. Little kids with holes in their pants, barefoot and filthy, ran up to us asking for money. They pulled on our clothes, and tugged on my hands. Taxi cab drivers called out to us in Romanian languages, signaling for us to come over, flipping us off, opening doors for us to get in…
It was a confusing mess. I gave the kids some money, and then they wanted a picture with me, so of course, I took out my camera. One taxi driver, Orhan, called us over and spoke to us in English. “Why you listen to everyone here? I give you best deal. Where you want to go?”
For whatever unearthly reason, we got into his taxi and he drove us around the city, giving us great insight into Romanian history, believe it or not. We got out, walked around for a bit, and hopped back in his cab around 9pm for a ride back to the border. It was a full day, and Orhan was brilliant and if anything, undercharged us for his services. It was amazing.
We had to call for a taxi at the border to take us back to Varna, which we did, and I could not help but to reflect on the day. We didn’t do much, per say, but I was a traveler instead of a tourist. When I looked over at Cameron, he was passed out all leaned over on the door. Billy’s head was drooping on his chest. It was my turn to laugh and shake my head.
Two months ago I did not know these guys, but that day in Romania will always belong to us, three friends, three travelers.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Turkey Day Four ((Whirling))
Michelle and I had another SAS trip today, called the “Prince Isles”…now by the name of this excursion, I figured we might be doing something like island-hopping with a few hours to shop/explore each island. I was mistaken, and in the best way possible. We actually got on the Metro which runs through the city of Istanbul and hopped on a Ferry that would float us to the largest of the Prince Isles’, Buyukada, which housed and still houses some of the wealthiest families during the summer months. Apparently it’s this hot vacation spot for Istanbulers’ who want to get away from all that dirty traffic because it’s one of the only islands around Turkey that allows no cars whatsoever.
Michelle and I plopped down on a bench in the back of the two-story Ferry and I was nonchalantly staring out the window when these three guys who looked to be in their mid-twenties (are you tired of the creepy guy stories yet? Clearly this is all I’ve encountered while in Turkey. You can imagine my frustration and annoyance after the first day here) sat down right next to us. I felt Michelle scoot closer to me, and I caught the one guy consistently nudging her arm. I tried to stifle my laughter because Michelle does not like to be touched or bothered. She gets even angrier than I do at the whole harassment thing every time we step foot alone in the city, and sometimes I just have to chuckle at her annoyances. The guy kept trying to talk to her, and she kept scooting me toward the window until finally he looked over her shoulder at me. I tried not to roll my eyes.
“Where you from, lady?”
To his jaggedly-spoken English I replied, “Colorado. My name is Stephanie and this is April. We are both 20 and studying abroad.” Then I turned my head back toward the window hoping he would get the idea that we’ve heard this spiel a million times and were certainly not interested in dating/doing anything with him after we hopped off of the Ferry.
Apparently, this does not work on foreign men. When you give out information like this in countries other than America, this means you are clearly interested. I gave flippant answers to all of his questions for the next 37.5 minutes and communicated with Michelle through my facial language that we needed to move seats. I was now uncomfortably close to the wall.
The even creepier man three seats away kept staring at Michelle like a hyena, and if he started foaming at the mouth, I would not have been the least bit surprised. The first guy asked if I liked Turkish Tea, and I told him I liked the Apple Tea…I must have misunderstood the question because he was up in a flash and brought Michelle and I back tea in steaming hot glasses. I took mine and swirled it around, and Michelle promptly stated that she was allergic to tea. I almost choked on my laughter.
Needless to say, 5 minutes later we were out of those seats and my tea grew cold and I threw it out because Michelle said they probably put Roofies in it. Roofied is not something I wanted to be when I stepped off the Ferry, so I let the yummy aroma soak in my pores and chucked it.
Buyukada was very pretty, and not as touristy as I figured it might have been. The SASer’s took horse carriage rides around the island, and I found this to be way cool. Our driver had let us stop for a coffee break, which was more like a picture break, and I climbed up on his seat and took the reigns. If ever my writing career does not work out, I feel as though I could become a skillful horse-driver. Ha. We raced around the island laughing and Queen-waving (me) to every horse carriage we passed.
We had gotten free boxed lunches from the ship before we left in the morning because our trip lasted over lunch. I was kind of expecting a lunch similar to something my mom would have made me in high school. You know, my sandwich cut in half, yummy cookies and a chocolate, a note on the napkin…haha. Okay, maybe not that good, but something semi-normal.
I opened this boxed lunch on a bench by a fish market and looked at Michelle with amusement. I am not a picky eater, but she is and I could only imagine what she must have been thinking.
Contents of SAS Boxed Lunches:
1 sandwich with warm bologna/salami, stale bread that crunches when bitten into.
1 Hardboiled egg.
1 packet of actual Oreos (which I gobbled up faster than you can say “Yum!”)
1 piece of unidentifiably dry cake (I think?)
1 crushed banana (mine was rather deformed, and a bit soggy)
1 deliciously appreciated Capri Sun
… What I want to know is where the egg came from. It was so random!
… on the Ferry ride back to Istanbul, Michelle was passed out next to me (not from the Roofied tea, mind you) and so of course I had my camera out snapping shots of people across the way. We made a stop to pick up people from a different island, and who should sit next to me but a foursome of real-life hippies. These were about the coolest people I could have had plop down next to me. Three men, one woman, all with dreads down to their butts and faded hemp bracelets and anklets. I wanted so badly to strike up a conversation with them, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The blonde-haired man took out a Bouzouki and started playing it, and my jaw dropped. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his hands because I thought maybe if I watched him play, I too could learn how to play my own Bouzouki….not so much. I took some really good black and whites of them, so that way, if the horse-driver career doesn’t work out for me, I might be able to become a hippie. : }
When we arrived back in Istanbul, Liz, Michelle, and I bought tickets to a Sufi Dervish Whirling Ceremony. That’s a mouthful, right? In case you are clueless as to what this even is, like I was, it is the traditional religious dance for the Turks who desire to connect deeply with God. The ceremony was held in a train station and the music played was really cool, and then the “dervishes” came out in these black robes and tall hats. It reminded me a bit of the KKK, except a little less white and less people… then the music got louder, and the chorus began singing and then the dervish dances started…well, whirling. In circles…for about 1 hour straight. I am not even kidding. They just twirled faster and faster to the beat of the music, and I guess through this dance, they are praying and becoming closer to God.
I had to restrain myself from giggling uncontrollably. You just had to be there. It was the most absurd thing I think I have ever seen. The guy across the way was fast asleep, so after I took all the pictures I could handle of these Whirling Dervishes, I started taking pictures of every audience member to not only capture what they thought about the performance but to keep myself from falling fast asleep. The ceremony was physically and mentally draining. You just had to be there. You just had to be there.
Later Gator,
A.
Michelle and I plopped down on a bench in the back of the two-story Ferry and I was nonchalantly staring out the window when these three guys who looked to be in their mid-twenties (are you tired of the creepy guy stories yet? Clearly this is all I’ve encountered while in Turkey. You can imagine my frustration and annoyance after the first day here) sat down right next to us. I felt Michelle scoot closer to me, and I caught the one guy consistently nudging her arm. I tried to stifle my laughter because Michelle does not like to be touched or bothered. She gets even angrier than I do at the whole harassment thing every time we step foot alone in the city, and sometimes I just have to chuckle at her annoyances. The guy kept trying to talk to her, and she kept scooting me toward the window until finally he looked over her shoulder at me. I tried not to roll my eyes.
“Where you from, lady?”
To his jaggedly-spoken English I replied, “Colorado. My name is Stephanie and this is April. We are both 20 and studying abroad.” Then I turned my head back toward the window hoping he would get the idea that we’ve heard this spiel a million times and were certainly not interested in dating/doing anything with him after we hopped off of the Ferry.
Apparently, this does not work on foreign men. When you give out information like this in countries other than America, this means you are clearly interested. I gave flippant answers to all of his questions for the next 37.5 minutes and communicated with Michelle through my facial language that we needed to move seats. I was now uncomfortably close to the wall.
The even creepier man three seats away kept staring at Michelle like a hyena, and if he started foaming at the mouth, I would not have been the least bit surprised. The first guy asked if I liked Turkish Tea, and I told him I liked the Apple Tea…I must have misunderstood the question because he was up in a flash and brought Michelle and I back tea in steaming hot glasses. I took mine and swirled it around, and Michelle promptly stated that she was allergic to tea. I almost choked on my laughter.
Needless to say, 5 minutes later we were out of those seats and my tea grew cold and I threw it out because Michelle said they probably put Roofies in it. Roofied is not something I wanted to be when I stepped off the Ferry, so I let the yummy aroma soak in my pores and chucked it.
Buyukada was very pretty, and not as touristy as I figured it might have been. The SASer’s took horse carriage rides around the island, and I found this to be way cool. Our driver had let us stop for a coffee break, which was more like a picture break, and I climbed up on his seat and took the reigns. If ever my writing career does not work out, I feel as though I could become a skillful horse-driver. Ha. We raced around the island laughing and Queen-waving (me) to every horse carriage we passed.
We had gotten free boxed lunches from the ship before we left in the morning because our trip lasted over lunch. I was kind of expecting a lunch similar to something my mom would have made me in high school. You know, my sandwich cut in half, yummy cookies and a chocolate, a note on the napkin…haha. Okay, maybe not that good, but something semi-normal.
I opened this boxed lunch on a bench by a fish market and looked at Michelle with amusement. I am not a picky eater, but she is and I could only imagine what she must have been thinking.
Contents of SAS Boxed Lunches:
1 sandwich with warm bologna/salami, stale bread that crunches when bitten into.
1 Hardboiled egg.
1 packet of actual Oreos (which I gobbled up faster than you can say “Yum!”)
1 piece of unidentifiably dry cake (I think?)
1 crushed banana (mine was rather deformed, and a bit soggy)
1 deliciously appreciated Capri Sun
… What I want to know is where the egg came from. It was so random!
… on the Ferry ride back to Istanbul, Michelle was passed out next to me (not from the Roofied tea, mind you) and so of course I had my camera out snapping shots of people across the way. We made a stop to pick up people from a different island, and who should sit next to me but a foursome of real-life hippies. These were about the coolest people I could have had plop down next to me. Three men, one woman, all with dreads down to their butts and faded hemp bracelets and anklets. I wanted so badly to strike up a conversation with them, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The blonde-haired man took out a Bouzouki and started playing it, and my jaw dropped. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his hands because I thought maybe if I watched him play, I too could learn how to play my own Bouzouki….not so much. I took some really good black and whites of them, so that way, if the horse-driver career doesn’t work out for me, I might be able to become a hippie. : }
When we arrived back in Istanbul, Liz, Michelle, and I bought tickets to a Sufi Dervish Whirling Ceremony. That’s a mouthful, right? In case you are clueless as to what this even is, like I was, it is the traditional religious dance for the Turks who desire to connect deeply with God. The ceremony was held in a train station and the music played was really cool, and then the “dervishes” came out in these black robes and tall hats. It reminded me a bit of the KKK, except a little less white and less people… then the music got louder, and the chorus began singing and then the dervish dances started…well, whirling. In circles…for about 1 hour straight. I am not even kidding. They just twirled faster and faster to the beat of the music, and I guess through this dance, they are praying and becoming closer to God.
I had to restrain myself from giggling uncontrollably. You just had to be there. It was the most absurd thing I think I have ever seen. The guy across the way was fast asleep, so after I took all the pictures I could handle of these Whirling Dervishes, I started taking pictures of every audience member to not only capture what they thought about the performance but to keep myself from falling fast asleep. The ceremony was physically and mentally draining. You just had to be there. You just had to be there.
Later Gator,
A.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Turkey Day Three ((T-Square))
Michelle and I signed up for an SAS excursion for today and we decided to skip breakfast, sleep in a little, and grabbed lunch on the ship, the cheapest option. Our bus left at 1PM and drove to a tiny little motor boat which would proceed to take a handful of SASers down the Bosphorus. This body of water connects the Asian and European side of Turkey, so technically, I was in two places at once today – Asia and Europe. The Asian side actually looked a bit cleaner and nicer than the European side…but maybe it was just my imagination.
The ride took about 1.5 hours and we were served Apple Tea (go figure!), which I swallowed in one gulp. I think I might have an addiction to this tea…it could be worse, eh? I haven’t tried the Hookah bars yet, but I’m thinking this tea has me hooked…
We got off the boat to tour around a private museum which was once inhabited by the wealthiest family in all of Turkey, which I found quite cool. This was by far the most interesting museum that I’ve toured in thus far because the artifacts showcased were just unique, and the rooms were actually bedrooms and bathrooms until the early 19th century. There was one room called the “Circumcision Room”, and the bed showcased was decorated with brightly colored draperies and linens. Apparently when the boys back then were about to be circumcised, they would have to ride a horse through town wearing obnoxious outfits announcing that this big day was coming up. I felt embarrassed just reading about it.
After we came back to the ship, we grabbed dinner and met up with Emily to maybe catch another movie. We got directions from a girl to the Taxsim Square because that was where we were supposed to find a handful of different theaters. Up the cobblestone alleys we walked, up and up and up until my knees ached and my brow glistened. This one man stopped me and asked where we were going, so I showed him the place on a piece of paper because I wanted to make sure we were going in the right direction (since this cobblestone alley was not touristy and rather scary), and he nodded his head and grinned.
“Keep to left, left, left…”
“Okay, left, left, left.” I nodded to the girls. “We have to keep left.”
“If you want right, there sex shop on right. I can give you tour…”
“No! No, no, no!” I shook my head vigorously. “No sex shop. We keep left, left, left!” I began to talk in his broken English.
We kept walking and passed by various meat shops with skinned animals hanging by their hind legs outside. If I wanted an entire lamb, skinned and hanging by its legs, this alley would certainly be the place to buy one. We passed by music stores and men playing instruments with dogs by their side, and women holding out their hands for money with sleeping children in their laps. This was not the touristy section at all.
Finally, finally, we made it to Taxsim Square, which looked more like a business district than a place to find a movie theater. Buses zoomed past with bored looking passengers aboard and Taxi drivers smoked cigarettes outside of their cars, waiting to go somewhere, anywhere. We looked around and stopped in the center of the square.
“Well,” I said, looking around. “I don’t see a theater anywhere.”
Michelle looked about half-terrified, probably from the seedy alleyways we had just come from, and Emily glanced around us.
“I would honestly feel more comfortable just taking a cab back to the ship, you know? This isn’t the kind of place to really hang out.” Emily looked a little unsettled herself.
So, we came back to the ship in a cab and ended our night a bit early. It was nice for a change, coming back to the ship when all of the other SASer’s were leaving it. I climbed up the stairs and stationed myself on the 7th deck.
I brought my laptop and my newly acquired Bouzouki and watched Istanbul’s nightlife light up before my eyes.
A.
The ride took about 1.5 hours and we were served Apple Tea (go figure!), which I swallowed in one gulp. I think I might have an addiction to this tea…it could be worse, eh? I haven’t tried the Hookah bars yet, but I’m thinking this tea has me hooked…
We got off the boat to tour around a private museum which was once inhabited by the wealthiest family in all of Turkey, which I found quite cool. This was by far the most interesting museum that I’ve toured in thus far because the artifacts showcased were just unique, and the rooms were actually bedrooms and bathrooms until the early 19th century. There was one room called the “Circumcision Room”, and the bed showcased was decorated with brightly colored draperies and linens. Apparently when the boys back then were about to be circumcised, they would have to ride a horse through town wearing obnoxious outfits announcing that this big day was coming up. I felt embarrassed just reading about it.
After we came back to the ship, we grabbed dinner and met up with Emily to maybe catch another movie. We got directions from a girl to the Taxsim Square because that was where we were supposed to find a handful of different theaters. Up the cobblestone alleys we walked, up and up and up until my knees ached and my brow glistened. This one man stopped me and asked where we were going, so I showed him the place on a piece of paper because I wanted to make sure we were going in the right direction (since this cobblestone alley was not touristy and rather scary), and he nodded his head and grinned.
“Keep to left, left, left…”
“Okay, left, left, left.” I nodded to the girls. “We have to keep left.”
“If you want right, there sex shop on right. I can give you tour…”
“No! No, no, no!” I shook my head vigorously. “No sex shop. We keep left, left, left!” I began to talk in his broken English.
We kept walking and passed by various meat shops with skinned animals hanging by their hind legs outside. If I wanted an entire lamb, skinned and hanging by its legs, this alley would certainly be the place to buy one. We passed by music stores and men playing instruments with dogs by their side, and women holding out their hands for money with sleeping children in their laps. This was not the touristy section at all.
Finally, finally, we made it to Taxsim Square, which looked more like a business district than a place to find a movie theater. Buses zoomed past with bored looking passengers aboard and Taxi drivers smoked cigarettes outside of their cars, waiting to go somewhere, anywhere. We looked around and stopped in the center of the square.
“Well,” I said, looking around. “I don’t see a theater anywhere.”
Michelle looked about half-terrified, probably from the seedy alleyways we had just come from, and Emily glanced around us.
“I would honestly feel more comfortable just taking a cab back to the ship, you know? This isn’t the kind of place to really hang out.” Emily looked a little unsettled herself.
So, we came back to the ship in a cab and ended our night a bit early. It was nice for a change, coming back to the ship when all of the other SASer’s were leaving it. I climbed up the stairs and stationed myself on the 7th deck.
I brought my laptop and my newly acquired Bouzouki and watched Istanbul’s nightlife light up before my eyes.
A.
Turkey Day Two ((Angelina Jolie's Lips))
Michelle and I left the ship around 10:30AM, and headed to our one planned destination for the day: The Topkapi Palace. Apparently, this is where the Sultan lived with his many wives and concubines and everyone of the highest importance between the 1600’s-1900’s. I was in awe walking around. There was a huge courtyard in the middle of the palace and we made our way into every little nook and cranny. The rooms were set up kind of like a museum, with jewelry and clothes locked away in glass cases. It was really cool. I paid a bit extra to go into the living quarters of the Sultan and the concubines. I got to walk through their private bathhouses, and wedding ceremonial halls, and their own private courtyards.
We stopped at this really cool restaurant where we sat on overstuffed pillows and enjoyed Turkish music while we ate. I sipped my Apple Tea (which is the most delicious tea I think I’ve ever tasted…it’s very well-known in Turkey), and ate most of my chicken Penne. The whole atmosphere was simply awesome.
Afterward, we stopped in a bakery and ate éclairs because they looked delicious and they completely lived up to our standards, let me tell you.
Around 5ish, I met Jill for dinner and a walk around the city. I’ll do my best to explain Jill to you. During the first week on the ship, I signed up to be adopted by a family on board. This could mean a Life Long Learner, or a faculty member, or a TA of some sort. It was supposed to cure homesickness or whatever, but Jill just received my name and we met for the first time about two weeks ago over a very random dinner. But let me describe her. She stands exactly my height, with red hair and black-rimmed glasses. She’s 28, but doesn’t look a day over 20, and she teaches Russian Lit. on the ship. She has two Masters in Russian Literature and Russian language, and she’s still in school for her doctorate in something...she told me she never wants to leave school, clearly. She’s traveled to Russia during college, as well as backpacked through Europe the summer after she graduated college, by herself. I can’t tell you how much I admire this woman and today was only our second meeting. I’d be lying to say she isn’t one of the most interesting people I’ve met thus far on this voyage.
So, I met Jill and she showed me the Spice Bazaar, which blew me away. I’ve never seen so many delicious looking spices and teas in one place. We sampled Turkish Delights at every stand, and it was a pretty good dessert, I might say. I found the famous Apple tea almost immediately, and bought a half kilo of it…and as they vacuum-packed it for me, I realized I don’t have anything to even make tea…so Jill and I both bought those metal tea balls and you can only guess how excited I am to use that in the morning. ;}
We walked down alleys looking for cheap cafes to eat dinner in, and this one guy with beautiful green eyes roped us in because we were tired of walking and being hassled by every other restaurant owner. He brought out free hummus and bread (which was so yummy…I’ve never tasted hummus before) and we ordered what he recommended as the best Turkish dish: Turkish ravioli, of course. I ate every bit of that ravioli…it was incredible, so full of flavor! Yogurt mixed with what tasted like Pesto and olive oil was the sauce, and the ravioli was filled with cheese and lamb. It sounds pretty nasty, but it was delicious. The beautiful-eyed guy kept coming over and talking with us about life on the ship, and how he’s never been out of Turkey before. Then he moved on from just talking to hardcore flirting. He sat down and kept touching our arms and getting close to our faces. At one point, he looked me in the eye and said, “Can I tell you something?” and I said, “Sure”, and he said, “You have lips like Angelina Jolie.”
…I might have spit out my ravioli a little from the shock. I don’t have lips, and he just compared me to a woman with bigger lips than anyone else I can name at the moment. He made me laugh, I’ll give him that. He brought out free dessert (two slices of banana with walnuts, whipped cream, and honey on top), and free Apple Tea. He must have been crushing hard on us because I’ve never been given more free meals/drinks in my life. He invited us out to the hottest club in Istanbul, 360. He told us he would pay for the taxi and our drinks, and he was very polite about it. I got a picture with him before we left.
Lips like Angelina Jolie’s?
*Smirk*
A.
We stopped at this really cool restaurant where we sat on overstuffed pillows and enjoyed Turkish music while we ate. I sipped my Apple Tea (which is the most delicious tea I think I’ve ever tasted…it’s very well-known in Turkey), and ate most of my chicken Penne. The whole atmosphere was simply awesome.
Afterward, we stopped in a bakery and ate éclairs because they looked delicious and they completely lived up to our standards, let me tell you.
Around 5ish, I met Jill for dinner and a walk around the city. I’ll do my best to explain Jill to you. During the first week on the ship, I signed up to be adopted by a family on board. This could mean a Life Long Learner, or a faculty member, or a TA of some sort. It was supposed to cure homesickness or whatever, but Jill just received my name and we met for the first time about two weeks ago over a very random dinner. But let me describe her. She stands exactly my height, with red hair and black-rimmed glasses. She’s 28, but doesn’t look a day over 20, and she teaches Russian Lit. on the ship. She has two Masters in Russian Literature and Russian language, and she’s still in school for her doctorate in something...she told me she never wants to leave school, clearly. She’s traveled to Russia during college, as well as backpacked through Europe the summer after she graduated college, by herself. I can’t tell you how much I admire this woman and today was only our second meeting. I’d be lying to say she isn’t one of the most interesting people I’ve met thus far on this voyage.
So, I met Jill and she showed me the Spice Bazaar, which blew me away. I’ve never seen so many delicious looking spices and teas in one place. We sampled Turkish Delights at every stand, and it was a pretty good dessert, I might say. I found the famous Apple tea almost immediately, and bought a half kilo of it…and as they vacuum-packed it for me, I realized I don’t have anything to even make tea…so Jill and I both bought those metal tea balls and you can only guess how excited I am to use that in the morning. ;}
We walked down alleys looking for cheap cafes to eat dinner in, and this one guy with beautiful green eyes roped us in because we were tired of walking and being hassled by every other restaurant owner. He brought out free hummus and bread (which was so yummy…I’ve never tasted hummus before) and we ordered what he recommended as the best Turkish dish: Turkish ravioli, of course. I ate every bit of that ravioli…it was incredible, so full of flavor! Yogurt mixed with what tasted like Pesto and olive oil was the sauce, and the ravioli was filled with cheese and lamb. It sounds pretty nasty, but it was delicious. The beautiful-eyed guy kept coming over and talking with us about life on the ship, and how he’s never been out of Turkey before. Then he moved on from just talking to hardcore flirting. He sat down and kept touching our arms and getting close to our faces. At one point, he looked me in the eye and said, “Can I tell you something?” and I said, “Sure”, and he said, “You have lips like Angelina Jolie.”
…I might have spit out my ravioli a little from the shock. I don’t have lips, and he just compared me to a woman with bigger lips than anyone else I can name at the moment. He made me laugh, I’ll give him that. He brought out free dessert (two slices of banana with walnuts, whipped cream, and honey on top), and free Apple Tea. He must have been crushing hard on us because I’ve never been given more free meals/drinks in my life. He invited us out to the hottest club in Istanbul, 360. He told us he would pay for the taxi and our drinks, and he was very polite about it. I got a picture with him before we left.
Lips like Angelina Jolie’s?
*Smirk*
A.
Turkey Day One ((Half-Blood Prince))
I heard Michelle whisper my name this morning, and then say something along the lines of “My alarm clock never went off…”, so I was up in a heartbeat, thinking we might have missed the sunrise over the supposedly beautiful Istanbul. Glancing at my own clock, my pulse slowed. It was only 5:30AM. The sun wasn’t supposed to come up for another 17 lovely minutes. We walked upstairs in our PJ’s, bleary-eyed and wide awake.
Turkey, or rather Istanbul, was not what I had expected. But is anything ever what one expects? It both surprised me and unnerved me. It made me smile and made me want to cry. To state the obvious, Turkey is not anything like the other countries we’ve experienced thus far. After watching the sunrise (it was foggy, and I could not really see the magnificent views…but it was breathtaking, nonetheless)) we ate breakfast and nonchalantly headed off of the ship to get a feel for the city.
Head scarves, everywhere. Women in black from head to toe, nothing but eyes peeking out to glimpse their surroundings. We had been briefed before we were let loose that Turkey, especially the Istanbul area, is 99% Muslim. It’s not that I was at all surprised to see the women completely covered…I was more in shock that I was actually in a country where women were clearly treated differently than men. It was certainly eye-opening. We were all wearing capris and T-shirts, and looked exactly like the stereo-typical Americans, minus fanny packs.
We eventually made our way to the famous Aga Sophia, the Mosque that was turned into a museum when the Blue Mosque was built. It was really pretty with mosaics and lots of beautiful architecture. Then we waited in line to go underground to the Cistern. I didn’t even know one could walk around a cistern, but apparently I was very mistaken. It was this large square block underground, poles everywhere with red lights…so the place was pitch black save for those red lights. It was really eerie, like something out of Harry Potter, or an underground horror film.
After cooling off below the sidewalks, we toured through the famous Blue Mosque. I have never been to a mosque before this one, so I didn’t have too many expectations. We took our shoes off and quietly shimmied around other curious tourists. The mosque proved to be one gigantic square cut off in sections by golden rails. The men prayed toward Mecca throughout the entire mosque. The women prayed in the thin strip of section at the very back. I found this disturbing. I also found it so humbling to see the women on their hands and knees in the very back, while the men took up all of the surrounding space. They couldn’t even pray together.
We proceeded to buy ice cream because Turkey is a very hot, hot place and I ordered vanilla/chocolate swirl thinking this looked refreshing. I took my first lick and the ice cream would not come apart. I took another lick, thinking something was wrong with my tongue, and the ice cream looked like silly putty being strung from the cone. I laughed. Then I saw my friends having the same issue. Then I noticed my chocolate and vanilla did not taste like chocolate or vanilla, but rather a big pile of raw dough. I took a bite, a bite, out of the silly putty and had to literally break it apart with my teeth. Then I became disgusted. This was no longer a game, but really gross silly putty/dough fake ice cream. Needless to say, I walked away very unrefreshed, my mouth tasting of paper and sludge.
With our mutual feelings of disgust about the poser “ice cream”, we concluded that actual lunch was in order. We stopped at this tiny, family-owned café and the waiter came over and began to immediately joke with us. He brought out two baskets of warm pita bread and about 7 different kinds of dips and meats to put into the pita, without us ordering a single thing. His daughter, who was 12, spoke English to us and took our drink orders. She was incredibly sweet. I chatted her up, and she told me that she would be my Turkish teacher and I could be her English teacher. We exchanged a few words in the other language and laughed a lot (because I clearly cannot speak Turkish). Lamb, chicken, rice, eggplant, lettuce and tomato, onion and peppers, garlic spread, and spicy tomato spread covered the entire table and we all mixed and matched our pita fillings. The entire meal was amazing, even though we didn’t order any of it. The waiter ended up sitting down with us toward the end of the meal and began talking politics for at least a good half-hour. We all just stared at him, nodding our heads in the appropriate places because A. He clearly had very different views from many of us at the table and B. Because I don’t know my politics well enough to articulate my views out loud, and C. Because I do not talk politics in America, let alone Turkey. So I sat in uncomfortable silence along with Michelle and Paul and Lindsey, and listened to him ramble for way longer than necessary about our government. As interesting as his Turkish views were, I had to sit there with my mouth shut. After he finished and delivered our check, I told the little girl to come here, and I stuck a Euro in her little hand. She shook her head and said she couldn’t take it, and I told her that she was such a good teacher, and that she deserved it. As we got up to leave, I gave her a hug and she kissed me on both cheeks, which I thought was too sweet.
And what better to end our night with a movie? We decided to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince in Turkey :)
Making our way to the nearest theater, we had to walk through the Grand Bazaar to get there. I was a bit overwhelmed and super excited. Rugs, jewelry, people, rugs, clothes, shoes, rugs, magic genie lamps, jewelry, people…it was a never-ending cycle of craziness. Sadly, we did not get to shop around because we needed to buy tickets for the movie, but I vowed to definitely come back.
The movie theater was not air-conditioned very well. I felt sticky the whole time, but enjoyed every minute of the experience. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince was amazing…even though I am not a devout Harry Potter fanatic, I understood the gist of the movie and thought it was even better in Turkey because the timing for the words were off. It was hilarious. The movie played in English with Turkish subtitles, but the timing was off...Harry would say something and 3.5 seconds later, his lips would move. I couldn’t stop laughing.
And laugh I did, the whole cab ride home.
A.
Turkey, or rather Istanbul, was not what I had expected. But is anything ever what one expects? It both surprised me and unnerved me. It made me smile and made me want to cry. To state the obvious, Turkey is not anything like the other countries we’ve experienced thus far. After watching the sunrise (it was foggy, and I could not really see the magnificent views…but it was breathtaking, nonetheless)) we ate breakfast and nonchalantly headed off of the ship to get a feel for the city.
Head scarves, everywhere. Women in black from head to toe, nothing but eyes peeking out to glimpse their surroundings. We had been briefed before we were let loose that Turkey, especially the Istanbul area, is 99% Muslim. It’s not that I was at all surprised to see the women completely covered…I was more in shock that I was actually in a country where women were clearly treated differently than men. It was certainly eye-opening. We were all wearing capris and T-shirts, and looked exactly like the stereo-typical Americans, minus fanny packs.
We eventually made our way to the famous Aga Sophia, the Mosque that was turned into a museum when the Blue Mosque was built. It was really pretty with mosaics and lots of beautiful architecture. Then we waited in line to go underground to the Cistern. I didn’t even know one could walk around a cistern, but apparently I was very mistaken. It was this large square block underground, poles everywhere with red lights…so the place was pitch black save for those red lights. It was really eerie, like something out of Harry Potter, or an underground horror film.
After cooling off below the sidewalks, we toured through the famous Blue Mosque. I have never been to a mosque before this one, so I didn’t have too many expectations. We took our shoes off and quietly shimmied around other curious tourists. The mosque proved to be one gigantic square cut off in sections by golden rails. The men prayed toward Mecca throughout the entire mosque. The women prayed in the thin strip of section at the very back. I found this disturbing. I also found it so humbling to see the women on their hands and knees in the very back, while the men took up all of the surrounding space. They couldn’t even pray together.
We proceeded to buy ice cream because Turkey is a very hot, hot place and I ordered vanilla/chocolate swirl thinking this looked refreshing. I took my first lick and the ice cream would not come apart. I took another lick, thinking something was wrong with my tongue, and the ice cream looked like silly putty being strung from the cone. I laughed. Then I saw my friends having the same issue. Then I noticed my chocolate and vanilla did not taste like chocolate or vanilla, but rather a big pile of raw dough. I took a bite, a bite, out of the silly putty and had to literally break it apart with my teeth. Then I became disgusted. This was no longer a game, but really gross silly putty/dough fake ice cream. Needless to say, I walked away very unrefreshed, my mouth tasting of paper and sludge.
With our mutual feelings of disgust about the poser “ice cream”, we concluded that actual lunch was in order. We stopped at this tiny, family-owned café and the waiter came over and began to immediately joke with us. He brought out two baskets of warm pita bread and about 7 different kinds of dips and meats to put into the pita, without us ordering a single thing. His daughter, who was 12, spoke English to us and took our drink orders. She was incredibly sweet. I chatted her up, and she told me that she would be my Turkish teacher and I could be her English teacher. We exchanged a few words in the other language and laughed a lot (because I clearly cannot speak Turkish). Lamb, chicken, rice, eggplant, lettuce and tomato, onion and peppers, garlic spread, and spicy tomato spread covered the entire table and we all mixed and matched our pita fillings. The entire meal was amazing, even though we didn’t order any of it. The waiter ended up sitting down with us toward the end of the meal and began talking politics for at least a good half-hour. We all just stared at him, nodding our heads in the appropriate places because A. He clearly had very different views from many of us at the table and B. Because I don’t know my politics well enough to articulate my views out loud, and C. Because I do not talk politics in America, let alone Turkey. So I sat in uncomfortable silence along with Michelle and Paul and Lindsey, and listened to him ramble for way longer than necessary about our government. As interesting as his Turkish views were, I had to sit there with my mouth shut. After he finished and delivered our check, I told the little girl to come here, and I stuck a Euro in her little hand. She shook her head and said she couldn’t take it, and I told her that she was such a good teacher, and that she deserved it. As we got up to leave, I gave her a hug and she kissed me on both cheeks, which I thought was too sweet.
And what better to end our night with a movie? We decided to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince in Turkey :)
Making our way to the nearest theater, we had to walk through the Grand Bazaar to get there. I was a bit overwhelmed and super excited. Rugs, jewelry, people, rugs, clothes, shoes, rugs, magic genie lamps, jewelry, people…it was a never-ending cycle of craziness. Sadly, we did not get to shop around because we needed to buy tickets for the movie, but I vowed to definitely come back.
The movie theater was not air-conditioned very well. I felt sticky the whole time, but enjoyed every minute of the experience. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince was amazing…even though I am not a devout Harry Potter fanatic, I understood the gist of the movie and thought it was even better in Turkey because the timing for the words were off. It was hilarious. The movie played in English with Turkish subtitles, but the timing was off...Harry would say something and 3.5 seconds later, his lips would move. I couldn’t stop laughing.
And laugh I did, the whole cab ride home.
A.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Greece Day Three ((Sea Urchins))
Liz, Michelle, Paul, and I decided to island hop once more in Greece, and bought tickets to this out-of-the-way-not-touristy-at-all island called Agistri. The flying dolphin zoomed us across the Aegean Sea once more and I found myself in a wonderland of whitewashed buildings with blue roofs…exactly what I’d been searching for since I’d arrived in Greece. It was brilliant! We found a tavern that sat right across from the ocean and basically ate our lunch on the beach. The waiter was incredibly nice, and at the end, gave us each two slices of fresh watermelon, on the house – Aaron, you would have loved it. I’m sure I didn’t appreciate it as much as I should have… but the waiter told us that watermelon came from Greece…so of course we filled ourselves with this juicy goodness.
We sauntered no more than two feet to some beach chairs and I ran into the ocean as if I’d never seen it before. Then I noticed the waiter flailing his arms at me.
“No swim, no swim there! Black…crawl…no say in American. Spike!”
Black…crawl…spike? I looked down at my feet and about had a hissy fit. I was standing in the middle of a circle of black sea urchins, their spikes glinting in the sun. Flailing my arms back at the waiter, and my very confused friends, I leaped and skipped and fell back onto shore a nervous wreck.
“Let’s just swim down here…” I suggested, and the rest of the afternoon lulled gloriously on. The water was so clear, just like Bohemian water. Other islands silhouetted in the distance, and I floated (with my flippy-floppies) on top of the ocean, staring at this beauty.
“It’s Wednesday.” Michelle stated, as she floated beside me.
“Yeah.” I said, not sure where she was taking the conversation.
“It’s Wednesday, and it’s the middle of the afternoon, and we’re on an island in Greece.” She turned to look at me.
I stopped floating and dropped my mouth open. We were in Greece. On an island. On a Wednesday.
It’s funny how you can be in the midst of something and still not feel like it’s happening. You can be in Greece and still not really know it. You can be sitting in a gondola in Italy and it doesn’t really sink in. You can be trekking all over Europe, leaving footprints and gum wrappers and still not really feel like you are anywhere but where you’re supposed to be.
That night, a group of us wandered into a Karaoke bar, and flopped onto the couches. A bored looking waitress came over and asked in a thick accent what we wanted to drink, but as our group rattled off drinks that they wanted, she kept smacking her gum and shaking her head.
“No Guinness, only Amstel. No (w)odka, only rum.”
One girl asked if she could have some chicken wings, and the waitress stared at her. “All we have is toast.”
Toast! I laughed out loud. What kind of karaoke bar was this? I ended up taking the microphone and belting out “Sweet Caroline”. It was laughable and I noted to myself that I could cross “sing in a karaoke bar” off of my 100 list. Sweet.
We ended up leaving shortly after, and took two cabs to a place called Giza. It was certainly thumping with life. Nightclub after nightclub pumped music through their speakers, bars flashed strobe lights and disco balls hung elegantly as a witnessing centerpiece to drunken youth. We went into a bar that walked us right up some stairs and onto a roof. The skyline was breathtaking. My first thought was that I shouldn’t have been wearing braids. People were looking at me as if I were ten, and more than one stranger patted my head. I’m not even kidding. I weaved and bobbed through sweaty, B.O-ridden people, and watched the scene unravel in front of me. Bars are great places to people-watch…maybe even one of the best places to people-watch, especially when you are not drunk. I had a blast listening to drunken conversations, attempted hook-ups, and Greek pick-up lines.
We left after a while and made our way to another bar that was apparently more “danceable”. Madonna screamed at us through the speakers and we danced like Americans. It was such fun.
On our way back in the wee hours of the morning, I rolled down the window of the cab and listened to the night sounds. Honking, breezy air gushing against my face, friends talking, laughing…it was nice. Then I saw my room, and I crashed.
Opa!
A.
We sauntered no more than two feet to some beach chairs and I ran into the ocean as if I’d never seen it before. Then I noticed the waiter flailing his arms at me.
“No swim, no swim there! Black…crawl…no say in American. Spike!”
Black…crawl…spike? I looked down at my feet and about had a hissy fit. I was standing in the middle of a circle of black sea urchins, their spikes glinting in the sun. Flailing my arms back at the waiter, and my very confused friends, I leaped and skipped and fell back onto shore a nervous wreck.
“Let’s just swim down here…” I suggested, and the rest of the afternoon lulled gloriously on. The water was so clear, just like Bohemian water. Other islands silhouetted in the distance, and I floated (with my flippy-floppies) on top of the ocean, staring at this beauty.
“It’s Wednesday.” Michelle stated, as she floated beside me.
“Yeah.” I said, not sure where she was taking the conversation.
“It’s Wednesday, and it’s the middle of the afternoon, and we’re on an island in Greece.” She turned to look at me.
I stopped floating and dropped my mouth open. We were in Greece. On an island. On a Wednesday.
It’s funny how you can be in the midst of something and still not feel like it’s happening. You can be in Greece and still not really know it. You can be sitting in a gondola in Italy and it doesn’t really sink in. You can be trekking all over Europe, leaving footprints and gum wrappers and still not really feel like you are anywhere but where you’re supposed to be.
That night, a group of us wandered into a Karaoke bar, and flopped onto the couches. A bored looking waitress came over and asked in a thick accent what we wanted to drink, but as our group rattled off drinks that they wanted, she kept smacking her gum and shaking her head.
“No Guinness, only Amstel. No (w)odka, only rum.”
One girl asked if she could have some chicken wings, and the waitress stared at her. “All we have is toast.”
Toast! I laughed out loud. What kind of karaoke bar was this? I ended up taking the microphone and belting out “Sweet Caroline”. It was laughable and I noted to myself that I could cross “sing in a karaoke bar” off of my 100 list. Sweet.
We ended up leaving shortly after, and took two cabs to a place called Giza. It was certainly thumping with life. Nightclub after nightclub pumped music through their speakers, bars flashed strobe lights and disco balls hung elegantly as a witnessing centerpiece to drunken youth. We went into a bar that walked us right up some stairs and onto a roof. The skyline was breathtaking. My first thought was that I shouldn’t have been wearing braids. People were looking at me as if I were ten, and more than one stranger patted my head. I’m not even kidding. I weaved and bobbed through sweaty, B.O-ridden people, and watched the scene unravel in front of me. Bars are great places to people-watch…maybe even one of the best places to people-watch, especially when you are not drunk. I had a blast listening to drunken conversations, attempted hook-ups, and Greek pick-up lines.
We left after a while and made our way to another bar that was apparently more “danceable”. Madonna screamed at us through the speakers and we danced like Americans. It was such fun.
On our way back in the wee hours of the morning, I rolled down the window of the cab and listened to the night sounds. Honking, breezy air gushing against my face, friends talking, laughing…it was nice. Then I saw my room, and I crashed.
Opa!
A.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Greece Day Two ((It's Aegina, not A-Gi-Na))
"I need one ticket to A-Gi-Na, please."
"That's what she said." Smirking.
"Geez, Paul. You are so foul." Rolling of the eyes.
"They like it. And you like it." Smirking.
Paul, Michelle, Liz, Carrie, and I bought tickets to our first Greek Island today, Aegina, and hopped on this boat called the "Flying Dolphin". Sound sketch? It was actually very pimped out. It had hydraulics that lifted it pretty much off of the water and "flew" us across the Aegean Sea. Forty minutes later, we were scuttling down unfamiliar alleyways with hungry stomachs. Carrie and I walked in a different direction from the others in search of cheap, quick food. We found this cute little cafe that was sandwiched between a wonderfully smelling bakery and a foul smelling fish market. I stared at hanging octopi as I thoughtfully chewed my sandwich.
We all met up later and spread our towels out on Aegina's rough sands. The beach was this minuscule strip of sand next to the port where we unloaded off of the ferry. I lay on my towel, sweating profusely (not glistening), and finally I couldn't stand the heat. Paul and I walked into the sea and we both looked at each other and began to laugh. It was bath water, lukewarm, seaweed-ridden, and band-aid strewn. It was filthy.
Aegina was an okay island, not what I expected from a Greek Island, but suppose not all Greek Islands can look like Santorini. I would have given my right thumb to go to the island of Santorini, which houses the true white-washed buildings with blue roofs that are always shown in the movies. It's just not affordable for a college student. It's more of a "I just got married and now have a joint account" type of island. This just means that I will have to come back to Greece when I am retired and still money-less, because lets face it: I am a writer.
I had fun, though. I laughed and took many black and whites of the Grecian people, and talked about everything with Paul and Carrie and Liz, people I did not know a month ago. We sweated together, relishing in the grecian heat. After all, strangers make the most interesting company, sometimes. And isn't it sweet when those strangers become friends?
A.
"That's what she said." Smirking.
"Geez, Paul. You are so foul." Rolling of the eyes.
"They like it. And you like it." Smirking.
Paul, Michelle, Liz, Carrie, and I bought tickets to our first Greek Island today, Aegina, and hopped on this boat called the "Flying Dolphin". Sound sketch? It was actually very pimped out. It had hydraulics that lifted it pretty much off of the water and "flew" us across the Aegean Sea. Forty minutes later, we were scuttling down unfamiliar alleyways with hungry stomachs. Carrie and I walked in a different direction from the others in search of cheap, quick food. We found this cute little cafe that was sandwiched between a wonderfully smelling bakery and a foul smelling fish market. I stared at hanging octopi as I thoughtfully chewed my sandwich.
We all met up later and spread our towels out on Aegina's rough sands. The beach was this minuscule strip of sand next to the port where we unloaded off of the ferry. I lay on my towel, sweating profusely (not glistening), and finally I couldn't stand the heat. Paul and I walked into the sea and we both looked at each other and began to laugh. It was bath water, lukewarm, seaweed-ridden, and band-aid strewn. It was filthy.
Aegina was an okay island, not what I expected from a Greek Island, but suppose not all Greek Islands can look like Santorini. I would have given my right thumb to go to the island of Santorini, which houses the true white-washed buildings with blue roofs that are always shown in the movies. It's just not affordable for a college student. It's more of a "I just got married and now have a joint account" type of island. This just means that I will have to come back to Greece when I am retired and still money-less, because lets face it: I am a writer.
I had fun, though. I laughed and took many black and whites of the Grecian people, and talked about everything with Paul and Carrie and Liz, people I did not know a month ago. We sweated together, relishing in the grecian heat. After all, strangers make the most interesting company, sometimes. And isn't it sweet when those strangers become friends?
A.
Greece Day One ((It's all GREEK to me!))
"What does that say?"
"I don't know! It's all in symbols!"
...this was the extent of most of my conversations with friends as we wondered around Piraeus looking for the Metro to make our way into Athens. Once we made it into Athens, we got completely lost looking for the Acropolis and the Parthenon...and you might think this is absurd, but I had no idea what I was looking for. I've never seen ruins before, and the Acropolis from the street just looked a bit like a run-down castle-like structure. Once we walked most of the way up...nothing like hiking Mt. Vesuvius, but tiring nonetheless, I cringed. Construction, everywhere. They were renovating the ruins, and it made me very unhappy to see men in construction gear, hammering away like they owned the place. I guess I was expecting to find Athena, or at least some peace of mind. Anything would have been better than metal poles and ladders stealing the beauty and intricacy away from those ruins.
We ate lunch at this cafe, our first Greek meal...and boy, did I eat Greek. Mousaka adorned my plate, and I've never eaten eggplant before, but it was quite tasty. Mousaka is this shepherd's pie-looking dish with potatoes, eggplant, ground beef, cheese, zucchini, and other interesting ingredients all mixed in. It was yummy. Michelle, Emily, and I split a piece of authentic baklava for dessert, which was heaven-like. It might be my new favorite non-chocolate dessert.
We met up with Paul after lunch and the four of us scoured the streets in search of...whatever people in Athens are looking for. On our way, Emily and I split a slice of coconut, and me being me, I bit into it like a piece of chewy candy. I've come to think I don't know much about anything, but it's a refreshing feeling sometimes, because everything is a learning experience. The coconut about broke my incisors and I recoiled, spitting out the shell and pure white coconut. It tasted very similar to a piece of cardboard. So much for refreshing.
The streets around the Parthenon are filled with street vendors trying to sell you fake Gucci sunglasses and Prada bags, while at the same time trying to cop a cheap feel. Nothing like Naples, though, and for that I smiled at these lonely men trying to make a living, and slithered on my way.
All this slithering and smiling brought me into a specialty music store down an alleyway with more vendors and many a tourist. Weird-looking instruments that looked like a cross between a guitar and something very phallic caught my eye. The dark-haired man behind the counter must have seen the gleam because he was in front of me, playing this beautiful-sounding thing. He also recited poetry to me after he found out I was a student studying English. Talk about slick.
In the end, after walking around Athens some more and eating gelato, I found myself back in this music store, purchasing the phallic-looking instrument. Bouzouki. That's its name. And for what it's worth, I already learned how to play the chords to "Titanic"...not that anyone on the ship wants to hear that song...I am still planning on buying my African Drums, no worries there. But this Bouzouki makes the coolest sounds.
I have never played a guitar in my life, or do I know how to read music, or do I know how to play a Bouzouki at all...but I will learn, and I am learning, and I am having fun. Eat your heart out, I told myself, because I may never return to Greece. So, I thought, why not?
Why not?
A.
"I don't know! It's all in symbols!"
...this was the extent of most of my conversations with friends as we wondered around Piraeus looking for the Metro to make our way into Athens. Once we made it into Athens, we got completely lost looking for the Acropolis and the Parthenon...and you might think this is absurd, but I had no idea what I was looking for. I've never seen ruins before, and the Acropolis from the street just looked a bit like a run-down castle-like structure. Once we walked most of the way up...nothing like hiking Mt. Vesuvius, but tiring nonetheless, I cringed. Construction, everywhere. They were renovating the ruins, and it made me very unhappy to see men in construction gear, hammering away like they owned the place. I guess I was expecting to find Athena, or at least some peace of mind. Anything would have been better than metal poles and ladders stealing the beauty and intricacy away from those ruins.
We ate lunch at this cafe, our first Greek meal...and boy, did I eat Greek. Mousaka adorned my plate, and I've never eaten eggplant before, but it was quite tasty. Mousaka is this shepherd's pie-looking dish with potatoes, eggplant, ground beef, cheese, zucchini, and other interesting ingredients all mixed in. It was yummy. Michelle, Emily, and I split a piece of authentic baklava for dessert, which was heaven-like. It might be my new favorite non-chocolate dessert.
We met up with Paul after lunch and the four of us scoured the streets in search of...whatever people in Athens are looking for. On our way, Emily and I split a slice of coconut, and me being me, I bit into it like a piece of chewy candy. I've come to think I don't know much about anything, but it's a refreshing feeling sometimes, because everything is a learning experience. The coconut about broke my incisors and I recoiled, spitting out the shell and pure white coconut. It tasted very similar to a piece of cardboard. So much for refreshing.
The streets around the Parthenon are filled with street vendors trying to sell you fake Gucci sunglasses and Prada bags, while at the same time trying to cop a cheap feel. Nothing like Naples, though, and for that I smiled at these lonely men trying to make a living, and slithered on my way.
All this slithering and smiling brought me into a specialty music store down an alleyway with more vendors and many a tourist. Weird-looking instruments that looked like a cross between a guitar and something very phallic caught my eye. The dark-haired man behind the counter must have seen the gleam because he was in front of me, playing this beautiful-sounding thing. He also recited poetry to me after he found out I was a student studying English. Talk about slick.
In the end, after walking around Athens some more and eating gelato, I found myself back in this music store, purchasing the phallic-looking instrument. Bouzouki. That's its name. And for what it's worth, I already learned how to play the chords to "Titanic"...not that anyone on the ship wants to hear that song...I am still planning on buying my African Drums, no worries there. But this Bouzouki makes the coolest sounds.
I have never played a guitar in my life, or do I know how to read music, or do I know how to play a Bouzouki at all...but I will learn, and I am learning, and I am having fun. Eat your heart out, I told myself, because I may never return to Greece. So, I thought, why not?
Why not?
A.
People of Athens
Pinkies :)
My Greek James Dean Fling. ;P
My..not so Greek fling....
Harried.
Tres Tres Chic.Saturday, July 11, 2009
Inhibitions.
Today in one of my writing workshops, my professor mentioned his time in Croatia, hinting at how he got to know some of the natives of the Dubrovnik area, eating meals with them and spending his time learning about their lives.
I found this intriguing, and then I realized I not only find it intriguing…I’m beginning to regret not doing it myself. It’s hard, though. It’s very hard to spend a little less than a week in each country, trying to squeeze in touristy time AND traveler time. It’s difficult sometimes to fully get away from the SAS crowd…and often times, it’s even harder to make a conscious choice to step away from the SAS crowd and go off on your own. At least for me.
I hate big groups with a kind of deadly passion. And yet I find myself walking in circles with groups of ten sometimes, trying to decide on a place to eat, or where the nearest bathroom is…I find myself wasting more time wondering what will make everyone else in the group of ten happy and not thinking of my own desires for each country.
Greece, Turkey, Bulgaria, Egypt, Morocco. These are the countries that I have left. I don’t want to smile wistfully at my professor when he describes his experiences in every country with the locals. I don’t want to waste time making decisions and then being secretly unhappy with those decisions in the end.
I’m glad that I’m figuring this out now. Spain, Italy, and Croatia were practice runs. “How not to spend your precious few days in Croatia”, or something along those lines. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy my time in each of those countries…I just know there are deeper connections to be made when I let myself off the leash of the SAS crowd. And find those connections I will try.
So, I’m making an SAS resolution right now. Right this minute. I will not let moments escape in which I could learn some Greek words, or eat a meal with a Turkish family. I will not let my inhibitions of being by myself hold me back from experiencing culture. This was my biggest fear when I left for this trip, and here I am, struggling head to head with it.
I am going to do my best to submerge myself in each country fully and without regrets in the short amount of time I have left.
No reserves, no retreats, no regrets. J
Friday, July 10, 2009
Spain pics!
This is the salad that made me sick..
I love this guy. It's official.
The Flamenco show!
La Playa, the Spanish beach!
Cadiz skylineVenice Pics :)
San Marco Piazza
They said I could drink the water...
Franco (the gondola driver) let me wear his hat!
A bridge near our hotel :)
When I ordered pizza...they gave me a pizza!Croatia Pics!
Lokrum Island :)
Mr. Peacock!
Such Great Heights...
Lokrum Island
Dubrovnik, Croatia
The Adriatic Sea :)Croatia Day Three ((That's an actual country?))
Montenegro. I have never heard of this place until just a few days ago as we were docking in Croatia. I had absolutely no idea that it was its own country. I thought it was a city in Croatia, but nope, apparently it even has its own language. Montenegran, or something like that.
On a whim, ten of us rented a van (yes, a VAN), and had the driver take us two hours into the country of Montenegro. I thought island hopping was fun, but country hopping is way cooler. When we’re docked in a country, and we leave that country with our passports and bottles of water…now that’s pretty sweet, especially when you didn’t know that the particular country that you are traveling to existed.
None of us had any expectations, and the country itself ended up looking a lot like Croatia, with the red rooftops and beachside cliffs. It was gorgeous. We ate lunch in the small city of Kotor Bay (I ate a roast beef sandwich topped with potato salad and pesto mayonnaise. It was incredibly yummy.) and then we made our way to Budva (home of the Budvians) where we spent the rest of our afternoon and evening. We toured around the city walls, the fortress, the beaches.
After walking, and walking, and walking some more, Paul suggested that we sit down at a bar and have a drink. By that point, I wasn’t going to say no. Not that I wanted a drink, but a seat would have been amazing. We passed a place when we first arrived to Budva that had egg shaped seats that hung from the ceiling. I thought the place looked pretty chill, so we found it again and walked on in.
…my first thoughts as we made our way past brightly colored couches, tiki torches, and mini-huts were, “Wow. This is really trippy.” We found a quiet spot in a corner of the place, and I seated myself into a beanbag. A beanbag. The entire place was outside, and bugs crawled around our legs and buzzed around our ears. A woman with her stomach showing and a high pitched voice asked us what we would like to drink. After checking out the cocktail menu, I decided on a Long Island Iced Tea. I don’t know what I must have been thinking. There was no tea in that drink…who knew?
That was when I saw the big hookah sitting on a table. I laughed out loud. Of course. It all made sense. The beanbags, and huts, and weird masks adorning the walls….we were in a hookah bar! It was hilarious to me that I was sitting in a hookah bar, sipping my not-so-yummy Long Island Iced freakin’ Tea in a country I had no knowledge of prior to Croatia embarkation. Or maybe it was hilarious because I was feeling that drink in the pit of my stomach.
We paid our lovely van driver in Kuna and Euros and Dollars and made our way back to the ship after one very long drive back into Croatia. “You are now leaving Montenegro. Don’t forget to tell your friends back home that this place exists. Maybe even highlight us on your world map. Please come again!”
A.
On a whim, ten of us rented a van (yes, a VAN), and had the driver take us two hours into the country of Montenegro. I thought island hopping was fun, but country hopping is way cooler. When we’re docked in a country, and we leave that country with our passports and bottles of water…now that’s pretty sweet, especially when you didn’t know that the particular country that you are traveling to existed.
None of us had any expectations, and the country itself ended up looking a lot like Croatia, with the red rooftops and beachside cliffs. It was gorgeous. We ate lunch in the small city of Kotor Bay (I ate a roast beef sandwich topped with potato salad and pesto mayonnaise. It was incredibly yummy.) and then we made our way to Budva (home of the Budvians) where we spent the rest of our afternoon and evening. We toured around the city walls, the fortress, the beaches.
After walking, and walking, and walking some more, Paul suggested that we sit down at a bar and have a drink. By that point, I wasn’t going to say no. Not that I wanted a drink, but a seat would have been amazing. We passed a place when we first arrived to Budva that had egg shaped seats that hung from the ceiling. I thought the place looked pretty chill, so we found it again and walked on in.
…my first thoughts as we made our way past brightly colored couches, tiki torches, and mini-huts were, “Wow. This is really trippy.” We found a quiet spot in a corner of the place, and I seated myself into a beanbag. A beanbag. The entire place was outside, and bugs crawled around our legs and buzzed around our ears. A woman with her stomach showing and a high pitched voice asked us what we would like to drink. After checking out the cocktail menu, I decided on a Long Island Iced Tea. I don’t know what I must have been thinking. There was no tea in that drink…who knew?
That was when I saw the big hookah sitting on a table. I laughed out loud. Of course. It all made sense. The beanbags, and huts, and weird masks adorning the walls….we were in a hookah bar! It was hilarious to me that I was sitting in a hookah bar, sipping my not-so-yummy Long Island Iced freakin’ Tea in a country I had no knowledge of prior to Croatia embarkation. Or maybe it was hilarious because I was feeling that drink in the pit of my stomach.
We paid our lovely van driver in Kuna and Euros and Dollars and made our way back to the ship after one very long drive back into Croatia. “You are now leaving Montenegro. Don’t forget to tell your friends back home that this place exists. Maybe even highlight us on your world map. Please come again!”
A.
Croatia Day Two ((Peacock-ing))
Did you know that peacocks meow? It’s an odd thing…a very odd thing when you are expecting to see a cat around the corner, and out pops a peacock! Michelle and I decided to spend the day on Lokum Island, which should probably be called Peacock Island. For whatever reason, Lokum Island is uninhabited except for wild peacocks and the occasional lizard. It’s a beautiful place, not touristy at all, and we stumbled upon it through a friend who had traveled there the day before.
The entire island is made up of forest and large rocks. People bring towels and lay out on the rocks like sunbathing lizards, sipping their bottled waters and taking turns jumping into the Adriatic Sea. Michelle and I walked the entire island in about 1.5 hours, scoping out the best spots to sunbathe ourselves. We ate lunch at one of two cafés; a ham sandwich and ((Strawberry)) juice hit the spot.
The island also encompasses a watering hole, complete with a rope swing and cove. It’s nicknamed the “Dead Sea”, so of course I had to swim in it for a while. Afterward, we found the perfect spot to lay down our towels. Roasting has never been more fun. Coldplay and Jack Savoretti and Aqualung breezed through my headphones, my eyes closed and my face on fire.
As I drifted in and out of consciousness, my mind wandered. I needed to buy postage stamps. I needed to read for my travel writing class. I needed to email about 5.5 people. I needed to do something productive…
…that’s what flitted through my mind. And then I came to my senses. I was on an actual island filled with peacocks. I was lying on a giant rock, staring into the blue abyss of the Adriatic, watching the waves crash against other oversized rocks. And there I was, thinking about postage stamps, work that needed to be done.
I don’t think I know how to relax. It’s a problem I’ve suffered from for a very long time. There is always something that needs to be done, worked on, fixed, started, completed…there are always people that need to be talked to, people that need my attention, people…and the idea that the world is happening while I’m lying on a giant rock in the middle of the ocean is unsettling. I needed to be in the world, too.
I stood up from my sundrenched towel, stretched my sun burnt body, and walked over to the edge of the large rocks. A few guys were swimming around, splashing each other and disappearing under the waves.
Taking a deep breath, and thinking to myself that this was the Adriatic Sea that I’ve been staring at for hours, I let go of my postage stamps and people and cannon balled into the salty goodness.
Hvala,
A.
The entire island is made up of forest and large rocks. People bring towels and lay out on the rocks like sunbathing lizards, sipping their bottled waters and taking turns jumping into the Adriatic Sea. Michelle and I walked the entire island in about 1.5 hours, scoping out the best spots to sunbathe ourselves. We ate lunch at one of two cafés; a ham sandwich and ((Strawberry)) juice hit the spot.
The island also encompasses a watering hole, complete with a rope swing and cove. It’s nicknamed the “Dead Sea”, so of course I had to swim in it for a while. Afterward, we found the perfect spot to lay down our towels. Roasting has never been more fun. Coldplay and Jack Savoretti and Aqualung breezed through my headphones, my eyes closed and my face on fire.
As I drifted in and out of consciousness, my mind wandered. I needed to buy postage stamps. I needed to read for my travel writing class. I needed to email about 5.5 people. I needed to do something productive…
…that’s what flitted through my mind. And then I came to my senses. I was on an actual island filled with peacocks. I was lying on a giant rock, staring into the blue abyss of the Adriatic, watching the waves crash against other oversized rocks. And there I was, thinking about postage stamps, work that needed to be done.
I don’t think I know how to relax. It’s a problem I’ve suffered from for a very long time. There is always something that needs to be done, worked on, fixed, started, completed…there are always people that need to be talked to, people that need my attention, people…and the idea that the world is happening while I’m lying on a giant rock in the middle of the ocean is unsettling. I needed to be in the world, too.
I stood up from my sundrenched towel, stretched my sun burnt body, and walked over to the edge of the large rocks. A few guys were swimming around, splashing each other and disappearing under the waves.
Taking a deep breath, and thinking to myself that this was the Adriatic Sea that I’ve been staring at for hours, I let go of my postage stamps and people and cannon balled into the salty goodness.
Hvala,
A.
Croatia Day One ((Red Roofs))
When I woke up for breakfast this morning, I walked into the dining room in my sweats and sporting bed hair, and was about to scoop eggs onto my plate…and then I glanced outside. Red rooftops everywhere. I did a double-take, thinking I was back in the Czech Republic. Then I gasped and realized we were in Croatia! Isn’t it funny how some things take a while to sink in? This is the 3rd country we’ve traveled to so far, and it smacks me in the head every time. When the ship stops moving, I feel like I’m back home…it’s very odd.
So, I ate my breakfast out on the deck, gawking at the beautiful red roofs and breath-taking mountains. After Naples, Dubrovnik was so welcoming, so stunningly pretty. Everything was pretty, from the sparkling water to the vast mountains –I couldn’t get over the landscape.
At 1PM I had to meet outside for the SAS trip I signed up for. We were going to see the “city walls” and the “old city”. I had no idea what this meant, but it sounded interesting, so I signed myself up. We rode in a bus to this scenic overlook, and boy was it scenic. I guess the word I’m looking for is “majestic”. Boats sailed in the distance, and you could see many of Croatia’s islands in the distance. It was pretty sweet.
Then we toured the “old city” for a bit. The buildings were stone-like, very quaint. We walked up into the walls, basically this castle-like fortress, and saw how it encompassed the old city. There are castle-like structures all around Dubrovnik, and it was neat how we got to tour the outskirts of one.
Some history of Croatia? The country just gained their independence in 1991. I found this very interesting. I realize that America is a very young country, but wow. The rough war they had to endure was called the “Homeland War”. There were books about it in every gift shop I browsed in.
After walking around for a bit, I bought some gelato, and realized that although the dollar is a lot stronger than the Kuna (Croatian money!), everything is terribly expensive. I’m sure my bank account loves my spending habits.
That night, Michelle, Liz, and I went out to the Old City and found an Irish Pub to explore. As I ordered my Rum and Coke, a large group of people came bursting through the doors, hollering and banging a drum...everyone was sweating and laughing and dancing. One of the guys hung the Italian flag over a wooden pillar and the banging of the drum continued. It was hilarious. I had no idea what was going on, but the entire pub began chanting in Croatian and clapping their hands and jumping around. We deduced that a sports team (soccer?) must have won. It was a good night for all, indeed.
Cheers!
A.
So, I ate my breakfast out on the deck, gawking at the beautiful red roofs and breath-taking mountains. After Naples, Dubrovnik was so welcoming, so stunningly pretty. Everything was pretty, from the sparkling water to the vast mountains –I couldn’t get over the landscape.
At 1PM I had to meet outside for the SAS trip I signed up for. We were going to see the “city walls” and the “old city”. I had no idea what this meant, but it sounded interesting, so I signed myself up. We rode in a bus to this scenic overlook, and boy was it scenic. I guess the word I’m looking for is “majestic”. Boats sailed in the distance, and you could see many of Croatia’s islands in the distance. It was pretty sweet.
Then we toured the “old city” for a bit. The buildings were stone-like, very quaint. We walked up into the walls, basically this castle-like fortress, and saw how it encompassed the old city. There are castle-like structures all around Dubrovnik, and it was neat how we got to tour the outskirts of one.
Some history of Croatia? The country just gained their independence in 1991. I found this very interesting. I realize that America is a very young country, but wow. The rough war they had to endure was called the “Homeland War”. There were books about it in every gift shop I browsed in.
After walking around for a bit, I bought some gelato, and realized that although the dollar is a lot stronger than the Kuna (Croatian money!), everything is terribly expensive. I’m sure my bank account loves my spending habits.
That night, Michelle, Liz, and I went out to the Old City and found an Irish Pub to explore. As I ordered my Rum and Coke, a large group of people came bursting through the doors, hollering and banging a drum...everyone was sweating and laughing and dancing. One of the guys hung the Italian flag over a wooden pillar and the banging of the drum continued. It was hilarious. I had no idea what was going on, but the entire pub began chanting in Croatian and clapping their hands and jumping around. We deduced that a sports team (soccer?) must have won. It was a good night for all, indeed.
Cheers!
A.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Italy Day Five ((Island of Lemon))
After saying goodbye to Jenna the night before, Michelle, Paul, and I woke up early and made our way to the Island of Capri. It’s known for the Blue Grotto and everything lemon. We took a 45 minute boat ride over to the island, and it was so much more touristy than expected. The Island itself was very pretty, and again, pictures just don’t do it justice. We walked around aimlessly for a while, and then found tickets for a shuttle ride up the huge mountain to get a better look at the island from up above. For lunch, I ate REAL pasta (not a seafood alternative with tentacles. I am still grossed out by that, and I like seafood!)…ravioli and then we spilt an amazing dessert filled with chocolate ice cream, nutella, and mint topped with whipped cream and chocolate syrup. Oh man, was it amazing.
Once we reached the top of the mountain, we decided to find out what was up with everything lemon. Italy is apparently known for its Lemoncelli, so we went into a store and asked where we could find some to try. The ladies behind the counter said they would give us some free samples. So, I took my sample and chugged it down, honestly thinking it would taste like a fruity lemon drink. Oh my. I choked and sputtered and winced, as did Paul and Michelle after sipping theirs. It was the worst taste and burned my throat like something horrible. The women chuckled at us and told us that we just drank 32% alcohol. I about coughed it all back up. My stomach lining burned from that sample…Paul asked the women what they would mix the Lemoncelli with, and they actually laughed out loud. “We drink it straight!” Italians are hardcore. Hard. Core.
After exploring the island a bit more, and after buying a decent amount of lemon chocolate to soothe our burning stomachs, we got back in line for the shuttle ride back down. The wait was about a half hour with a bunch of sweaty Europeans and Americans, so I had a little time to glance around. The guy in front of me had the biggest bicep I have ever seen, so I pulled out my camera and proceeded to take a picture of it. Michelle laughed, and apparently his girlfriend kept glaring at Michelle for the entire half hour, which I found amusing. Then when we were about to swipe our cards through the machine to get on the shuttle, a person kept bumping up against my back. Every time I would inch forward (closer to the Big Bicep Man), this person would be right on my back. I eventually turned around, and was utterly disgusted. It was an older man who had sweat dripping down his face into puddles at his feet. He wore a fisherman’s hat, and his Hawaiian shirt was unbuttoned all the way, letting his protruding, slick-with-sweat belly rub all over my bag. I felt the Lemoncelli and lemon chocolate rise to my throat. It was sweaty nastiness.
We did not get the chance to ride in the Blue Grotto, which I really wish we had done, but that means I will have to come back. We rode back to land and practically sprinted to the ship with twenty minutes to spare before we received dock time. Thank goodness. The crew prepared a ship-wide 4th of July celebration BBQ around 6pm and everyone wore red, white, and blue and stuffed themselves with ribs, burgers, potato salad, corn on the cob, and the most amazing desserts. It was nice, even though we were celebrating on July 5th, to be unified for that short amount of time.
And when we left the port of Naples, I was ready to leave.
I did not look back.
A.
Once we reached the top of the mountain, we decided to find out what was up with everything lemon. Italy is apparently known for its Lemoncelli, so we went into a store and asked where we could find some to try. The ladies behind the counter said they would give us some free samples. So, I took my sample and chugged it down, honestly thinking it would taste like a fruity lemon drink. Oh my. I choked and sputtered and winced, as did Paul and Michelle after sipping theirs. It was the worst taste and burned my throat like something horrible. The women chuckled at us and told us that we just drank 32% alcohol. I about coughed it all back up. My stomach lining burned from that sample…Paul asked the women what they would mix the Lemoncelli with, and they actually laughed out loud. “We drink it straight!” Italians are hardcore. Hard. Core.
After exploring the island a bit more, and after buying a decent amount of lemon chocolate to soothe our burning stomachs, we got back in line for the shuttle ride back down. The wait was about a half hour with a bunch of sweaty Europeans and Americans, so I had a little time to glance around. The guy in front of me had the biggest bicep I have ever seen, so I pulled out my camera and proceeded to take a picture of it. Michelle laughed, and apparently his girlfriend kept glaring at Michelle for the entire half hour, which I found amusing. Then when we were about to swipe our cards through the machine to get on the shuttle, a person kept bumping up against my back. Every time I would inch forward (closer to the Big Bicep Man), this person would be right on my back. I eventually turned around, and was utterly disgusted. It was an older man who had sweat dripping down his face into puddles at his feet. He wore a fisherman’s hat, and his Hawaiian shirt was unbuttoned all the way, letting his protruding, slick-with-sweat belly rub all over my bag. I felt the Lemoncelli and lemon chocolate rise to my throat. It was sweaty nastiness.
We did not get the chance to ride in the Blue Grotto, which I really wish we had done, but that means I will have to come back. We rode back to land and practically sprinted to the ship with twenty minutes to spare before we received dock time. Thank goodness. The crew prepared a ship-wide 4th of July celebration BBQ around 6pm and everyone wore red, white, and blue and stuffed themselves with ribs, burgers, potato salad, corn on the cob, and the most amazing desserts. It was nice, even though we were celebrating on July 5th, to be unified for that short amount of time.
And when we left the port of Naples, I was ready to leave.
I did not look back.
A.
Italy Day Four ((It's July 4th?))
Welcome to Naples. I woke up in the hotel room at 6:45AM this morning wondering if last night had actually happened. It was one of those surreal things that happen sometimes when you are traveling. I wondered where I was, and then the memories of last night came flooding through my head like an erupting volcano.
Speaking of volcanoes, that is why I woke up at 6:45AM. Michelle and I had to hail a taxi and get back to the ship before 8:15AM to make it in time for our SAS trip. We were going to hike Mount Vesuvius, which we thought was a dormant volcano. Apparently, it’s still very active. But. That’s another story. We arrived at the ship’s port in one piece, which was not guaranteed because drivers in Italy are insane. We had to wait for an entire hour for our ship to actually dock and get cleared for inspection by Port Authority. It was ridiculously hot for so early in the morning. I was sweating and I hadn’t even hiked yet. I was just standing there.
The bus ride to the volcano took about 45 minutes, and I stepped off of the bus hopeful. We weren’t in the city, and I could see trees (which were very much lacking in Venice). It was nice to be outside, in the country, going for a hike.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was not by any means prepared to hike this volcano. I am not really in shape. Okay, let’s be honest here… I hate to formally exercise. With a passion. I love to hike, but I get easily winded and I don’t care much for exercise that involves trying to keep up with people. This trip had about fifty SAS students all hiking with us up the side of the volcano. We weaved and slipped and tripped up to the top of the crater. Did I mention that the entire thing was covered in ash? Not black ash, but grey, rocky ash. I was wearing my Pumas that gave me no traction whatsoever, and I looked like I just learned how to walk trying to climb this massive hill. It was embarrassing.
We then proceeded to walk around the entire tip of the volcano, from one side of the crater/hole/thing to the other. I was very wrong in thinking that the top would be a smooth journey. Please. Is any hike ever easy?
My socks/shoes/ankles were black with ash. My legs were preparing themselves to become unhinged from my hips. My hair was wet and sticking to my face in a nasty puddle of sweat. My feet were cramping so bad that I had to literally talk myself through each following step. My fellow hikers were trudging up the steep, rock-ridden hills with ease, and I tried very hard to keep up at first. I really did. And then I noticed that most of the hikers were boys with calf muscles the size of Mount Vesuvius itself. They are the ones who work out on the ship every morning to heavy metal, who do pull-ups with one arm while drinking down raw eggs with the other arm. Who was I kidding? I was hiking a volcano with people who probably trained their whole lives to do something this incredible.
The views, however, were breathtaking. Awe-inspiring. Miraculous. The pictures I took at the top of the volcano don’t describe its beauty, its majesty. I took a deep breath and let it all soak in. On the way down the volcano, I was slipping and sliding all the way down, and I was terrified. I don’t do heights very well when I’m not restrained in some shape or form. I can do roller coasters and probably even skydiving, but practically falling down the side of the volcano found me holding onto a complete stranger, after explaining to the fifty people behind me why I was holding up the line. It was mortifying, really.
After we returned from the trip, Michelle and I hailed another taxi to get back to Jenna’s hotel. We had planned on going to Pompeii (the place where the one Mt. Vesuvius eruption took out the entire city and covered everything in black), so we had to meet her and figure out a way to this infamous city. A taxi pulled up beside us after we walked a ways from the port, and asked us if we needed a ride. We were absolutely exhausted, and jumped in. I should have known the whole thing was sketchy when I looked around for the money meter in the cab and did not find one.
He kept looking at us in the mirror, asking where we were from, asking our names (I told him mine was Stephanie), and he reached back to shake our hands, which he held for way too long. He said his name was Gino. I wanted to laugh and cry because of course his name would be Gino. I suddenly felt like I was in a mafia movie, the Godfather or something. Gino.
He pulled us up next to the hotel, and opened the back door for us. After proceeding to rip us off, and pulling a price out of thin air, he did not give us back the right amount of change and got this scary look on his face when I tried to argue with him. As I heaved my bag on my shoulder, I felt his hand come up and brush my jawbone. I pushed Michelle up the stairs and into the hotel faster than I have ever pushed anyone. The taxi drivers are disgusting and more untrustworthy in Naples than I ever could have thought possible.
After grabbing Jenna from the room, we walked to the train station only to find out that there were no more trains to Pompeii. We resorted to walking through Naples in the daylight, which was almost worse than walking around at night. I have never witnessed many creepy men blatantly eyeing us up in broad daylight. It was degrading. We walked into the nearest restaurant/cafeteria type place and proceeded to order food from a deli-type counter. The man who took our orders looked like he could have been my grandfather, if I were Italian, that is. I pointed to pasta with red sauce, which he put in tinfoil and gladly handed over to me.
When I realized I didn’t have a fork, he walked around to the counter, grabbed my hands and asked where I was from. I said America…I was too stunned that he was still holding my hands and speaking to me in Italian. Italians must not have an issue with personal space. My personal space was always, always being invaded in Naples. It was sickening. He touched my hair (which was mostly scrunched up underneath a baseball cap, because I did not need my blonde hair sticking out like a sore thumb), and handed me a fork from the counter. Walking quickly away, I took a bite of my pasta hungrily and realized that something was wrong.
The tortellini was chewy…and tasted a lot like seafood. I looked down into the container and saw a tentacle, an actual suction-cupped tentacle peeking out from the tinfoil. I yelped and spit out the not-pasta immediately. I felt sick.
A man came over to our table and said “Sexy ladies, Bon Appetit!”, and then I watched him move to a corner of the place with his cell phone. Jenna and Michelle refused to look up from the table, but I made sure he knew that I was aware that he was still grinning nastily at us. He held up his phone and took our picture. That’s when I jumped up from the table and told them we needed to leave. Now.
I was tired of being hawk-eyed by gross men. When we got back on the ship that night, I heard other people’s stories and some of them were way worse than ours. Some of them couldn’t even compare. But every girl that I talked to felt degraded in some form or another, just walking around the city. I think that if everyone is saying the same thing about Naples, about the people, that SAS should never take students back to that port again. I think a bunch of us are going to write letters explaining how we felt, and that if safety is an issue on this ship, the itinerary should be looked at for the next trip. It was just sickening.
And the thing is, it’s not like that in all of Europe. I did not have one problem in Venice, or too much of a problem in Spain…and I didn’t experience the degradation in Germany or Austria…it was specifically Naples. Happy Fourth of July…
A.
Speaking of volcanoes, that is why I woke up at 6:45AM. Michelle and I had to hail a taxi and get back to the ship before 8:15AM to make it in time for our SAS trip. We were going to hike Mount Vesuvius, which we thought was a dormant volcano. Apparently, it’s still very active. But. That’s another story. We arrived at the ship’s port in one piece, which was not guaranteed because drivers in Italy are insane. We had to wait for an entire hour for our ship to actually dock and get cleared for inspection by Port Authority. It was ridiculously hot for so early in the morning. I was sweating and I hadn’t even hiked yet. I was just standing there.
The bus ride to the volcano took about 45 minutes, and I stepped off of the bus hopeful. We weren’t in the city, and I could see trees (which were very much lacking in Venice). It was nice to be outside, in the country, going for a hike.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was not by any means prepared to hike this volcano. I am not really in shape. Okay, let’s be honest here… I hate to formally exercise. With a passion. I love to hike, but I get easily winded and I don’t care much for exercise that involves trying to keep up with people. This trip had about fifty SAS students all hiking with us up the side of the volcano. We weaved and slipped and tripped up to the top of the crater. Did I mention that the entire thing was covered in ash? Not black ash, but grey, rocky ash. I was wearing my Pumas that gave me no traction whatsoever, and I looked like I just learned how to walk trying to climb this massive hill. It was embarrassing.
We then proceeded to walk around the entire tip of the volcano, from one side of the crater/hole/thing to the other. I was very wrong in thinking that the top would be a smooth journey. Please. Is any hike ever easy?
My socks/shoes/ankles were black with ash. My legs were preparing themselves to become unhinged from my hips. My hair was wet and sticking to my face in a nasty puddle of sweat. My feet were cramping so bad that I had to literally talk myself through each following step. My fellow hikers were trudging up the steep, rock-ridden hills with ease, and I tried very hard to keep up at first. I really did. And then I noticed that most of the hikers were boys with calf muscles the size of Mount Vesuvius itself. They are the ones who work out on the ship every morning to heavy metal, who do pull-ups with one arm while drinking down raw eggs with the other arm. Who was I kidding? I was hiking a volcano with people who probably trained their whole lives to do something this incredible.
The views, however, were breathtaking. Awe-inspiring. Miraculous. The pictures I took at the top of the volcano don’t describe its beauty, its majesty. I took a deep breath and let it all soak in. On the way down the volcano, I was slipping and sliding all the way down, and I was terrified. I don’t do heights very well when I’m not restrained in some shape or form. I can do roller coasters and probably even skydiving, but practically falling down the side of the volcano found me holding onto a complete stranger, after explaining to the fifty people behind me why I was holding up the line. It was mortifying, really.
After we returned from the trip, Michelle and I hailed another taxi to get back to Jenna’s hotel. We had planned on going to Pompeii (the place where the one Mt. Vesuvius eruption took out the entire city and covered everything in black), so we had to meet her and figure out a way to this infamous city. A taxi pulled up beside us after we walked a ways from the port, and asked us if we needed a ride. We were absolutely exhausted, and jumped in. I should have known the whole thing was sketchy when I looked around for the money meter in the cab and did not find one.
He kept looking at us in the mirror, asking where we were from, asking our names (I told him mine was Stephanie), and he reached back to shake our hands, which he held for way too long. He said his name was Gino. I wanted to laugh and cry because of course his name would be Gino. I suddenly felt like I was in a mafia movie, the Godfather or something. Gino.
He pulled us up next to the hotel, and opened the back door for us. After proceeding to rip us off, and pulling a price out of thin air, he did not give us back the right amount of change and got this scary look on his face when I tried to argue with him. As I heaved my bag on my shoulder, I felt his hand come up and brush my jawbone. I pushed Michelle up the stairs and into the hotel faster than I have ever pushed anyone. The taxi drivers are disgusting and more untrustworthy in Naples than I ever could have thought possible.
After grabbing Jenna from the room, we walked to the train station only to find out that there were no more trains to Pompeii. We resorted to walking through Naples in the daylight, which was almost worse than walking around at night. I have never witnessed many creepy men blatantly eyeing us up in broad daylight. It was degrading. We walked into the nearest restaurant/cafeteria type place and proceeded to order food from a deli-type counter. The man who took our orders looked like he could have been my grandfather, if I were Italian, that is. I pointed to pasta with red sauce, which he put in tinfoil and gladly handed over to me.
When I realized I didn’t have a fork, he walked around to the counter, grabbed my hands and asked where I was from. I said America…I was too stunned that he was still holding my hands and speaking to me in Italian. Italians must not have an issue with personal space. My personal space was always, always being invaded in Naples. It was sickening. He touched my hair (which was mostly scrunched up underneath a baseball cap, because I did not need my blonde hair sticking out like a sore thumb), and handed me a fork from the counter. Walking quickly away, I took a bite of my pasta hungrily and realized that something was wrong.
The tortellini was chewy…and tasted a lot like seafood. I looked down into the container and saw a tentacle, an actual suction-cupped tentacle peeking out from the tinfoil. I yelped and spit out the not-pasta immediately. I felt sick.
A man came over to our table and said “Sexy ladies, Bon Appetit!”, and then I watched him move to a corner of the place with his cell phone. Jenna and Michelle refused to look up from the table, but I made sure he knew that I was aware that he was still grinning nastily at us. He held up his phone and took our picture. That’s when I jumped up from the table and told them we needed to leave. Now.
I was tired of being hawk-eyed by gross men. When we got back on the ship that night, I heard other people’s stories and some of them were way worse than ours. Some of them couldn’t even compare. But every girl that I talked to felt degraded in some form or another, just walking around the city. I think that if everyone is saying the same thing about Naples, about the people, that SAS should never take students back to that port again. I think a bunch of us are going to write letters explaining how we felt, and that if safety is an issue on this ship, the itinerary should be looked at for the next trip. It was just sickening.
And the thing is, it’s not like that in all of Europe. I did not have one problem in Venice, or too much of a problem in Spain…and I didn’t experience the degradation in Germany or Austria…it was specifically Naples. Happy Fourth of July…
A.
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