Alys and Jess Tour Europe

Thoughts Upon Leaving

alysandjess — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 02:29:00 GMT

Sometimes I forget where I am. I have to remind myself that I am, in fact, in Italy. A place that I have always admired and wanted to go. I am living a life here I have always wanted to dapple in (living and working in a sustainable agricultural lifestyle predominantly) and exploring statisfying my very basic needs without having to weed through all of the crap to get there. In many ways I have dsicovered that this is what travel is, what it allows you to do: to strip away many of life's complexities, anxieties and lets you focus on your basic needs. Needs which are always food, water, shelter, and sleep. Companionship. In doing so you allow more room, more time, for friendship, for thought, for personal space and reflection. In turn, I have found that the outcome seems to be that one becomes more self-assured, creative, or feels a stronger desire to be creative, more at peace with where they are in the world, or more driven. Or perhaps one feels surges of inspiration to change themselves. Variegated combinations of the above. I have found all of these things to be true at sssorted times during my travels, in particularily during this time of solo travel.

And yet, here I am in Italy and I can't help but think about home. This happens to the most seasoned of travelers, I think. I can't quiet my mind about exploring a different career path, one that will incoporate outdoor exploration as a predominate theme. This idea is one that has manapolized my thoughts for weeks now and it is slowing beginning to make more sense. I have gained some sort of clarity, I suppose. I have always loved the outdoors but have never really thought about how I could incorporate this love in my vocation. It has always been just a hobby and I have long admired those who have managed to make it their vocation. And now I wonder why I thought I couldn't pursue an outdoor career. Is it because we tend to box ourselves into professions, in identies long before we even give our self a chance to explore? Maybe that is what maturity means. Or self-awareness.

So I have begun to do some research and what I have found is a field that is taking off in popularity and abundance; a field that seems to mingle my varying interests: it is called outdoor behavioral therapy. What it does is provide varying degrees of therapy, be it to treat PTSD, behavioral problems in youth, victims of voilence or assult, in an outdoor setting used to encourage personal growth while teaching those how to care for, and nurture the enviornment and themselves. This concept has been around for decades and I realize that I have heard it referred by other names times before. But it makes a tremendous amount of sense as a field I could work in; one that incorporates my love to work with people, especially youth, while using therapeutic techniques in the outdoors. And by using nature as a tool for healing, there is no better way to help others see the tremendous importance of its preservation and care. Which with the state of things currently, should be at the forefront of our consciencousnes. I could pursue a career and live a lifestyle that centers around caring for and nurturing the enviornment. I never really wanted to work in an office, staring at a computer, but after 6 months of living varying lifestyles that centered around my being outdoors, I realize now that I am not sure I ever could. I can, however, say difinitively that now I could never go back.

It is strange to look back on what you thought you would learn or gather or do from a trip before you have lived it. In many ways I thought this trip would be a time for me to delve into music writing, that lyrics would come to mind at a frantic, feverish pace once I removed myself from familiarity. But the truth is that not being around the musical creativity of others, I felt a lack of it in myself. I wrote, of course, and when I look back on my writing I realize that some of it might be a good foundation for something lyrical. But what this trip really put in my face was how much I love living a life that centers around natural beauty, preservation and the ability to reach some sort of spiritual center in nature. And that for these things I must be able to give something back. To dedicate a part of my life to its preservation. So I am going home having been presented with another aspect of my personality, I'd say. One that never really thought it could have as much of a voice.

I start the journey back to the United States tomorrow. In two days I will be home.

Suicide of a Goose: and Other Stories from The White Rabbit

alysandjess — Sat, 11 Oct 2008 02:52:00 GMT

A goose committed suicide by hanging last night. My second night on the farm. Its thin, elegant neck dangling from the low slung branches of a tree. Her eyes were squeezed tight as if she were wishing real hard. Perhaps to die, or maybe something lighter. Like the feel of the first gush of spring when the geese go home.

Marco and Mauro took it by its heels, its webbed toes hung limp, the color of rain slickers, of gloshes. Her throat was slit and the deep, rich blood trickled, matting the white feathers, running the length of her beak. The blood flowed to outline tiny nostrils and small sharp teeth. Teeth like edges of a seashell. The way her eyes were closed made it look like she was weeping blood tears. Marco strained her neck back, her dead flesh exposed to the bone, the blood taking its chance at freedom. It dampened the soil at his feet into a deep brown chocolate pudding. Once again her feet were hoisted into the air, fixed with rope and left to drain. Her body made slow rotations in the breeze as if in a straigt jacket hanging from a clothesline.

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I did not make the connection at first, but the farm I lived at in le Marche region of Italy in a small town called Cupramontana, goes by the name of The White Rabbit. Which would explain the two white wood rabbits nailed to sticks out at the end of the driveway that I saw when I first arrived. It would also explain the reason while Franz (who I will add here is the owner and founder of The White Rabbit permaculture project) likes to refer to the farm as "going down the rabbit hole" or soemthing to that affect. There were five people living there: Franz, Marco and Barbara and their three year old son Samuel, and Emmanuel. And me. Well for a short time at least. The idea behind the small farm (whose main crop is the regional Verdichio grapes and a small vegetable garden)is to be a self-sustained ecovillage of sorts where the food consumed is largely grown and the excess is sold at various markets in the area. The grape harvest serves as a large portion of the farm's funds for the year.

The Verdichio grape is perhaps the most beautiful grape I have seen. It looks vuluptous on the vine in a nonchalant way (being shapely but small)and when ripe produces the sweetest juice, as well as a prized Italian wine. At its best, the grape looks like a large fish egg, transluscent and rosy in color with a few embedded seeds resembling an embryo. The color is what I can not get enough of. Rosy salmon with a bit of orange splashed in places directly facing the sun. To pick them I wore gloves to keep my hands and fingers from getting sticky sweet and a blue faded jumpsuit to keep the brambles off my clothes. There was nothing, however, that I could do about them getting in my hair and wedging themselves in there like tacky chewing gum.

Cutting the base of the bunch with pliers, I gently grazed my fingers over the bursting flesh of the grape that nestled in colonies of hundreds. The sensation of just holding them, their beauty and the way the light settled on the skin, is breathtaking. They were so perfect I got a strong sensation to crush the bunch and feel the juice run down my wrists, the skins tattered in my palms. It was hard work, tedious work, meticulous work, hacking off the soiled grapes with pliers before dropping them in a bucket. The bucket that was constantly full and needed to be carried to the tractor to join the rest of the harvest. The weather was unpredictable and therefore we were constantly trying to beat the rain. When it came the grapes were covered so their perfectness could be protected and no mold could think of growing there.

The harvest took three days and we drank wine between the rows. By the third day I was sick of grapes. And white wine.

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Chinese food in Italy is not good. Yet people here go out of their way to get it. I have now eaten in two chinese food restaurants that have delivered the same cuisine. Small, shrivled portions, and greasy, nondescript flavors. On two occasions the six of us left the White Rabbit to dine, both times in my opinion being a great disappointment. Why must they call what should be Chow Mein but isn't really, Spagehtti? Clearly it is not speghetti nor will it ever be spagehtti. And if you were Italian at a chinese food restaurant in Italy, why would you want to order Chinese spaghetti? I asked myself these questions as I ate the Chinese spaghetti which was really just transluscent rice noodles in a flavorless brown sauce. But the atmposphere was nice, while Marco (ever the prankster) teased the three year old child at the neighboring table until the child was running around the room firing fake guns. The hot and sour soup was OK, but too hot and not enough sour. But in an odd way the break from Italian food was nice. In a way.

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Last night at dinner the mood was light. Everyone was laughing. Samuel and Barbara were joking with me and Samuel even took my hand and brought me outside to dance with a flashlight under the stars. The behavior is strange for him. Normally he is quite defiant towards me and, I think, threatened by my presence. Perhaps it is because I take away some of the attention from Barbara. That I am new, that so far in his young life, the people in it have fluctuated. But last night he just wanted to play with me and show me the stars. I felt, for the first time really, that I was an important part of this dynamic. A new and vital link. The five people I was living with felt like a family. And my mind made them out to be more familiar then they really were. But when nothing is familiar, you feel an urge to grasp the smallest resemblances that are.

The language barrier is hard at times, not speaking Italian Not that I can't communicate at all but it is extremely difficult , and very hard if not impossible to communicate complicated ideas. I especially miss this with Barabara whom I have really bonded with at the farm. We have both expressed in our own simplified ways, that we wish we spoke the same languageso we could communicate our thoughts. Intelligent, well constructed, or completely outrageous, haphazard thougths. I really will miss her. And that is just part of traveling. People come in your life, you bond with them. You leave them. Or they leave you. I wish I could see Barbara again, or guarantee that I would, but we both know that this life is only temporary for me, for her it is not. But I think, even more so then returning to the States, leaving this farm, the White Rabbit, will be a culture shock. I have learned to live in a different way. A less cluttered, chaotic exsistence, but rather an exsistene in which our very basic needs are at the forefront of our thoughts each day. Eat. Sleep. Dream.

What To Bring To Europe

alysandjess — Mon, 6 Oct 2008 10:24:00 GMT

This is not a story. This is a list of what to bring to Europe and some handy tips.

When beginning this trip, Jess and I weren't sure what we would need to bring. I searched all over the internet but never found a good list of what to bring. In Greece, Jess an I compiled a list of what we had in our backpacks that had been helpful to us. I hope this list helps another traveler, and if not it is a good reminder for us for our next trip. Please, if you read this and you think something is left out, leave a comment and add it.

1. Shoes (one technical for hiking and walking, one more stylish flat for cities, and one sandal with arch support for beaches).

2. Refillable small bottles for splitting shampoo, lotion, laundry detergent, etc.

3. Postcards from home to use as thank you notes for hosts and friends.

4. Plastic baggies - sandwich size is most helpful.

5. Plenty of pens and a notebook with paper that can easily be ripped out.

6. Blankie or sarong for beach and grass naps.

7. Five to seven pairs of undies. I recommend boy short type for women.

8. Two neutral color bras.

9. Minimal jewelery and certainly nothing valuable.

10. Watch with alarm.

11. Tote for day use - make sure it is easy to carry with your backpack on and can hold water, book, blankie, and whatever else you'll need for a long day.

12. Pair of socks for travel days (planes, grimey buses and trains).

13. Titanium water bottle - easily my most used item on the trip.

14. Spoon and fork that will last the whole trip.

15. Pocket knife with wine and beer opener, sharp knife for bread and cheese, scissors and whatever else you want.

16. Headlamp. It is well worth looking dorky when you are setting up a tent late or walking around a campsite or reading before bed.

17. Pillow and pillowcase.

18. Sleeping bag and pad.

19. NO Ipod unless you are bringing separate charger. If you plug it into a random computer it will delete your music.

20. Extra copy of passport and credit card numbers.

21. Durable sunglasses.

22. Two medium quality swimsuits.

23. Map of Europe. (We didn't have one but it would have been nice!)

24. Addresses of family and friends back home for postcards.

25. Student ID card.

26. Clothing that all goes together, is easily washable, dries quickly, and you feel comfortable trashing when needed. (I could take an entire page talking about shoes and clothes. If you need more advice, just ask! I am happy to help.)

27. Hat. You will get sick of the sun.

28. Hair-ties and rubber bands.

29. Duct tape. (Flattened - take a piece of cardboard that is about 1.5 inches wide and 3 inches long. Unroll the tape onto the cardboard until it is all off the original roll. This saves room.)

30. Toliet paper. (Flattened - squish the roll until it is totally flat. This saves a little room.)

31. Medicines. Jess is the best person to help create a better list but generally you should bring pain killer, sleep assistant, cold medincine, PMS medicine, tummy ache stuff and anything else you need at home. If all the pills are clearly marked you can combine them all in one bottle.

32. Converter and electricity converter. Buy these in the states.

33. Small towel.

34. Camera with plenty of memory, plugs for uploading, and account with Shutterfly, Flickr, etc.

35. Books. Jess and I brought two each and then traded with each other. After that, we traded with other travelers, at hostels, and at used book stores.

36. Minimal makeup but bring what you'll want because makeup all over Europe is about twice the price as in the states.

37. Keep some food that is high in protein in your pack. Nuts, protein bars, or dried fruit can be a life-saver during long waits or while on buses and trains.

38. Super thin rain coat.

39. Laundry line with little hooks.

40. Chico bags that close up to be teeny-tiny but then expand to full grocery size.

I'm sure we will add to this list but these are all the things we had in our bags that we loved and needed regularly.

Happy travels!

Alys

Gallery: Italy

alysandjess — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 09:59:00 GMT

The last leg of our joyage.

Fall Takes Its Turn

alysandjess — Tue, 23 Sep 2008 02:46:00 GMT

I felt it change on the train from Naples to Rome. I remember turning to Alys and asking her if she felt it to, how the light was changing. She said she couldn't feel it, yet I was so sure. I am programmed, it seems, to sense the onset of fall. Something I get from my mother who at first sense digs up the fall decorations and props up tried cornstalks by the front door. The light was shifting, blanketed over what could have been a field of corn, but what I knew were grapes. The light spilling like fabric, lavishly over the leaves. Light that would no longer burn my skin or my eyes. I welcomed fall then, in that moment, with such a sense of relief that I sunk deep into my chair and just watched it take place outside the train window. Passing by in surges, light moving like liquid.

Every fall, this change, what is always so dramatic and definite to me, seems to go unnoticed by others until it is undeniably apparent. I relish its arrival. Fall is many things to me; it is a shift from drinking white wine to red, sunglasses now paired with scarves. Sitting on a bench, in a park, and having the sun hit my shins only to feel pleasantly warm; no longer hot. This year fall means views from train windows, moving views spanning across Italian countrysides. In Rome fall meant evening walks that smelled crisp, warm yet encompassed with a sense of calm. Of balance. Fall means solitude and renewing a sense of self. Even Rome felt calm. Perhaps because most of the tourists had gone home, or perhaps because others felt it too, fall telling them to breathe before the bustle of the holidays and the lull of winter consumes. Rome looked beautiful drenched in the first of fall and Florence looked stunning. Florence where I could indulge in gelato to the brink of gluttony; Rome where I could indulge in nostalgia and farewells.

I could have walked in Florence for weeks, months even, just feeling, smelling fall. It was a city composed from the subtle beauties of other places I have seen: the cobblestones of Prague, the grandeur of Rome, the quiet, peacefulness of Santiago de Compostella and the bike pedals of Cambridge. The loveliest pieces have found their way to Florence. Now fall fallows me to the farm in Marche. If nothing else, I know it will come.

Jess

Gallery: Greece

alysandjess — Sat, 20 Sep 2008 01:13:00 GMT

This trip started from my desire to go to Greece. It did not disappoint!

Let Them Eat Cake: When Farm Stays Spoil

alysandjess — Mon, 8 Sep 2008 20:27:00 GMT

In an effort to not spend money, do something productive, and learn about organic food processes, Jess and I had planned to work on a farm in Italy for the last bit of our trip. For me, that was 2 weeks and Jess was planning on dividing up her time between 2 farms and a friend's place in Umbria for 6 weeks. We were thrilled to get to the beautiful farm, about an hour outside of Napoli, and find that we had our own rooms in a little cabin and that we would be working with a lovely girl from England, Samara, and a strapping young lad from New Zealand named Simon. The owner of the farm wasn't around so Samara made us feel welcome and we learned she had been at the farm for just a couple days. Later in the evening, we met the owner of the farm, Salvatore, and did a little bit of work moving furniture from a truck to the road and then from the road to the shed (I was questioning the effeciency of "touching it twice" instantly but kept my mouth shut"). Generally, it was a fine evening of getting to know our new surroundings.

I wish I could say it was all so nice and lovely. Unfortunately, the story I will tell is one of control, negligence, and disrespect. Jess and I have agreed to be totally honest about everything that happened at the farm. We don't need to embellish for people to realize what a bad situation it was. (If animal cruelty really bothers you, stop here.)

The morning after we arrived, we helped Samara feed the animals. I should say, this is not an animal farm. It is not a vegetable farm or an organic farm. I'm not even sure it is a farm at all. Salvatore basically runs a hotel and eco-tourism restaurant for his friends. He buys the food he cooks in stores, including a at-cost warehouse similar to Costco in the states. That said, he isn't particularly interested in the status of the animals or the garden. When Samara took us to feed the animals we saw them all and took note of their situations. There is no better way to do this than list it:

THREE DOGS that get one handfull of dog food a day. They spend all day on 5 foot chains.

TWENTY CHICKENS share a small pin with THREE ROOSTERS. Any farmer knows that you should only have one rooster per pin. The chickens all have a skin disease.

TWO COWS are kept on ropes all day long. They are moved to a 5 foot patch of grass, which they share with ONE HORSE, when they are permitted to eat.

EIGHT PIGLETS were born a couple weeks ago and Samara was present when they were separated from their mother (which should have happened much earlier). They have a small pin, but it has an indoor and outdoor area. They will apparently be killed for food within the next couple months.

ONE PAPA PIG lives in a small pin that has not been cleaned out for months. It smells awful, and it is hard to put food in his bucket without getting it in his slop. Generally, he seems reasonably happy and healthy, but disgusting nonetheless.

ONE MAMA PIG has a deformed back hoof. She can barely stand up and I believe her hoof has gangrene. She lies in her own mess all day, every day, convulsing. Her nipples are sores from the teeth of her piglets because they were kept with her too long. She lost weight in the week that we were there and we all prayed daily that we would find her dead overnight because of the trauma we saw her go through each day. We asked Salvatore every day to call the vet, and he never did anything. I think everyone of us got teary eyed when we saw her.

ONE POT-BELLIED PIG, named Bobby, wanders around the farm on his own whim. He is probably the healthiest and happiest animal on the farm but he is never fed and often steals food from the dogs.

A HANDFUL OF DUCKS hang out by the two buckets of water that serve as their baths. There is a duck pond with a leak in it. We asked several times for cement to fix the leak and give them water to play in. It was never given to us.

THE VEGETABLE GARDEN was overgrown, things are planted way too close together, and the irrigation system doesn't work. Samara weeded most of it before we got there and we still spent the rest of the week frustrated with it.

So, here we are, none of us knowing much about farming ourselves, knowing that the situation was not good. I can be an altruist at times so I attempted to talk to Salvatore reasonably about what on earth he thought he was doing running a farm. He told me that he had recently gotten the farm back from someone who rented it and neglected it for 5 years. He claimed he really wanted to get it on track and was working towards that. When I suggested that he limit the farm to just vegetables and no animals he seemed semi-responsive to that idea. It really didn't occur to him that he had helpless animals relying on him for food and water and that it was selfish of him to keep them while he prioritized running the restuarant and hotel.

Despite the negligence of the animals and us working way beyond the fair 5 hours, we were okay for the first two days. A good memory I kept from the farm was when I was sent to pick the figs and plums off the trees. Being up in the tree with a slight wind, only animal sounds around me, and know that my new cool friends were working nearby was a nice feeling.

Things really fell apart on the third day though. Salvatore had gone to Napoli and was due back later in the evening. Samara, Simon, Jess and myself sat down at around 9pm with some customers and waited for him with a glass of wine. When Salvatore got back, he was screaming at us in Italian for drinking wine, which had been totally fine for us to drink before. Apparently, this wine was special wine. Let me clarify that in Italy, wine is like milk. It isn't something people consider special, it is dirt cheap, and it is widely available. Plus, it was the customer that had opened this particular bottle of wine, we simply had one glass each. As punishment, Salvatore banished us to a different table from him and his guests for dinner that night (and breakfast the next morning and lunch later that day). This is an official Italian slap in the face. We didn't care so much since only Simon speaks Italian anyway, but we knew it was a mean thing to do.

The four of us had an adult discussion with Salvatore the following day. We apologized for drinking the extra special wine, yet requested that he treat us like adults and not scream at us in front of guests. The discussion lasted about 10 minutes, Salvatore interrupted almost everything I said, and only half of the four of us felt like it helped at all. The overall mood had become awkward and a rule was placed that we don't open the refridgerator except if we need water. We pretty much agreed that the rule was fine, and made our own choice to only spend time near our little employee's quarters and not be around the main house on our off time. We also decided that no matter what, we would stop working when our 5 hours were up. We found a shadey area to put our chairs, buckets to use as footrests, and Samara brought over her Ipod and speakers. We talked, one time we danced, I played stickball with rotten figs, we vented about Salvatore and generally got to know each other really well.

That seemed to work out. One evening, Salvatore's wife made a big production of saying that our penalty time was over. Not kidding, she rang a gong. There was something really irritating about Salvatore punishing us to begin with (remember, we are volunteer workers, not employees. Oh, and we are not 12.) so I wasn't thrilled that Rosanna made a big deal about us being at full strength again. Still, it was funny and we will take entertainment where we can get it.

THE NEXT DAY was a huge event for a girl's first communion. We knew there would be over 60 customers and a lot of work to do. We had already done maybe four hours of work, but to be friendly to the full-time Bulgarian employees that Salvatore takes advantage of to no end, we decided to help by washing dishes. Five hours and seven courses later (in order from start to finish: appetizer of meat and cheese with wine, pasta, soup, meat and potatoes, another pasta, fruit and gelato with coffee, cake with champaigne)Salvatore mentioned to both Simon and Jess that we were welcomed to have a piece of the cake when we had time. Once every dish had been washed and put away, we each had a small piece. I should have seen it coming. Later that night, a scene was made in front of everyone about us eating the cake. I don't want to go totally into it, but it was horribly embarrassing, unfair because he said we could have it, and another way for him to control our every move.

Throughout the six days we lasted on the farm, Salvatore took away from us jam for our bread, coffee, and milk. On the last couple days our breakfast was stale bread and water. WHICH IS WHY WE STAGED AN ESCAPE! A couple of the regular customers got the feeling that we didn't seem very happy at the farm, mostly because we told them we were miserable. They offered to help us in anyway they could. Covertly, we planned with them to pick us up while Salvatore was away for the day in Napoli. In the morning, we ate our prison food and we fed the animals like normal. Then we all sat down and told Salvatore that we were leaving. I have to admit that I was a bit nervous. Samara wanted to end things on a good note so she told Salvatore we were probably going to maybe go to Napoli to do tourist stuff. Salvatore acted confused. How long would we be gone? Were we coming back? So I said, "We aren't working. Any more. Ever." Salvatore said he would drive us to the train station after he got back from Napoli in the evening. We all knew he wouldn't prioritize us and we still needed to escape. Later in the day our two car convoy came to pick us up. I was shaking as we loaded in our backpacks and got in the cars. I could perfectly picture Salvatore's Range Rover skidding to a side halt in front of the one lane road out of the farm and blocking the way. Simon joked that Salvatore would yell, "GIVE ME MY SLAVES BACK!". I think we have seen too many movies.

Our friends took us to a small village at least a half hour drive from Salvatore's farm. The town was cute and quaint and had a bar with beers for one Euro. Still, there was something strange about the town. At an evening dance festival on the last night we were there we noticed that almost everyone had one lazy eye and they all seemed to be cousins. In some ways, we still felt trapped and we were more than ready to catch the train after two days in this small, odd village that I never caught the name of. Simon headed somewhere to meet up with the potential love of his life and Samara, Jess and I went to Rome where we had a fabulous time.

(It isn't part of this story, but I LOVE Rome. Rome is the prettiest city in Europe. It is so clean, trees everywhere, beautiful sites, and the weather was amazing. It was sunny and warm with a touch of fall in the air. I could live in Rome, I could fall in love in Rome.)

What I Love. by Alys

alysandjess — Wed, 3 Sep 2008 05:03:00 GMT

"What do you love?"

"What do I love?"

"Say everything."

I love the smell of Ireland. Clean, masculine, natural...I smelled it everywhere and no one could tell me what it was.

I love the look of laundry drying on a line. The first thing I noticed about Portugal was all the clothes drying on balconies. The shapes, the colors, the work of washing finishing naturally, the energy saved, the memory of my mom, the summer, and my backyard.

I love the sound of a running shower. In Croatia, I could always hear a shower somewhere. There is something about the sound of water falling around the moving object. A big splash of water, nothing, big splash. I was tempted to sit outside and just listen.

I love the random everyday chatter that occurs constantly. It wasn't until I was really in countries where I don't know the language that I realized how special it is that in the States, I'm constantly talking to someone. At the bus stop, in the produce isle at the market, on the patio of a coffee shop. Constantly, people relating to one another. Maybe this used to bother me. Why can't I go anywhere and just be anonymous, I'm sure I wondered. I won't take this for granted again. Conversation, relating, observing surroundings together...these things are special. I can't describe how lonely a busy city can seem when you can't talk to anybody.

I love the sound of acoustic guitar. Mixed with harmonica, I think there is no prettier music. Right now, like RIGHT NOW, I have the pleasure of my host, Vasilis, playing his favourite Bob Dylan songs on his guitar. Many times on this trip, people have played guitar for us. The sound now reminds me of Galway, Barcelona, Dubrovnik...not to mention it brings up all the memories of my own music that I miss so much. Ryan Adams "Come Pick Me Up" is a gorgeous mood-enhancing song.

I love the moment when I realize how everything fits together. Everything prepares me for something. Someone tells me something, and the next day somebody asks me for exactly that piece of information. I feel like, generally, this entire trip has been an interesting way of using every skill I have, talking about everything I've ever learned with new points of view, using management skills to make it all logistically work. When I have something to offer, that is when I'm happiest.

I love home. I love laying in my mom's bed, under the covers (I wouldn't have it any other way), with the constant Colorado sun shining through the window. I thought I only liked doing that when I'm sick, but when I think of comfort, that is what I picture.

Two weeks from today, I am going home. It will be nearly five months that I've been traveling at that point and it has been amazing. I won't be able to express it, when it's really over. I think I will do what I did when I got back from living in Seattle and just emotionally fall apart for a couple days. How do you express what happened to you in so much time? All the people you've met that you will miss until you see again? The places you've seen that you know will slowly fade from your memories. I'll forget the smell of Ireland. I'll be too busy to love chatting with strangers. I'll have a stressful day at work and do everything I can to remember how there were moments on a beach in Greek where I realized how valuable it is to do something productive during the day. I don't think there is any place I like better than home, but this was a unique experience.

I think that's all I have to say about that.

FYROM

alysandjess — Fri, 22 Aug 2008 23:00:00 GMT

Here is a little bit of European drama for you: Greece and Macedonia do not get along. A long time ago, the land that is now called Macedonia was partly land of Yugoslavia and partly land of Greece. After it became independent, it decided on the name Macedonia. The problem is that Macedonia has always been the name of the region that includes Thessaloniki in Greece. Greece doesn't think that Macedonia should use that name which is why they refer to it as FYROM, or Former Yugoslavia Republic of Macedonia. I won't even touch on the issue of Alexander the Great. Travel tip: just don't mention him in either country.

So, Jess and I have decided to do this blog a little differently. Being from an acronym country ourselves, we feel it is only fair to let the letters stand for something a little more interesting.

F: FOOD!! We ate for soooo cheap in FYROM. The last day we were there, we sat down to a fabulous lunch of grilled chicken, bread, and shopska salad (cucumbers, tomatoes, and a load of shredded white cheese similar to feta trumping the Greek salad in flavor). The meal cost us the equivalent of 10 Euro total.

FARMACY. It doesn't start with an F, but it sounds like it does, huh? I went to the pharmacy as soon as I got into Ohrid because my food poisoning symptoms were still hanging around. It was amazing; the doctor sold me two medications (cost under 4 Euro) that cleared me up quickly. Also, she suggested that Jess cook me boiled potatoes and noodles for a couple days. No tomatoe, no fruit, and no sugar. It was a boring couple days in my stomach, but I got through it and am finally back to normal.

Y: YOU have to take a taxi across the border to Greece. Because of the resentments, there is NO train or bus across the border from Macedonia to Greece. The best you can do it get to Bitola, a small town 15 minutes north of the border to Greece. Then go to tourist information, near the clock tower, and arrange to have a taxi take you to Greece. You can't just get any taxi because you have to find someone who can cross the EU border. We paid 20 Euro to get to Florina, which is 15 minutes south of the border in Greece. From there you can take a 5 Euro train to Thessaloniki. This information is more for other travelers, than our friends and family, but we had a hard time figuring it all out on our own.

R: RELAXATION. This isn't new to Jess and I but we were happy after the debacle in Montenegro and Albania to just hang out at Lake Ohrid and relax in the little town. We enjoyed swimming in fresh water for awhile, even though we don't float as well and our "on location work out videos" aren't as easy.

O: OUR space. Macedonia is pretty cheap, as we mentioned before. Also, we had a friend who was able to secure us a good price on accomidation. Therefore, we were able to have our own little apartment for five nights. We got our laundry done and then spread out our clothes on the shelves. After traveling for 3.5 months you can imagine the desire to not have to keep your stuff all packed up and everything out of the way. We got to live like we did as roommates in Seattle, more or less. Our friends Sanna and Panche were right upstairs, so it felt like we had friends in the neighborhood when they knocked on our door (OUR door!!). Coffee in the morning and bedtime whatever early hour we want it, that's what we like!!

M: MOUNT Baba. Baba means grandmother. While staying in Bitola, Jess and I took a cab up to the mountain and hiked the Rocky trail in Pelister National Park. It was really foggy that morning and nice and cool so we got in a good hike before it was too hot later in the day. The mountain is a ski resort in the winter so there were some lodges along the way and ski lifts. Jess has wanted to hike this whole trip, which isn't easy without a car to get to hiking places, so this was her big chance and she took full advantage of it.

MONTASARIES. Ohrid has a couple gorgeous monasteries. Jess and I found out they are even more beautiful from the water. We enjoyed watching the sunset from a rock just below the little church (different, I realize, from a monastery, but still...) and then swimming back in after it went down.

Maybe someday Macedonia and Greece will work it out, but until then, we will watch what we say about Alexander the Great!

Gallery: Macedonia

alysandjess — Fri, 8 Aug 2008 02:48:00 GMT

Ahhh...relief from our troubled time in Montenegro.

Gallery: Montenegro

alysandjess — Fri, 8 Aug 2008 02:24:00 GMT

Some unenjoyable things occurred in Budva, but we're still alive!

Some Bumps in the Balkans

alysandjess — Fri, 8 Aug 2008 02:02:00 GMT

I can confidently say up to this point our trip has run very smoothly. So smooth in fact that I have been wondering in the back of my mind for quite a few weeks now when something is going to, quite simply, go wrong. Not that I am a pessimist or that I believe that when things are going well something is bound to happen to change that. But traveling always has its peaks and valleys and Alys and I have been coasting for quite some time now on peaks. Sure there have been days of sadness, nostaligia and general flatlands, but nothing really stands out as being disasterous. Until, well, we reached the Balkans. Alys knew, more than myself, that navigating the Balkans was going to be a triffle more difficult than the other countries we have traveled through. What we did not expect was an accumulation of unfortunate events that fed off one another to provide us with what we will now refer to on this trip "as the low point", for lack of better words.

We got to the bus station in Budva, Montenegro. I had an idea of a camp ground that we could stay at so we stopped at tourist information to ask where exactly it was and other general questions. The girl didn't know. Every question I asked, she just didn't know. Oh, and there is no map of Budva. I was frustrated about there being no map until I realized that there were no street names. You can't have a map unless you know what the streets are. Jess and I set off to find the camping by ourselves. I left her in shade at it was hotter than (insert whatever you think is super stupidly hot here) and we had our heavy packs on us. After an hour of running around the town, I went back to Jess with nothing. I had no idea where it was. Feeling hopeless, I told Jess, "I'm not going to cry, but I am going to sulk for ten minutes." Just then, a guy in a hot pink shirt walked up and offered to help us find the camp ground. He didn't speak any English but he gestured well and smiled. He carried my pack for me (I was crabby. Jess was very nice to him to make up for my sour-puss face.) and within 15 minutes we found the camping. It wasn't much, but it was home. We ended up hanging out with the guy a couple times, drawing pictures and speaking in baby English ("oops!", "super!", "welcome!").

So, a couple days into our time in Budva (a Eastern European version of Miami Beach) I woke up in the morning sick. SICKKKKK!! It was food poisoning of a sort. Jess and I can't account for where I got it as we had shared everything we ate the day before. It couldn't be the water, because we had drinking that for days ahead of time. Either way, I have never been that sick in my life. In addition, of course, we were camping in not so great conditions. I was between the toilets and the hot stuffy tent for the morning. I cried because I wanted my mommy (I still do, mum!) and because Jess kept making me drink water. I can't really thank my travel partner enough for her care and understanding that day. Jess took down the camp while I laid, miserable, on a bench in the shade. We had to get out of that campground because we knew it wasn't clean enough really. We took a cab to another campground, which was worse that the first by far. By this point, I had nothing in my body anymore. Water was coming straight back out, and I had not enough energy to even stand up. We took a bus back to town, found an over-priced pension and I fell asleep. Jess kept me hydrated, and we were never in an emergency type situation, but for three days after the first day I barely ate and had no energy. I am skipping ahead though...Unhappy with Budva, sick of being sick, and feeling desperate, we bought tickets for an overnight bus to Macedonia.

The bus that was to take us from Budva to Skopje was 3 hours late to begin with. We had dealt with late transport before and this really didn't concern us, except that the bathroom situation at the bus station was grim and not ideal for Alys in her recovery. As we waited at the bus station we were told by a couple of Serbians also waiting, not to expect a toilet on the bus either. They are often there but the bus drivers lock them so they dont have to clean them. They said it is common for the bus to only stop 1 or 2 times in a 12 hour ride (for toilet or otherwise) which was the supposed length of our trip to Macedonia and not to drink much water to aviod having to use an nonexsistent toilet. It seemed Alys was well enough at this point to be able to handle the situation.

Once on the bus that arrived at 11 pm, (due originally at 8pm) we drove about an hour in a crazy fashion, whipping around curves, I thought I was going to throw up. Alys was more likely to throw up, but isn't quite as sensitive to motion. It didn't help in the sligthest that a drunk man was on the bus, tearing through can after can of beer that proceeded to spill and roll about on the floor. Stopping at a bus station barely an hour into the trip, we were told that the bus driver would not continue to drive the bus as there was some sort of water leak (Alys and I assumed coolent from what we gathered by the discussions and gestures in Serbian). Until another bus came we were all stranded at a bus station waiting for another bus that may or may not arrive.

I had recently read a short story of a plane crash, where the survivors ended up turning on eachother because of the desperatness of their situation. I saw it happening in front of us as the hours passed at the ugly, desolate bus station. The drunk man, by this point tanked, turned on the bus driver and started screaming at him. The bus driver yelled back. From what we gathered through gestures and expressions, they were mad. And they were going to fight. A cop, apparently policing the bus station, showed up and calmed everyone down. Still, no one knew what was going on. There was still no toilet (unless you count bushes and the cement plants), no food, no water, and no order. No hope. Jess and I elected to get in the broken bus and catch some crappy sleep.

Things were looking pretty hopeless and we didnt think any bus was going to come. So we and a few others slept on the bus as it was parked and we all just waited. At one point the bus driver left in the night and we thought we were really really stuck this time. But we learned later that he had left his passport in Budva and we would have had to trun around anyway even if the bus hadn't broken down. So 5 hours later another bus comes and we scramble to get a seat. By now it is 5 in the morning and there have been no bathrooms or access to water or food (luckily we thougth of this and brought a lot). I just used the parking lot as my toilet, quite pleased with my ability to go just about anywhere with no shame (Alys was a little more subtle and suffered for it, I think :) Boarding the second bus we discovered the route the bus was to take was in fact through Albania. This route was the one we were really trying to avoid. Apparently (as we found out days later) there are about 4 bus companies that travel from Budva to Skopje. All of them, excpet for the bus we were lucky enough to board, took a route through Kosovo that avoided Albania. We were sold this particular ticket because this bus comapny was the only company based in Montenegro. The rest were from Macedonia and other boarding countries. The bus station in Montenegro had not given us an option, only sold us the ticket that would, in turn, benefit their economy.

The Albanian border greated us with a dirt road and a small shack meant to clear us through customs. It was at this exact moment that our generous bus decided to bestow upon us another gift: the biggest flat tire I have ever seen. So we all had to get out and wait for over 30 minutes while the bus driver fixed it. We crossed over into Albania just as the sun was rising at the time when we were supposed to be at our destination in Macedonia and we still had 8 hours left of the trip.

Albania was another world to the parts of Europe we had experienced; women in veils leading donkies on the dirt road highway, old men pushing carts of mellons in the twilight. My head bobbed against the window in a sleepless stuphor as I tried to absorb this world before me. We have found from our research that Americans are always asking if they can even go to Albania. the country is still quite poor and Westerners are for the most part scared of poverty. So for those fellow travelors debating the question to go Albania, just avoid it. There is nothing there and the buses that go through Kosovo are much nicer. All the time the drunk guy was behind me breathing down my neck litterally, and mumbiling in Serbian. Luckily there were some really nice English speakers that were there translating for us. We made one rest stop in Albania at a restaurant that was having what seemed like three wedding parties at once. The bathrooms were the worst I have seen yet on the trip. There was urin everywhere around the porcelin holes in the ground and all these women shoving one another to get to them.

Once at the Albanian/Macedonian border, it took the bus 2 hours to get through. The Albanians forced us to buy health insurance for 5 Euros which was kind of funny considering we were already at the exit and it wouldn't do us any good. It was our first taste of how much Americans are disliked in the world since there were 3 Americans and one Aussie on the bus and we were the only ones who had to pay to cross. Once over the border and into Macedonia we breathed a sigh of relief. We were safe!!!! And there was only 1 hour to our location.

We got off the bus with a lovely married couple we met (a Macedonian man and a Finnish woman) who took us under their wing and foudn us lovely accomidation in an apartnemnt right by the lake. Actually we shared an apartment the first night with them and moved into seperate rooms the next day. We still hang out with them and really enjoy their company. Today over lunch we all laughed at how awful the bus ride was. Anyways, moral is we were safe, met a great couple, and will always have plenty of water on a bus ride in the Balkans.

Catch Up

alysandjess — Fri, 8 Aug 2008 01:28:00 GMT

I've got the job of catching you up on more than two weeks, dear blog readers, so we are going to go fast. Jess and I left Prague the day after her parents after a pleasant Hare Krishna lunch with our friend Jeff. We took a bus to Budapest, a place I knew little about but always wanted to visit. I knew the city is actually two cities, Buda and Pest, that are separated by the Danube river and the Pest is pronounced "Pesh". I thought the men must be very attractive and charming because the character Almasy from the English Patient is Hungarian and I love him. We found a lovely girl, Kriszti, to host us (over her birthday weekend, no less. So sweet!)We spent the night dancing on an island in the middle of the muddy brown river. Kriszti's friend, Gabi, was at the party and offered to host us next, as she is also a Couch Surfer. Kriszti and Gabi both live on the Buda side, but Kriszti lives in the hills and Gabi lives near the center. Jess and I spent most days wandering around the Pest side, looking for thrift stores (a constant obsession for me. I've decided I'm going to learn how to sew when I get back to the USA so I can be even more creative with my fashion...), and generally getting to know the city. We realized that maybe we were all city-ed out by the second day when we just weren't feeling like exploring anymore. After that, we decided to not worry about knowing Budapest, and just do what we felt like doing. We spent two days at the Szechenyi baths, which will cure whatever ails ya' and makes you feel like Gumbi, and a day learning the tormented history (occupations of Germans and Russians, you know) in the House of Terror museum. (SIDENOTE: every big city seems to have a house of terror or torture which are hoaky, overpriced, and only really for tourists. The one in Budapest is worth seeing for sure, but requires a lot of reading to really understand.)We had left the land of the Hare Krishnas so we ate three times at the Hummus Bar. I can't recommend the place enough. Jess and I spent an entire rainy afternoon participating in our new favourite activity: reading Stephen King's IT aloud to each other. We had the pleasure of visiting Gabi's hometown, Nyiregyhaza, where we went to the zoo and ate icecream of the future. Our time in Budapest, after we stopped putting pressure on ourselves to SEE it, was comfortable and calm. We did have one incident which I will sum up by pasting a warning email I sent to a friend of mine that is traveling in Europe as well:

Just a warning for you: If you are on a bus-metro-tram etc. and someone asks for your ticket and you do not have one (although, of course, you should always just have one) DO NOT PAY THE FINE ON THE SPOT. Tell the person that you do not have any cash on you and that you want to be taken to the police station. This happened to Jess and I today. We were on a tram and we hadnt bought tickets because the ticket machine was broken and kept eating my money so we just hopped on. A couple stops later a man asked for our tickets and at the next stop forced us to get off. He said we had to pay 6000 forint (=fifty dollars) each. We didnt have it, and anyway a friend in the Czech Republic warned us about this exact scam. The guy said he would call the police so we said, "Call the police, then". Then he talked in a walky talky and said we would have to go to an ATM with him and get the money. I said. "No way, I will settle this with the police". He said that we would have to wait a long time and it could take a couple hours. I said, "No problem, I have all day" (I really do have all day for this kind of poppy-cock). About 5 minutes later of us just standing there he got on the next tram and told us to just start walking. He was gone. FAKE COP AVOIDED! JERK, who did he think he was?
Anyway, be careful of fake cops. Tell them you want to be taken to the station and that you want to take a photo of their badge (which they will have, even though it is FAKE!) for your records.

Don't mess with us. We are expert travellers.

When we were ready to leave Budapest (because I wasn't seeing anyone who looked like Almasy) we ran into a bit of trouble. For the first time in our trip, we know where we want to end up. We plan on being in Greece by mid-August. So, we have to go south. However, there are a couple countries which we are meant to avoid (safety reasons) and a couple that we are apparently not allowed in. Without Hungarian passports, we were not permitted to go thru Bosnia, even if we weren't stopping. No huge problem, we decided to go to a town in northern Croatia instead, Split. I can sum up Croatia by saying that it is devastatingly beautiful. Our photos won't convey it enough, because it is hard to take pictures of water and sunsets. However, believe me when I say that I have never seen water so turquoise and clear or sunsets so flamming pink. The beaches in Croatia are rocky; often one must walk down one hundred stairs to reach a "beach" that is just rocks with latters into the water. Croatia is full of natural beauty, and while we did see Split in the north, Dubrovnik in the south, and the island of Hvar in between, there are many places we would have liked to explore. Couchsurfing isn't a popular concept in Croatia as the locals rent out extra rooms in their houses to tourists for money, so we took advantage of the beauty fully by camping. Dubrovnik was our favorite place in Croatia because, in addition to the natural wonders, it had a more interesting cultural scene whereas the other towns are full of tourist activity almost exclusively. We went to a war photo museum that reminded me again how horrible war is, and how against the war in Iraq I am. Seeing real, unfiltered, images of the atrocities in Bosnia, Israel/Palestine, and Iraq side-by-side was powerful. I felt for a couple of hours afterwards a need to express how discusting and useless war is, but also the familiar hopeless/helpless feeling. Think. Please think. And then vote. Think and vote.

Generally, Croatia provided Jess and I with the opportunity to enjoy nature so fully that it was easy to watch the beautiful sunsets. Every day was spent, to its maximum, swimming and walking. Feeling healthy, physically and mentally, Jess and I headed south to Montenegro.

Gallery: Croatia

alysandjess — Thu, 7 Aug 2008 19:06:00 GMT

Beautiful water and sunsets. Rocky beaches.

Gallery: Hungary

alysandjess — Thu, 7 Aug 2008 18:55:00 GMT

A week and a half on both sides of the Danube.

Chasing Ghosts

alysandjess — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 05:25:00 GMT

Our car missed the exit off the freeway which meant we had to take a long detour to get to our destination. We were distracting the driver with our questions, some of which my mother, Joanne, had waited her whole life to ask. Alys, Joanne, and myself were sandwhiched in the back seat of the small Czech sedan, Alys and I still groggy, while my father, EdWard sat upfront with our driver, EdUard as well. Thanks to GenCircles and help from her niece, Joanne had found Eduard Krajnik on the Internet, a distant reative with whom we shared ancestors in the 17th century and provided a vital link to our family history. Eduard pulled the car over in the first of several small villages we were to visit that morning not sure exactly where the detour had led us. He glanced across the street at the nearest house hoping to see an address that would help him get his bearings. ˝I can not believe it, but accross the street, that is the house. That is Ana´s house. ˝ It was serendipty or something like it, that had the five of use standing in front of the house of Ana Svoboda, my great-great-great grandmother in the small village of Citov. It was the first time any member of the family had been back to the Czech Republic, to this village, since the family emigrated to the United States. Surreal can´t even begin to describe what that felt like...

Alys and I met my parents at the airport in Prague. It was by chance that our two seperate trips managed to conincide so well. I thought they would be exhausted from a long international flight that included a lay over in Munich. But they had made it unscathed and with more spunk than I had expected under the circumstances. My Dad, ever the efficent one, was already outfitting his phone with a Czech SIM card, when we arrived to find my Mom, amongst the sparse crowd in the international arrivals terminal. I felt a surge of relief. It was just so good seeing them, yet again, in an airport somewhere in the world. I am grateful that I have parents that will somehow manage to make it a point to meet me, wherever it may be in the world, that I manage to find myself in.

We wanted to make it easy for them. Alys and I had already been in Prague a week at that point and were well equiped to be tour guides. Alys and Joanne bonded over Rick Steves and his genius while my Dad and I bonded over proving Rick wrong. It was more fun than I´d like to admit being the tourists for a few days that Alys and I try so hard to avoid being. We walked the Charles Bridge, rewalked it over and over again, while Alys made up games to get us across through the hordes of tourists at a more reasonable pace. First one to the end wins which sent the four of us off, dodging tourists in khakis, socks and sandals. My mother chasing after Alys like a giddy child determined to win, sent me keeling over in bouts of laughter.

The first two days of their stay in Prague we drank beer, avoided the sporadic rain bursts, stood in a camera-glad mass of tourists to watch the astronomical clock spit out a few disciples in a puppet dance on the hour, and walked my parents many blocks out of the center to find authentic cuisine at an authentic price. The next two days were reserved for outside the city: tracking down family ties and learning more about our family history. Essentially the heart of what my Mom and I were really there to do.

So that is where we landed with Eduard. Winding through villages to the house of my great-great-great-great grandfater in the village of Stremy to the house of my great-great-great grandfather, Vanclav Kranjik, in Jenichov. Ana and Vanclav had come to the US as children, had fallen in love there, to discover that they had grown up in villages just miles apart in the Czech Republic. I tried to visualize what they must have looked like, what living in these villages must have felt like. But it is impossible for me to really understand, so far removed from it all. We were chasing ghosts, my Mom and I, trying to reunite with some part of the past which so easily fades amongst the young, mixed history of the United States.

The next day the four of us rented a car to explore the villages of other ancestors. With my Dad at the wheel, Alys as his front seat navigator and my Mom and I in back, it was Alys who managed to get us out of Prague´s sprawl and on to country roads (well Alys and the TomTom navigation system, I should say. Even when we disagreed with him, somehow he always managed to be right). The day spanned out in green fields, luscious skies, and roads that were just a pinch from being too windy for me to stomach. It was beautiful. And it felt so familiar.

Alys and I spent a total of 20 days in the Czech Republic, the longest we have stayed in one country. I also feel that I was able to get to know it well, was able to finally connect to a real part of my history. A place I have so long associated with my identity.

-Jess

Gallery: Czech Republic

alysandjess — Sun, 13 Jul 2008 06:27:00 GMT

Twenty days between Brno, Prague, Cesky Krumlov, and small villages we don't know the names of!

We Won't Forget U.

alysandjess — Wed, 9 Jul 2008 22:13:00 GMT

It is a beautiful afternoon in Spain, but Jess and I are in an internet cafe. Feet have gotten itchy, and it is time to make a serious move. Being on a trip with no plan or path means that the plan and path are constantly in flux. In the internet cafe, I have three windows open on one computer. The first is Skyscanner, one of the most helpful websites for looking up cheap airfare. The second is Ryan Air, which seems to be the cheapest airline every time (this is very unfortunate because it is the least desireable by far and we always get off the no-frills flight with colds). The final open window is a currency converter so it is possible to see how many American dollars the trip is going to cost us.

Jess also has multiple windows open, simultaneousy typing in the names of endless unknown cities when I find cheap airfare and checking bus and train options.

"Okay, Jess, look up Trieste."

"Hmm...hold on. Oh, it's in Italy."

"Nope. Look up Aitou."

"Bless you."

"No, I didn't sneeze. It's a city." (I spell it out. Twice, because the first time Jess was in another window checking her facebook.) "Where is it?"

"Lebanon."

"Look up B-R-N-O."

Jess types it in and looks at it. "Bruno? THEY FORGOT THE U!! It's in the Czech Republic. Book it."

We spend the next 15 minutes booking the crazy cheap flight to Brno, Czech Republic and practicing saying a word without enough vowels.

"Brrrrr-no."

"Br-noooooo."

"Maybe the B is silent. Rhino."

"Why would the B be silent? BRRRRRRRRNOOOOOOOO."

Eventually, we settle on just pronouncing the sounds. Br-no. And it is the correct pronounciation as we find out on the flight from Barcelona. Neither one of us knows what to expect from Brno, but we have a place to stay and we won't be spending Euros. Money not converted to Euros is money well spent...or something.

We are couch surfing at a place called Club Wash. It is a club where one can get their laundry done while they have a beer, watch a football game, or examine materials under a microscope (no kidding, someone did that). Jess I are meant to sleep on an air mattress on the hand-made stage in the back bar. It's a bit of an odd arrangement, but it seems safe and it could be fun. Plus, for the sake of the neighbors Club Wash closes at ten p.m. so we know it won't get too crazy. The owners and employees at Club Wash all live in the building and we quickly get to know Thad, a student from Colorado who has extended his stay to help out at the bar. Thad introduces us to Lukas, a gypsy boy that the owner of the bar has taken under his wing. Lukas is an energetic, creative twelve year old that only knows swear words in English. However, we communicate with him through gestures and enjoy his company for the three days we are in Brno. Lukas took Jess and I to the nearby grocery store to help us navigate the isles and was actually extremely helpful. We also had some fun. Lukas and I took turns putting obnoixious products in the cart and waiting for Jess to figure it out and get annoyed. Lukas put about forty bars of soap in as his grand finale. After rolling on the ground with laughter at the insinuation that Jess smells THAT bad, I had to draw the line and act like an adult. Jess and I told Lukas that we would buy him one special treat and he picked out a swimming pool. His second choice was a can of corn. Out of everything he could get at the supermarket, he wanted a can of corn.

Brno reminded me of some of the super-small Colorado and mid-west towns I've been to. There is not a lot going on, it was blazing hot, and all of the shops had homemade window displays with sun-faded products that had probably not moved in years. Our first day there we walked around and saw almost everything the town had to offer, or so we thought. In the evening, we spent time talking to customers and employees at Club Wash including a British traveller with dredlocks named Phil who we hope to meet up with later on our trip.

In the following days, we got a few errands done and went to the local swimming pool with Lukas. In a small town, taking an entire afternoon to lick an icecream cone while staring at people from a park bench is the way of life and we did our best to slow down and enjoy the speed of the locals lives. With the help of Thad, we found out that the real night life of the seemingly sleepy small town is underground. We went to a rock show in a bar that felt so much like the hull of a boat (the Alice Cooper look-alike lead singer gave me his phone number afterwards). Another night with another host, we went to an underground club where we patiently waited while the young boys (ages 16-21) that we were with loosened up enough to talk to us. By the end of the night, we were all taking over the dance floor and chatting like old friends.

Brno was the first chance in years I had to really experience the simpleness of summer that I remember from my childhood. Brno also claims the prize for the best and cheapest food we had in the Czech Republic. The Czech beer on tap at Club Wash was the best we had. The nightlife was fun and diverse. All in all, we are glad we went.

Brno, we will never forget U.

A Day In The Life Of...

alysandjess — Sun, 6 Jul 2008 00:18:00 GMT

What do Jess and Alys do all day? They aren't working, they aren't trying to accomplish anything in particular? What is it they spend their time doing? GOOD QUESTION! I will address it now:

On a typical day, Jess and I wake up at an average time of 9:14 am. (Sometimes we set an alarm for 7:55 and sometimes we sleep in until 12:02 pm, but that is rare). Depending on our current accomidation, we make tea or coffee or go out to find tea or coffee. This step is important. Jess' eyes don't open until she's had a half hour to sit and sip something warm and comment about how she isn't quite awake. I refuse to make decisions until I've had my morning beverage. If I don't make decisions and Jess' eyes are closed, it is difficult to navigate the rest of the day.

After tea or coffee, Jess and I start thinking about breakfast. Normally, if we have a place to stay with a kitchen, this activity can happen in sync with the beverage acquisition step. Usually, we have yogurt (widely available all over Europe, but sometimes "mystery flavour") and fruit with granola.

When breakfast is done, we "get stuff done". It is always best to "get stuff done" in the morning. Often, we need to stop by the tourist office and ask a question about transportation, free museums, or how to ask for something specific in the local language (like bulion cubes, peanut butter, or tap water). While we are at the tourist office we pick up free brochers about tourist activities - these pamplets are full of usful information about what we should avoid. We will memorize these places and take care to stay as far away from them as possible. (This rule is broken late at night or very early in the morning). On occassion, we have to drop something off at the post office or get more phone credit. We usually give the "getting stuff done" part of the day a couple hours and it usually takes 15 minutes.

Before lunch, we wander. We go for long walks, mostly dictated by the direction that looks the prettiest or has the most shade (if it is hot). We are never really looking for anything, so we just go. Usually, by the time we are hungry again, we have found somewhere cool, cute, unusual or even scary looking to have lunch. Scary looking places (bars on the windows, heavy door that doesn't open upon first push, man standing in the door looking crabby) have the best food. Don't be fooled.

In the early afternoon, we often have "plans". Quotation marks should be used if something was said or is ironic. In this case, it is ironic. We never really have plans. Sometimes, we tell someone we will see them tomorrow around a certain time maybe at a semi-specific place. I'm not sure that constitutes as a real plan, and that is why it is in quotes. Anyway, we maybe go to the swimming pool or meet a friend in a park or we are visiting one of the previously researched free museums (by the way, free museums are amazing and always empty. I don't know why no one else thinks to ask for the list tourist information provides in almost every city).

Late afternoon is reserved for the great Spanish tradition of the siesta. We find a park, we lay down the blankies we acquired for this specific purpose in Spain, and we nap. We also read. We drink water. And we just sleep. This lasts about two hours.

We find coffee. Jess and I can take an hour to find either food or coffee. We refuse to pay tourist prices when we've seen cheaper. Sometimes, we've seen cheaper hours away in a small town, but we will still compare every cafe in town to be sure we've got the lowest price. We are also a bit picky about loud noises during this time of day, so we stay away from construction, traffic, and crying babies.

By about six in the evening, we meet back up with our host. We cook dinner for our Couchsurfing hosts as a thank you, so we go to the market and get great fresh ingrediants. Jess cooks. I clean up afterwards. Its the perfect arrangement for everyone.

In the evening, we go out. Usually, we go out with our host and whoever they want to bring but sometimes we have friends we've made that we invite as well. In the Czech Republic, the best thing to do in the evening is go to a large park with a beer garden. We get something to drink and watch the sunset and enjoy good conversations. The weather at this time is perfect and the lighting is beautiful so sitting outside is ideal. We usually leave around 11 pm and are at home and in bed by midnight!

That's it!

Alys

Barcelona, the Star Quarterback of Europe

alysandjess — Tue, 1 Jul 2008 18:51:00 GMT

Barcelona is like that really poplular guy in high school that everyone loves and is always taking about. He is beautiful, lively, athletic and for the most part, is pretty nice to everyone. But he knows that he´ll never really have to try too hard because just being him is enough. You tell yourself you don´t care if he doesn´t pay you much notice, but nonetheless you want his affirmation. And if for some reason he just doesn´t like you, or worse, is indifferent towards you it is natural to feel a twinge of resentment because to him you are invisible. And so goes our relationship with the beautiful Barcelona. And perhaps that is the reason that we didn´t get on with Barcelona in the way everyone said we would. I wasn´t impressed with Barcelona´s indifference caused by its saturation in tourists, travelers and all the rest who want a part of the European city dubed "Mr. Popular". I just couldn´t break through its facade. Which is sad, in ways, because there is much underneath, I am sure.

It is always immensly difficult to leave a beautiful campsite, where days are directed by the light and body rythems fall into place naturally. We left all this for Barcelona and the city was a shock; any big city would have been at this point. City noises, city fashion, city smells and the added bonus that Spaniards apparently have a facicnation for setting off bomb-like noise makers on just about every corner. I was in a constant state of alert. For the first time on this trip Couchsurfing failed us in Barcelona. The hosts there are completely overwhelmed, inindated with requests from those wanting a part in the city. Their responses to our emails were, if there at all, negatives expressed with exhaustion. So we were suprised when we got a yes even if that was all that was in the message.

It may have been our fault or a result of bad communication all around but our host failed to pick up the phone when we arrived in Barcelona, leaving us momentarily stranded. We thought this might happen so we had a second plan which involved busing it out to a campsite nearly an hour outside the city; the camp was sandwiched between a highway and an unappetizing beach. Unappetizing after the perfection that was our campsite in Torre de la Mora. We explored the city by day, returning to our campsite before the last bus at 10pm. Much of the three days were spent in parks as it was, for the first time this trip, too hot during the middle of the day to do much walking.

Barcelona was the city of first for us in many ways. First all nighter spent between parks, the beach, in a bus station, and on the floor of Girona aiport before our early morning flight. First offer of hard drugs in a public place (we declined), first conversation with a pair of friends from Gambia, the first place to find a burrito in Europe, and the first real taste of lonliness while traveling. But the floor was surprising comfortable at the airport, well mas o menos.

-Jess

Alys´ take:

(We always read each other´s posts for accuracy and spell check, and lately I´ve wanted to add something!)

Something I think Jess and I both struggled with in Barcelona is feeling uncool for not adoring the city. I clearly remember walking through the narrow streets peeking in little shops and cafe, which are really very unique and fun to explore, and feeling totally embarrassed that I wasn´t enjoying it. How could I not enjoy this? Everybody said we would love Barcelona! People we admire and respect want to live there and visit every chance they get. So, I kept my distaste to myself. Finally, after a couple days of self-discovery (comes naturally when you travel because there is nothing pressing to think about) I realized that I am mature enough to admit that I don´t like Barcelona because it doesn´t like me. If it had paid more attention to me and gotten to know me, I´m sure I would love it. But, it ignored me and my feelings were, quite simply, hurt. I told Jess how I felt (in an outburst of frustration, I´m sure) and was surprised to find out she felt the EXACT SAME WAY! We spent our final day letting ourselves feel mad at the city. Now, looking back, there were things that were really cool about Barcelona. I loved the Picasso museum (another first - we never pay for that stuff usually), had a great time at an improtu African drum circle, and saw the coolest moon-rise on the beach. And, I had an excellent travel partner who kept my lonliness at a minimum and participated in the wallowing of emotions with me. Next time, I´ll go to Madrid instead.

-Alys