The Dangerous Business of Going Out Your Door

Never Again: Dachau Concentration Camp

wanderlustgail — Sun, 19 Jun 2016 18:00:00 GMT

Something reminiscent of ashes brushed across my face and landed in my hair as I approached the entrance to Dachau Concentration Camp. They were floating around everywhere, creating a disorienting haze in the unseasonably brilliant early spring sun. I jolted to a halt, believing for an instant that this was some distasteful reenactment of the camp’s crematoria where so many tens of thousands of bodies had been burned, their ashes floating through the air and falling to the ground like snow. Surely they would not do such a macabre thing! And indeed, they had not. Catching a piece in my hands, I felt foolish to recognize that they weren’t ashes at all, but the cottony white blossoms of freshly blooming trees. New life was beginning in this place of so much death.

Ready for a Profound Experience

It was a false start of my imagination, fueled by a somber anticipation of the emotional journey I was sure to experience during my first visit to a concentration camp. I was ready to be moved deeply. I had prepared myself to be shocked and horrified in the face of so much cruelty and human suffering. I was expecting a life-changing realization that would make me question the inherent goodness of humanity and wonder how our species was capable of such darkness.

But those feelings never came.

The Contrast

The budding spring perfumed the whole area with fragrances of peace and serenity, leaving no room to imagine the stench of death and disease that must have once dominated. Anything that had once been sinister was now whitewashed and impotent under the wide resplendence of the sky. All of the original barracks had been torn down, with rows of numbered, tidy, and perfectly symmetrical concrete markers the only indication of what had been. Two barracks had been reconstructed for the memorial site, but they felt too sterile and staged to be convincing. Only the original crematoria remained intact, and I tried to harness my attention to focus on the atrocities that took place there, but the surrounding gardens and overly-manicured paths made the history feel too stale to be very powerful. Large groups of tourists and schoolchildren were milling about, and though all were being respectful, the whole atmosphere was far too full of promising life and clear light to convey its grim reality.

I hesitated to write about this for a long time because I didn’t know why I hadn’t felt the way I was supposed to have felt. Why wasn’t I trembling at the sight of those ovens or crying over the mass grave of ashes? Why had cold shivers never once gone down my spine as I walked through the torture chambers? Was I devoid of empathy? Numb to evil? If so, then I wasn’t the only one that day. I didn’t see any other person who appeared distressed, nor did I see a single tear shed. I even met a Jewish lady who, after whispering a Hebrew prayer over the mass grave, walked away with me, smilingly animated and optimistic.

Recent History Comes Alive

The guide told us that after the camp had been liberated, it had been converted in the late 1940s to housing for ethnic German refugees who had fled Germany during the war and were returning home. For about a decade, the camp site developed into a regular village for those refugees, complete with soccer grounds, schools, shops, and restaurants. Camp survivors became outraged when they learned that people were living there and kids were playing soccer where such a massacre had occurred. So, they decided to turn the former camp into a memorial site in the mid-1960s. This history, along with the cheerful weather, seemed to explain in my mind why the camp did not have the look or feel I had expected. There had certainly been death here, but more recently, there had been life. A visit during winter or on a gloomy day with fewer visitors would likely leave one with a very different impression. But on this fine warm day, crowded with people in the good spirits of the season, it felt like we were looking at a bleached jawbone behind the protective glass of a bustling museum, and having only that to go on, we found it difficult to imagine the vicious beast that had once ruled and been destroyed here.

Toward the end of my visit, I reached the memorial wall that boldly proclaims the words “Never Again” in five different languages. Here I realized with a start that the beast had not been completely destroyed after all. We have all read our history books, and we have gone to see the historical sites of mass murders and genocide. We have soliloquized about the profound lessons we have learned, and we have promised the world that it will happen never again. But it is still happening. This was the most disturbing part for me, the realization that in spite of all the lessons and promises, mass human cruelty is still alive and well. It was the only part of the visit that struck real fear in my heart, and it had more to do with what was still happening outside of Dachau than what had happened inside it. The circumstances are not the same today, the perpetrators and victims are different, the scale and timeline and geography have been altered, but atrocities are still happening. We are still killing each other and witnessing unimaginable cruelty in our world. But unfortunately in today's story, unlike in the story of the concentration camp, we do not yet know what the ending will be or whether we will ever be liberated.

Looking Forward

Still, there is hope. If life and peacefulness can come to as gruesome a place as Dachau, then surely it can come in time to the rest of the world. We must each do our part, in whatever small way we can, to combat the fear of "the other," of unknown people and places. For me, that means traveling and sharing my experiences. It means talking to people who are different from me, and trying to understand the world from their perspective. It means remembering the promise of "Never Again," and making an effort to incorporate it into daily life.

To quote Khalil Gibran:

"Your neighbor is your other self dwelling behind a wall.

In understanding, all walls shall fall down.

Who knows but that your neighbor is your better self wearing another body?

See that you love him as you would love yourself."

Final Days in Frankfurt and the Numbers from Germany

wanderlustgail — Sun, 5 Jun 2016 17:00:00 GMT

My last days in Germany found me in Frankfurt am Main, a city I had never visited despite having passed through so many times before, both by plane and train. I am not the only traveler who has been skipping it. Out of the millions of people who transit through Frankfurt annually, only a fraction actually visits it. The nicknames “Mainhattan” and “Bankfurt” may not inspire those looking for the romanticism of Germany’s old castles, the camaraderie of Bavaria’s beer halls, or the intriguing history of Berlin and the former East Germany, but Frankfurt certainly holds a place in my mind as the diverse face of modern Germany.

First Impression and Spargelzeit

For those expecting a homogenous German sterility, the area around the train station can be a bit of a shock. Dirty and destitute, it did not offer a warm welcome, nor did it provide a fitting foreground for the glitzy financial center only a short walk away. All sorts of shiftless and shady types hung around there, making a striking contrast with the industrious efficiency of the railway and the affluent skyline of downtown. The massive display of wealth that is the 46-foot high euro symbol in front of the European Central Bank seemed to make a mockery of the struggling humanity around it. At the same time, the sun, not to be outdone by anything man-made, asserted itself by reflecting wildly off of all the surrounding skyscrapers. It was an uncomfortable power play, blinding in its intensity. I changed course to find something more pleasant.

Soon, the skyscrapers gave way to more traditional buildings and calming views of the River Main. Walking along the banks, I was impressed by a lovely serenity that I never expected to find in Frankfurt. One hears of the beauty of the Rhine, the Moselle, and the Danube rivers, but not much of the Main. I crossed over it to the neighborhood of Old Sachsenhausen, known for its cozy ambiance and comfortable apple wine pubs. Ducking into one such pub, quiet and darkly paneled, I finally allowed myself to indulge in the highly-prized white asparagus spears. If you've never had them, you must forget all you know about green asparagus and try to imagine something about three times as thick with a succulent fleshiness that melts in your mouth. They are only available in the spring, when restaurants and produce stalls celebrate Spargelzeit (asparagus time), and many restaurants even have a dedicated Spargel (asparagus) menu. This particular pub offered asparagus with either Hollandaise sauce, butter, or herb sauce. I asked the waitress for a recommendation, and was entertained with a list of pros and cons for each one before she definitively settled on the Hollandaise sauce as her personal favorite. It was encouraging to have a chatty waitress, a rarity in Germany that I had not encountered in Leipzig or Munich. On my right side sat a German family, and half way through my meal, an Italian couple was seated to my left, all of us enjoying our own Spargelzeit.

Cravings and the Final Days

I considered the meal an indulgence because it was expensive for my budget, the cheapest I had found being €14 ($16) for four asparagus spears with a side of potatoes. My Spargel craving had started in Munich, but I had not been willing to pay so much for it, settling instead for a €7 ($8) bowl of asparagus soup. While delicious, it did not satisfy the craving, nor did the next attempt with a €10 ($11.50) portion of asparagus risotto. Those dishes did nothing but cost me more money while I unsuccessfully avoided what I really wanted. Even this far into my travels I was still making such rookie mistakes. I should have just paid the price for the real thing and thus spared myself the extra expense of trying to avoid it. When I finally allowed myself to have the asparagus spears, it was one of the most satisfying meals of the trip, because it was exactly what I had been craving.

Away from the train station and downtown, Frankfurt turned out to be the most satisfying German city of my trip, and I wonder if I had been craving it without knowing it. Leipzig had been very interesting, but it did not completely satisfy me, nor did the touristy Munich. I had not been able to connect with those cities in the way that I connected with Frankfurt. Perhaps it was the atmosphere of the cities themselves, or perhaps it was the mood that existed only in my own mind while I was there. For whatever reason, I did not feel lonely or bored in Frankfurt. The people seemed friendlier, and I perceived a general sense of well-being. In the neighborhood around my Airbnb apartment, tall, leafy trees provided a peaceful canopy perfect for strolling amongst the playgrounds, local pubs, and neighborhood grocery stores. The weather was perfect, and every moment held a poignant importance as one of the last moments of my sabbatical.

The Numbers

I'm dividing the expenses out into each city I visited to show not only the differences in price between cities, but also to show how the costs skyrocket when you only stay for a short time.

Berlin: Includes 1 day, just overnight and the next morning to meet my husband at the airport and fly together to Bulgaria

Flight from Riga to Berlin (one-way): $88.66
Private room with private bathroom in a hostel for 1 night (my half): $32.25
Daily expenses (food, bus tickets): $29.69

Berlin Total: $150.60 for 1 day

Frankfurt (1): Includes 1 day, just overnight and the next morning to drop my husband off at the airport

Flight from Prague to Frankfurt (one-way): $107.16
Private room with private bathroom in a hostel for 1 night (my half): $35.99
Daily expenses (food, airport shuttle): $21.49

Frankfurt (1) Total: $164.64 for 1 day

Leipzig: Includes 6 days

1/2 of BahnCard (provided 25% off all train tickets): $10.94
Train from Frankfurt to Leipzig (one-way): $25.05
Private room with a shared bathroom in a pension for 6 nights: $173.91
Daily expenses (food, transportation, laundry): $87.90

Leipzig Total: $297.80 for 6 days

Leipzig Average: $49.63 per day

Munich: Includes 4 days and daytrip to Dachau

1/2 of BahnCard (provided 25% off all train tickets): $10.94
Train from Leipzig to Munich (one-way): $25.05
Airbnb private room in a shared apartment for 4 nights: $202
Daily expenses (food, transportation): $78.06
Day trip to visit Dachau: $13.17

Munich Total: $329.22 for 4 days

Munich Average: $82.31 per day

Frankfurt (2): Includes 4.5 days, daytrip Rhine tour to Koblenz, and return flight home

Bus and train from Zagreb to Frankfurt: $41.40
Airbnb private room in a shared apartment for 4 nights: $203
Daily expenses (food, transportation): $106.23
Day trip to Koblenz on a Rhine boat tour: $62.81
Airfare from Frankfurt back to the US (one-way): $206.26 + 20,000 AAdvantage miles

Frankfurt (2) Total: $619.70 for 4.5 days

Frankfurt (2) Average: $137.71 per day

Combined Average for Germany over 16.5 days: $94.66 per day

The two one-night stays in Berlin and Frankfurt pushed the average up, but Leipzig was a very inexpensive place, so it balanced it out. Considering my two daytrips to Dachau and Koblenz, and the fact that my second Frankfurt stay had to absorb the flight back home, I must say I am very pleased that my daily average managed to stay below $100/day. Germany is not known to be a cheap destination, but budget travel is possible with some discipline. Just remember to splurge on the one meal you really want rather than paying for two meals you don't want before you eventually cave anyway. :)

Looking for Croatia and Seeing Myself, and the Numbers

wanderlustgail — Thu, 19 May 2016 12:30:00 GMT

Why Croatia?

Trundling through the Austrian Alps, I was excited to finally see Croatia, a country that had been calling to me for some time, even before the sabbatical began to take shape. The pleasure of solo travel had worn thin in the preceding weeks, but now it was beginning to renew as I approached the last new country I would see on this trip. How blissful it was, relaxing on that long bus ride from Munich through Austria and Slovenia, warmly wrapped in the passing images of snowy peaks, lush valleys, and picturesque villages. Having to cross such majestic scenery made the promise of Croatia all the more intriguing.

As I was pressed for time during the planning of this trip, I had almost decided to leave Croatia out and just return home from Germany. It would have been easier, but I thought I would regret it. I could not shake the feeling that my sabbatical would not be complete until I had seen Croatia, that somehow Croatia held the power to bring closure to this chapter of my life in a way that neither Germany nor any other country had. My initial thought was to go to Dubrovnik, way down on the southern coast, but it was difficult to get there quickly, and I did not want to add so much extra time or expense, so I had decided on the more easily accessible capital. Unlike the arrivals in other new places, there was absolutely no fear or dread of arriving in Zagreb. Instead, stepping off the bus into the city seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Even though I knew it may not happen on the first day, I expected to be met with some palpable sense of having finally reached my destination. Croatia would soon reveal why it had insisted on being included in this trip.

Disappointment

For days, however, Zagreb maintained a gloomy silence that was broken only by the rain beating down on drab, gray streets. I could find nothing to distinguish this city from anywhere else, and feared I had made a mistake in choosing it over Dubrovnik. Zagreb just wasn’t remarkable in any way that I could find, and it was certainly not what I had envisioned for Croatia. It was kind of cute in some areas, but Tallinn had been cuter; it had some former Soviet feel, but Sofia had had more; there were good bakeries, but Germany’s had been better, etc. The best thing I had found was a really delicious meat-filled pastry called burek, but that wasn’t even originally Croatian. All in all, Croatia was turning out to be a disappointment.

I met another solo female traveler from Vancouver who was just embarking on a five-week trip through Croatia. Zagreb was her first stop, and she was enamored of it. I tried to see the city through her eyes, the eyes of one just starting out, who had not yet become jaded enough to make comparisons to other cities, but it was to no avail. I enjoyed her company for a couple of days and seeing her enthusiasm, but it failed to be contagious. Reporting my impression of Zagreb back to a friend at home, she sympathized that I must just be drained at this point. At first I agreed, but on closer inspection, I actually felt the opposite of drained: I felt overly full. My “travel cup” has normally always been empty, or nearly empty, so that I have always craved more. Was it possible that the cup had now been filled beyond capacity?

Everything is New under the Sun

The rain remained unrelenting, and I stopped looking for this “Croatia” that I had imagined. Perhaps the dull days provided an opportunity for my “travel cup” to empty out a bit. Finally on my last full day, the sun appeared, and I saw an entirely different city before me. In the warm light, Zagreb became pretty, interesting, invigorating, and everything I had wanted it to be. The rough, graffitied brick walls now held a certain charm that I had not seen before. Had the rain prevented it from being all those things in the beginning, or had I just been unable to see clearly through my own expectations? Was the change really just due to the effect of the sun, or had my new acquaintance influenced my outlook after all? Perhaps it had to do with the fact that it was my last day, as I seem to like most places best at the end, when I face the reality of having to leave them. I rushed around to make the most of this new Zagreb, and it was not at all disappointing.

On the last evening, I climbed up to one of the overlooks to see the rooftops of Zagreb before dusk set in. The cities I have liked best have all had such a vantage point, where the character of the rooftops adds a new dimension to the city’s personality. These red rooftops were not particularly special compared to others I had seen, so my mind wandered off to a series of questions. How was it that I was indifferent to this view now? Why had I been feeling like I just wanted to go home lately? If travel wasn’t what I wanted and who I was, then where did that leave me? I’ve always been the person who wanted to travel more than she could. Now had I traveled too much? I stared blindly over the city, unable to come up with any answers. Suddenly, I was no longer seeing Zagreb, but all the other red rooftops I had witnessed during my sabbatical. I simultaneously saw those of Lisbon, where my sabbatical had begun, and Tallinn, where I had first entered the former Soviet Union, and Prague, where my husband and I had reunited with an old friend. A more impressive cityscape might not have allowed the viewer to see beyond it, but Zagreb had been able to remind me of my whole journey. After the memories faded, I saw humble Zagreb again, and I knew that it was enough. Though it had neither the best of anything nor the most of anything, it was still a nicely balanced city. In the same way, I realized that what I really wanted and needed going forward was balance. I can neither travel continuously nor stay home constantly, but I need a balance between the two. I have had more than two months of travel, during which time I have experienced more beauty, awe, and inspiration than I could process. And it was enough for now. Zagreb did not have to be any other place, because it was enough just as it was. And I did not have to travel anywhere else for now, because my travels were enough just as they were.

The Numbers

The numbers from Croatia include 5 full days.

Bus from Munich to Zagreb (one way): $24.94
Private room with a shared bathroom in a hostel for 5 nights: $87.10
Guidebook (for Eastern Europe, expense divided among the countries I'm visiting): $7.00
Daily expenses (food, laundry): $68.44
Currency exchange fee (kuna to euro to USD): $23.64

Total: $211.12

Average: $42.22 per day

Wow, this is my lowest daily average yet! The previous record holder was Riga, Latvia at $49.18 per day. Prices are low in Croatia, and were even lower because it was still off-peak season. In addition, I have nearly mastered the art of travel grocery shopping now. I am very pleased with this number, and now Zagreb, which I had thought lacked any superlatives, will hold this record!

Accepting a Truth in Munich

wanderlustgail — Sat, 7 May 2016 21:02:00 GMT

Munich’s lesson for me was this: I need people.

I know it’s obvious, and everybody says it, and I have even said it. I have known it to be one of those universal truths, but I haven’t really always believed it, not deep down on a visceral level. Instead, I have always enjoyed quiet and solitude, and have actually desperately craved it of late. But unlike the pleasant and peaceful isolation I encountered in Tromsø, Leipzig was the first place where I felt burdened by loneliness. I blamed it on various things, but later realized that I had to shoulder some of the blame as well. I didn’t start conversations with anyone. I didn’t go on any group tours. When I heard other lodgers in our communal kitchen, I waited until they had left before I went in. Why? I feared that my language skills were too rusty to attempt small talk with strangers. Leipzig didn’t have any free walking tours, and I didn’t want to pay for one. I didn’t know what kind of people were lodging in my pension and whether they would be the type of people I would want to talk to. So, I kept to myself, because that was the easiest and most comfortable thing for me to do, and because I did not yet know that I needed those interactions.

By the time the train brought me to Munich, I had adjusted to solo travel again. I felt re-energized and ready for activity once more. Though I had not had a face-to-face conversation with anyone in over a week, I no longer felt particularly lonely. In fact, I dreaded the shared living quarters of my Airbnb arrangement: A room in someone’s apartment. I hoped I would have enough space and privacy. However, I was looking forward to meeting up with two acquaintances who lived in Munich.

Plunging into the main tourist areas, I floated amongst a swarm of others checking off the big names: Marienplatz, the Glockenspiel, the Frauenkirche, the Viktualienmarkt. But the crowds had the same effect on me there as they did in Prague, leaving me disenchanted and disinterested in the must-see sights. I would have liked to sit in the Biergarten at the Viktualienmarkt, but found it awkward to do alone. So, I retreated to a quiet restaurant away from the crowds where I had dinner before returning to the apartment, and quickly excused myself to my room.

My two acquaintances had to cancel our plans unexpectedly, so I continued my solitary explorations. After a couple of days, I decided to join a free walking tour. It was a large group, and I didn’t see any other solo travelers at first. I made some passing comments to two ladies in the group who I thought were friends, but I maintained some distance, not wanting to intrude. It turned out that they were also solo travelers and had just met during the tour. One was from Virginia and the other was from Portugal, and I was happy when they asked me to join them afterward. We went to the Viktualienmarkt, bought wurst on rolls, and sat in the Biergarten. It was a little drizzly, but the thick foliage of the chestnut trees kept us dry on that perfect spring afternoon while we shared stories and laughs over our steins. It was the element that had been missing so far in my return to Germany.

Thus reinitiated to conversation and companionship, I stayed in the kitchen the next morning, my last full day in Munich, instead of rushing away when my Airbnb host came in. Our topics – travels, marriage, work-life balance, government, culture, politics – were better suited for a pub than a breakfast table. It seemed that we understood each other well, but she closed with a remark that took me off guard: “You have a European soul.” It was as if she had pinned a badge of honor to my chest, and I wished I had taken the time earlier in my stay to talk to her more.

I had no plans for my last day but to drift around aimlessly. Snow flurries started falling as I wandered through the spring festival, but it was otherwise surprisingly similar to any county fair at home. Just as I started heading toward some free museums to warm up, I got a text from a lady I had known back home. She was living in Germany now, and was passing through the Munich train station on her way home from Italy. She would have just over an hour to wait for her connecting train, and wondered if I had time to meet her. Of course I did, and I was very happy for the opportunity. Over a lovely coffee in one of the bustling cafes in the train station, we had a nice time catching up, using Du (the informal you) and a bit of English. It was so serendipitous that we were able to meet during that little window of time, and I was incredibly pleased that she had thought of me and made the effort to coordinate our meeting. My spirits were higher after that meeting than they had been the whole time I had been in Germany.

Leaving Munich, I understood for the first time in a long time, that I too need people. My “people cup” is not very big, so it doesn’t take much to fill it, but it still gets empty. Even with my solitude-seeking self, even when I don’t think I need them, even when I am not ready for them, even when I am uncertain whether I will like them, I still need people. We all need some interactions, some connections to others outside of ourselves. And with that, I’m reminded of a quote from Somerset Maugham, “I reflected that men are more interesting than books but have this defect, that you cannot skip them; you have at least to skim the whole volume in order to find the good page. And you cannot put them on a shelf and take them down when you feel inclined; you must read them when the chance offers, like a book in a circulating library that is in such demand that you must take your turn and keep it no more than four and twenty hours. You may not be in the mood for them then or it may be that in your hurry you miss the only thing they had to give you.”

On My Own Again in Leipzig

wanderlustgail — Sun, 1 May 2016 23:34:00 GMT

Leipzig was planned as a time for me to rest and reacquaint myself with Germany, but it had more in store for me than just that.

Reacquaintance

My first ever solo flight was when I went to Germany for my exchange student year more than 15 years ago, and the first time I traveled solo after that was within Germany. I still remember not only the nervous anticipation, but also the pride, strength, and accomplishment I felt after those trips. I recall walking around by myself and experiencing the surprisingly rewarding stillness of solo travel, as well as the awkwardness of those first lonely restaurant meals. But it has been more than 15 years since then and I really haven't done much traveling within Germany. In the few return trips over the years, I have always been with my husband and we were usually with friends, so I have not been alone in Germany for a long time. I wanted to reacquaint myself with the country that had influenced me so much during a very formative year of my life and has continued to affect my life ever since. I wanted to remember the person I had been when I first went to Germany, and the person I had become during my time there.

Rest and Readjustment

I can't explain exactly why I chose to spend a week in Leipzig, but I knew I would need somewhere to have downtime after staying only 2-3 nights in each place for the previous couple of weeks. Hamburg, Bremen, Cologne, and Dresden were in the running, but I wanted to go to a city and a region in Germany where I had never been, and I wanted a small-to-medium sized city where I wouldn't feel compelled to rush around to any big sights. Leipzig fit the bill and also meshed nicely with the somewhat accidental "behind the iron curtain" theme of this trip.

The first few days after my husband went back home were lonely, but that was to be expected. We had had such a nice time together and we had been pretty busy, so I had to adjust not only to being alone again, but also to being not busy. I was also still raw from the credit/debit card situation in Bulgaria and the guilt trip in Prague. As a result, the weeks in the remainder of my trip hung heavily before me. The first day in Leipzig was gray and rainy, so I went to one of my favorite places for a pick-me-up: A German bakery. It seemed to do the trick. After that, I went grocery shopping, did laundry in a laundromat, and cooked my own dinner. It felt good, like everyday, ordinary life, and it provided the structure and grounding that I needed.

After the chores were done though, I still had six days to fill. I was tired from all the previous travel, but even though I had planned for downtime, actually allowing myself to rest and to do nothing was another matter. If I stayed inside, I felt like I was wasting time and should be outside. If I went outside, seeing people in pairs or groups made me feel more lonely. I had a private room in a pension rather than a hostel, so I never saw anyone else or had any opportunity to meet other travelers. I realized with dismay that I was more lonely in the country that should feel the most familiar to me than I had been in any other country, so I set about trying to figure out why.

Of course there were the obvious things that I've already mentioned - missing my husband and not meeting other travelers - but there was more to it. I came up with a theory that speaking the language was actually backfiring, and I have three reasons for it.

No one had any reason for a conversation starter because they thought I was just a foreigner who was living there. Even though they heard an accent, it was not immediately obvious that I was a tourist, so I just seemed like I was going about my normal life, and I was kind of a weirdo for sitting alone in restaurants. When it's clear that you're a tourist, people usually at least ask where you're from or make other small talk.
The formal "you": In German, Sie is the formal you and Du is the informal you. When I lived in Germany, and in all my German interactions since then, I've used Du 95% of the time because I was with other students or friends, etc. But while traveling, I have to use Sie almost exclusively. I have hardly ever practiced the Sie form (it makes the verb work differently), so I am not very comfortable with it and it makes me feel the barrier between the other person and myself more acutely.
When I don't speak the language, I drift around in a completely removed state, secure in my otherness, and happy to just look in from the outside. But being able to halfway speak the language put me in limbo. I felt neither completely in nor completely out. Rather, I was stranded in a halfway world where I felt I should have more of a feeling of belonging than I did.

At any rate, I finally did adjust and started focusing on enjoying the little things about Germany that I had missed - things like the way the windows tilt open from the top, the smell of yeast and sugar coming from the bakeries, the slowness of the pace in restaurants, the clinking of empty glass bottles being carried back to the supermarket for collection of the deposit (pfand). I went out if I felt like it, and I stayed inside if I felt like it. As seems to be my pattern, I finally found my place in Leipzig just before I had to leave.

Realization

As the loneliness cleared and I found my footing again, I realized that I was beginning to feel a sense of completion. My travels were starting to come to an end, and even though I was not able to see every place or do every activity that was on my original draft, I still felt that I had accomplished what I had set out to do. I have learned to stop and appreciate the small things. I have practiced some artistic outlets. I won't regret that I didn't try this, or wonder what if I had done it. I now know with certainty that I can travel solo. I know what it is like to take a risk to follow a dream. Just because I don't want to travel forever doesn't lessen anything. Now, I am looking forward to seeing a place again that is very special to me: Home. And with that realization, I can focus on making the most of the time I have remaining and do my best to avoid taking this priceless time for granted.

Confronting Privilege in Prague and the Numbers

wanderlustgail — Tue, 26 Apr 2016 23:00:00 GMT

I wish I had more to say about Prague, but I just don't. After Bulgaria and the Baltics, Prague did not have very much of an Eastern European feel to it. It just felt like a big, modern, Western European capital. It was beautiful and it lived up to its reputation as "the Paris of the East," etc. For that reason, it draws hordes of tourists. And for that reason, along with the fact that we were only there about 48 hours, I wasn't drawn in. I skimmed the surface, and I can vouch that it is a beautiful place, definitely worth seeing. That's it.

The Best Part

The best part was reuniting with a friend that my husband and I had met during our university days in Germany more than 15 years ago. She spent almost a full day with us, guiding us around her city and catching up. I had wanted to do that very thing 15 years ago, but it didn't work out then, so it was invaluable to have it finally come to pass.

The Worst Part

The worst part was that I unexpectedly came face-to-face with my own privilege. My husband and I had had an early start that morning, flying from Varna to Sofia, Bulgaria, and then to Prague. After an afternoon rest, we were in good humor as we watched the performance of the Astronomical Clock among a huge crowd of tourists. When the show was over, the crowd started to disperse, but I lingered too long. I noticed a man standing in front of the clock. He looked older than his years, feeble, weak, sick. He was selling little pamphlets about the clock for €2 (about $2.25). From that huge crowd of hundreds of people, no one was noticing him. Hundreds of people, including myself, who had paid hundreds or even thousands of euros to be there, and not one of them took notice of this sad man selling pamphlets for €2. I looked too long, and it got into me. He held his head as high as he could, not in a proud or even hopeful way, but in an honest and pitiful way, attempting to be dignified, but hunched over and unable to even stand completely upright. He didn't yell or make any commotion. He just looked straight ahead and seemed so tired. I had €2. I had US dollars and euros and Norwegian kroner and Bulgarian leva and Czech koruna. I had so many currencies! And he was just trying to sell a pamphlet for €2.

I dug out the bag with all my leftover currency and found a €2 coin. As I walked toward him, he gave up and started walking away, assuming that his opportunity had passed. He had looked long enough into that unseeing crowd. I caught up to him, touched his arm, and gave him the €2. He smiled so sweetly, so relieved, so surprised, so thankful. He proudly handed me the pamphlet and said, "Thank you, thank you," so pitifully. It didn't make me happy at all. It didn't make me feel like I had done anything good. It made me want to cry, to go back home and get a job. It made my silly privileged travel world come crashing down. It made me feel so guilty and ashamed. Why could I be here with multiple world currencies in my purse when this man was just trying to make €2?

It's a tough pill to swallow, confronting your own privilege. Am I privileged? I come from a single-parent, lower-middle class family, and I'm a first-generation college graduate, so I've never considered myself privileged in the traditional sense. But I am definitely privileged to be healthy and educated. I am privileged to have been born in a stable and wealthy country where education and social mobility are possible, and where my passport allows me to freely enter most other countries. So yes, there are certainly reasons why I am privileged.

I've seen my share of beggars and the like, and I've been to very poor developing countries. I know that this could have very well been just another tourist scam. I definitely would not have paid €2 for that pamphlet in a store and I normally would not have bought such a thing at all. So, why did this man affect me so strongly? I think it was an overreaction to being in a tourist crowd for the first time in a long time. I have been visiting cities without the scale of tourism that Prague has, so I have not been in large crowds like this in a while. And even when I had been in smaller tourist crowds, I had been penny pinching so much that I had hidden my privilege even from myself. But during the time my husband was with me, we had behaved more like we were on a typical vacation than a backpacker journey. Prague was a pretty expensive couple of days for us, so that combined with suddenly feeling like "them," like one of the annoying privileged tourists, opened my eyes painfully. I didn't want to see any more sights or eat any more self-indulgent foods after that. I was in a daze, acutely aware of the luxury of money and choice that I possess. Just a few days before, I had been upset because of a lost tax payment, a new suitcase, and a cancelled credit card, but here was a man at the Astronomical Clock who was just trying to sell a pamphlet for €2.

The Numbers

Again, even though my husband was with me, I'm reporting only my expenses for consistency, so these are numbers for one person rather than two. It includes 2 full days.

Airfare from Sofia to Prague (one way): $131.09
Hotel for 2 nights with breakfast included (my half): $88.11
Guidebook (for Eastern Europe, expense divided among the countries I'm visiting): $3.50
Daily expenses (taxis, food): $94.14

Total: $316.84

Average: $158.42 per day

OK, ouch! This was even higher than my Scandinavia average of $130.16/day. But as I mentioned, it was the closest part to a "normal" vacation of the whole trip. We took a taxi to and from the airport, we stayed in a real hotel, we ate out, we didn't have a kitchen. And, it was a very short trip, so there were fewer days over which to spread the airfare and taxi expenses. It would be possible to visit Prague for less money, but it is definitely more expensive than other Eastern European destinations.

Some Bumps in the Road

wanderlustgail — Sun, 24 Apr 2016 23:00:00 GMT

I've had pretty good luck in my travels so far, so I really can't complain, but I wanted to share some bumps in the road that I've encountered. I've hesitated to mention these out of superstitious fear that if I complained about these minor things, it would cause worse things to happen, but I've decided to go ahead with it. It's just that I want to share that things can, and probably will, go wrong at some point during travels of any length, and especially during longer travels. If you're considering traveling, you have to be realistic about it and have backup plans when you can. For me, several things happened in close succession, and to be honest, there were are few times that I just wanted to give up, go home, and wrap myself in a security blanket.

The first issue was with my debit card. A couple of weeks before I left home, I realized that my debit card would expire while I was traveling, and I had not received an updated one. I called to inquire and was told that the updated one would not be mailed until it was too late. There was nothing more to do. The last few days of my trip, I would not have a working debit card. I would just have to make sure I had plenty of cash before then. It made me a little uneasy, but I could deal with it.

Next was our taxes. We owed state income tax this year, so my husband sent the payment via certified mail a couple of weeks before he left to join me. Long story short, the postal service tracking information never showed that it was delivered and the check still hadn't been cashed before my husband flew out. Cue panic of tax delinquency and accusations of fleeing the country for tax evasion. I spent quite a bit of time on the phone with the postal service and the state tax authority trying to figure out what to do. No one could give me a definitive answer of whether the payment had been received and just not processed yet or what. In the end, I was advised to wait another week and see if it turned up. If not, I could cancel that check and pay with a credit card over the phone. That plan calmed me down, and I had to make a conscious decision to just put it on the back burner and not worry about it for at least another week.

The next thing was completely my fault and I still can't believe I did it. I am traveling with one backpack and one small rolling suitcase. I left the suitcase on the bus from Tallinn to Riga. I just got off the bus with my backpack and walked away. I didn't realize it until I reached the entrance to my hostel. Panic. My first instinct was to run all the way back to the bus station and hope that the bus was still there. But it had been about a 15 minute walk, and it would be another 10-15 minutes back, so it was unlikely that the bus would still be there. Instead, I went into the hostel and explained what had happened. To my relief, they said the bus company had just called about it. I absolutely hate changing my luggage tags every time I go somewhere new, but I always make myself do it, and this is why. When they found my bag, they had a way to reach me. The hostel receptionist called them back and told them I was on my way back to get my bag. Everything was handled very well and resolved smoothly, but it shook me up. How could I just forget it like that?

Then on my Riga to Berlin flight, the zipper to the same bag was almost destroyed. When I picked the bag up in baggage claim, one side of the zipper closure had been ripped completely off of the zipper and was only hanging on because it was locked to the other closure. The lock looked like it had been caught on something and had been nearly pulled off. The bag was partially unzipped from the damage, but luckily, not enough for anything to come out. I was able to repair it enough to be able to zip it completely, but I had no way to lock it. I flew with it like that from Berlin to Sofia, but I really didn't like not being able to lock it. Wandering around Sofia, we accidentally found a luggage shop, so my husband convinced me to buy a new bag. Problem solved, and no real harm done, but I hated the extra expense and the disruption to the familiar packing routine with the bag I had. Getting used to a new bag felt like a disproportionately big deal because I was starting to feel overwhelmed and weary with the other little things. My OCD tendencies were kicking in to try to ward off any more oversights or accidents, and OCD does not like having to change bags mid-trip.

But, I quickly forgot about the new bag when I found fraudulent activity on my credit card. I had to have the card cancelled. Luckily, I had a backup card, but it would incur foreign transaction fees whereas the card I had been using did not. Remember, my debit card would expire soon too. So, whereas I started with three good cards, I was now down to one and praying nothing would happen to it. Finding fraudulent activity on your card at home is disconcerting enough, but finding it while traveling long term made me feel so vulnerable and tired. It was after I hung up from having the card cancelled that I really considered cancelling the rest of the trip and flying back home with my husband. I'm so glad he was with me during that time. He would have supported either decision, but he knew I would regret it if I cancelled because of this, so he encouraged me to stick to my plan. I still had a debit card for now, I had plenty of cash, I could get more cash before it expired, and I still had the backup credit card. It wasn't so bad. I knew this logically, but I needed to sleep on it.

In the meantime, I nervously checked my bank account and backup credit card account to see if they had any fraudulent activity. Luckily, they didn't. And as a bonus, while checking my back account, I saw that my state income tax check had finally been cashed. It was a good omen that everything would work out in the end, so I have chosen to believe that and to carry on.

Now I just need to stop having dreams in which I find that my bank account is empty! ;)

Role Reversal in Bulgaria and the Numbers

wanderlustgail — Tue, 19 Apr 2016 23:00:00 GMT

Bulgaria had the mysterious power to line up external circumstances and ambiguous expectations in such a way that provided us with a fabulous time. It started in my husband's childhood. He had a calendar that featured a different European capital each month, and Sofia was pictured for his birthday month. The beauty of the picture as well as the name of the city captured his young imagination, and now our trip was the fulfillment of his dream to see it in person. For me, after traveling solo for almost 3 weeks, I was very much looking forward to my husband joining me, and I think I would have been happy to be with him just about anywhere. I didn't have a particular interest in Bulgaria per se, but it was a new and exciting frontier that I would have never attempted by myself, so I was only too happy to go with him.

Sofia and the Train

Neither of us knew exactly what to expect from Sofia. We thought it might be a little rough around the edges, and it was, but that was almost a relief. The overly sleek and complex infrastructure of big Western European capitals can be tiring sometimes because very little feels intuitive and the cities seem like big machines whose functionality must be learned through either careful study or frustrating trial and error. Sofia was more down-to-earth, more manageable, and we liked that. The Cyrillic signs combined with the intersection towers manned by traffic police gave our imaginations the perfect fodder to feel the chill of the old iron curtain. We did not expect so much English, nor so many lovely tree-lined streets, nor such a vibrant cafe culture. Everyday, we found five more cafes that we wanted to sit in, most of which we would unfortunately never have time for during our short visit. I was thrilled to have company and to go to cafes again after practicing more austere solo dining habits, and my husband was able to find the same view that he remembered from his childhood calendar, so we were both surprisingly fulfilled.

We took a train across the country from Sofia to Varna. It was a 7-hour ride with no food or beverage options whatsoever, even in first class. But we expected that, so we brought our own and it wasn't a problem. The train was very basic, pretty slow, almost completely empty, and the conductors spoke no English. The journey would have been slightly faster by bus. But we enjoyed it. We had so much room, and hours and hours of leisure to nap or watch the beautiful hills roll by. We expected a dirty, rough, and dangerous ride based on things we had read online, but it was nothing like that. It was clean and comfortable enough. The bathroom even had soap and toilet paper (though I had brought my own just in case)!

Varna, the Black Sea, and Ovech Fortress

Varna was smaller than Sofia and had less English, but it was still surprisingly nice, and it had two major things that Sofia didn't have: The Black Sea and Ovech Fortress. For my husband, the Black Sea was a Dracula-related pilgrimage, but for me it was a meaningful boundary of the furthest east I had gone in Europe. The late-day fog played well into our ideas of what this place should look like. My husband could imagine Vlad's ship passing by and I could dream about the mysterious lands on the other side. We returned to the sea at night for my husband to take some long-exposure photos while I marveled at how few stars were visible. It was such a sharp contrast to the sparkling Norwegian skies that were filled with so many stars you could almost touch them, and I took the moment to appreciate that I had seen both, as well as all the skies in between. But the Black Sea horizon that night was the most amazing. The sky and the water both looked completely black until you noticed the line where they met. Impossibly, the horizon was even darker, even blacker, than the sky or the water. We stared and stared, our eyes unwilling to accept the eerie degrees of darkness we were witnessing.

And then there was Ovech Fortress, a place that my husband had found online while researching Varna. It is located in the small town of Provadia, about an hour bus ride from Varna. In the same way that he was captivated as a child by the photo of Sofia, he had become captivated by a photo of Ovech Fortress. Information was not easy to find about how to get there without a car and we didn't have time for a full-day tour group trip. Bus schedules were not available online. Neither our Airbnb hosts nor the Varna tourist information center knew much about it, and they did not seem to think it was possible to do without a tour group. That was enough for me to give up the idea, and it would have normally been enough for my husband too, but not this time. He is almost never more adventurous than me, but very rarely will he feel so drawn to a place that he will suddenly develop the ability to overcome any obstacle or hardship to get there. It usually involves a body of water, and for example, while I'm looking for a safe path to it, I'll see that he has uncharacteristically already managed to clatter down a rocky cliff to get there.

Without much hope of a response, I contacted the Provadia Museum of History by email. They sent me a wonderfully detailed response back with bus schedules to and from Varna and mentioned that we should stop by the museum if we decided to come to Provadia. I didn't think we could quite trust the schedules without seeing them printed on something official, but my husband insisted, again very uncharacteristically, that we should just go and figure it out on the way. So we did, despite my misgivings that we would end up stranded in Provadia with no means of getting back to Varna. We arrived by bus in Provadia and followed our Google Maps directions to the museum, even though the same app had failed to guide us to the correct location for the Provadia tourist information office. This time it was successful, and we met the person with whom I had been communicating via email, a young lady who was an archaeologist. She was so impressed that we had made it there without a tour group, and she offered to personally show us around the fortress. Imagine - we had our own private archaeologist showing us around a fortress dating back to the 3rd century! The site was still in the process of being discovered, though archaeological efforts had stalled due to financial constraints. She told us that they mainly only had Bulgarian tourists and that the few foreign tourists who come there only come with tour groups. She was the only person at the museum who spoke English, so it was purely coincidence that she received my email rather than another colleague. It was further coincidence that she was there when we arrived, unannounced, at the museum and that she had time to spend a few hours with us. We tried to pay her at the end, but she resolutely refused and insisted that it was just part of her job. We were so grateful and so humbled. She even pointed us in the right direction for the bus back to Varna. Still, we had trouble finding the exact stop. I was looking for a bus station that didn't exist while my husband, (need I say it again?) uncharacteristically, just starting asking people on the street until we were pointed to the unmarked bus stop. I was nervous that a bus would never come, but my husband was completely calm and confident.

Role Reversal

This was quite a role reversal for us! Normally, I am the one with plans, agendas, and expectations, but in Bulgaria, I was in the unaccustomed place of just tagging along with whatever my husband wanted to do. If I had had an agenda for Bulgaria, or if I had had any clear expectations, I think I might have been disappointed. I know that I would not have gone to Ovech. Likewise, if my husband had not had his own deep motivation for going there, I think he would have been disappointed as well, or at least frustrated with my overplanning. Even though we didn't know it or do it on purpose, Bulgaria worked so well for us because we stepped away from our familiar roles. We arrived safely back in Varna from Provadia, very happy with our adventure and proud of ourselves. Seeing Ovech Fortress with a private Bulgarian archaeologist guide was definitely one of the crowning achievements of our travels, and a memory that we will always treasure. Neither of us would have ever tried it alone, but somehow together, we had just he right combination of skills, luck, and perseverance to make it work.

The Numbers

Even though my husband was with me, I'm reporting only my expenses for consistency, so these are still numbers for one person rather than two. It includes 5 full days.

Airfare from Berlin to Sofia: $98.28
Airbnb apartment in Sofia with one bedroom for 3 nights (my half): $46
Train from Sofia to Varna (one way): $22.50
Airbnb apartment in Varna with one bedroom for 2 nights (my half): $42
Airfare from Varna to Sofia (one way): $131.09
Guidebook (for Eastern Europe, expense divided among the countries I'm visiting): $3.50
Daily expenses: $84.79

Total: $428.16

Average: $85.63 per day

It should be noted that while some things can be cheaper when traveling with two people - usually accomodation is a little cheaper per person and food can often be split - it can also be harder to stick to a budget with two people because the mood is more celebratory. This was a clear-cut vacation for my husband and I took it as a vacation from frugal traveling for myself, so we ate out a lot and didn't worry much about money. Given that, it is amazing that my daily average was not much higher than in Part 1 ($66.93/day), and it was still significantly lower than in Scandinavia ($130.16/day). It would certainly be possible to keep the daily average under $50 in Bulgaria if you wanted to.

Riga Reflections and the Numbers from the Baltics

wanderlustgail — Tue, 12 Apr 2016 22:45:00 GMT

I usually have an impression of a place before arrival, and that often predetermines whether I will like it. The impression may or may not be based on anything very substantial. Perhaps I have tucked away a vague memory of a news report or a photograph, maybe I know someone who has been there or I've met someone from there, or maybe the place just has a reputation. Sometimes the impression is based on nothing factual whatsoever, but rather just the way the place's name rings in my ears and feels in my mouth. The impression is further influenced by how I liked my previous destination and whether I was ready to leave it. If I leave a well-liked place too soon, the next place is probably doomed. I don't deny that it gives some places an unfair advantage and others an unfair disadvantage, but so it is.

I expected to like Tallinn, Estonia. It felt good to say those smooth names.

Tallinn: taaaaa-lin, something small and round, accented with cute little points, just like the towers on its old town wall.
Estonia: es-tohhh-nia, very princely with an almost Italian flourish.

I did not expect to like Riga, Latvia. Those names felt awkward and scratchy.

Riga: reee-gah, something dirty, grey, and probably smelly.
Latvia: lahhht-via, flat, drab, and probably corrupt.

I left Tallinn too soon, so Riga's chances were not very good.

But Riga surprised me! It refused to be outdone by its smaller northerly neighbor. What it lacked in Tallinn's charm, it made up for in its intricate art nouveau and its feeling of living history. While Tallinn took the path of the fairytale town, Riga took the path of a major metropolis with thick city blocks of impressive design and every possible type of restaurant or cafe you could imagine - with food from such places as Azerbaijan and Uzbekistan!

As I walked around the first evening, Riga filled its streets with church bells and practicing choirs. The melodies seemed to come from all sides, like celestial music emanating from the buildings and streets themselves. The trams were sleek and modern with the lines being nicely integrated into the cobblestone streets, but the overhead wires did get in the way of all the photos I wanted to take. There were flower shops everywhere, and people walked around cradling their freshly-bought bundles. The locals stared down into the flowers, ignoring the magnificent buildings all around them, while the tourists stared up.

Young people looked like young people everywhere else, and seemed full of optimism and energy. They have only known the good times. But the older people wore the worried, worn out, tired look of oppression, struggle, occupation, and war. And they walked - whether old, deformed, slow, dependent on a cane, or laden with bags, they walked anyway. Whether the streets were icy, uneven, cobblestone, or steep, they walked anyway.

Here's what has happened during the lives of those older people. The Soviet Union occupied them in 1940, deported 15,000 of their citizens OVERNIGHT, and began a year of terror. Thinking nothing could be worse than that, the Latvians welcomed Germany. Nazi Germany occupied them in 1941 and they learned that things could indeed get worse. When Germany lost WWII, the Latvians expected the Western Allies to support their re-independence. Instead, the Soviet occupation resumed in 1944 and they remained part of the USSR for almost the next 50 years. Their economy was destroyed. They lost more than 500,000 of their citizens - close to ONE-THIRD of their pre-war population. The Soviets moved 800,000 foreigners into their country who did not speak their language and gave them positions of authority.

The Soviet Union disintegrated in 1991 and the Latvians finally gained true independence, but there were major economic collapses during the transition from a communist to a market economy. They had lost a substantial portion of their population, especially among the educated. It took half a decade to start to find stability, but they finally did. Around this time, I, a teenaged girl half a world away, heard the name of this country for the first time as I set myself to memorize the states of the former USSR. Estonia-Latvia-Lithuania: Those three were always easy to remember before I struggled through the more obscure-sounding -istans.

Latvia was accepted into the European Union and NATO in 2004. Twelve years later, and just one generation into their independence, I decided to visit them, low expectations and all. Riga proved me wrong. I found a very modern, impressive city, and I joined a free walking tour. Just 25-30 years ago, public gatherings like that walking tour were illegal and could get you sent to a gulag in Siberia - this was within my lifetime! But now we can gather and we can walk - whether through the worn out, tired, uneven parts of the city or through the newly renovated areas, we can walk anyway - just like the older people were showing us.

The Numbers

It was nice to be in cheaper countries again after expensive Scandinavia!

Tallinn Numbers: Includes 3 days

Ferry from Helsinki to Tallinn (one-way): $42.55
Private room with private bathroom in a hostel for 3 nights: $75.00
Daily expenses (food): $42.11

Tallinn Total: $159.66

Tallinn Average: $53.22 per day

Riga Numbers: Includes 2 days

Bus from Tallinn to Riga (one-way): $11.08
Private room with a shared bathroom in a hostel for 2 nights: $41.00
Guidebook: $7.00
Daily expenses (food, laundry): $39.29

Riga Total: $98.37

Riga Average: $49.18 per day

Combined Average for the Baltics over 5 days: $51.61 per day

Very happy to see this be below my Trip 1 average of $66.93 per day, but I'll be moving around a lot in the coming weeks, so expenses will certainly go up again.

Confession: My Dread of Tallinn and Other New Places

wanderlustgail — Sat, 9 Apr 2016 23:00:00 GMT

It's time for a confession: I usually dread going to new places.

How is that possible in a person with wanderlust, in a person whose driving force is to experience the unknown? I've been honest about the fears I've had traveling solo, but this is something different, and I've been trying to unravel it. Lately, the Internet has been full of stories of the so-called wanderlust gene and the personality profiles of the bearers. These people are supposed to be risk-taking, impulsive extroverts, but I am none of those things. I am a risk-averse, planning introvert who also happens to like to travel. Unlike the wanderlust gene stereotype, I am not constantly seeking the next new thing purely for the sake of its newness, nor do I have a disdain for the familiar. On the contrary, I grow quite attached to places and things that have given me a sense of wellness or contentment, and therein lies my conflict. I am compelled to go discover a new place, but then if I like it, the very act of discovering that I like it imparts a happy familiarity that turns into a dread of leaving it. I am always quite sure that I will never like the next place as well as I liked the current one.

The dread starts creeping in quite early so that by the time my last night in a place arrives, I feel fairly miserable and depressed. I wish that I had more time, I regret that my attached self did not stand up to my wanderlust self during the planning of the trip to insist on more time in fewer places rather than less time in more places. This disquiet triggers a cascade of worries - of the blunders I'll make while figuring out a new country, of the new language barriers I'll encounter, of the hassle of packing, of the stress of making the journey, of the potential dangers I might face. Why put myself through it all, I wonder, when I already know that I like it here? But the wanderlust side has made the plans, and the attached side would never change plans mid-course (because it is too attached to the plans), so there is no choice but to go along with it.

Such was the state of affairs when I arrived in Tallinn, Estonia. I had liked Tromsø, Norway, very much and did not want to leave. It was my first time in the Baltics and my first time in the former Soviet Union. I didn't know what to expect and, even though I was sure I would like it while I was planning the trip at home, when I arrived, I did not want to be there. I went to my hostel and immediately attached myself to my room. It was a private hostel room, which is always a luxury after a shared room like I had in Helsinki. I was convinced that I would never like the city as much as I liked the room. I spent hours avoiding leaving the room, finding an infinite number of reasons why I needed to stay inside. When I finally left, I was greeted by the most surprisingly cute city, welcoming me with bashful shades of pastel on buildings decorated as finely as wedding cakes. There was only about an hour of daylight left, and I kicked myself for the time I had wasted. I found a cafe, which was the cutest cafe ever. I had a meal of salmon pasta with leeks and basil, which was the best (and cheapest) salmon meal ever. I forgot my dread, my wanderlust self winked a playful "I told you so" at me, and I congratulated it for having such good foresight.

My time in Tallinn was immensely enjoyable. The history of Estonia is rich with tales of occupation by Denmark, Sweden, Russia, and Germany. I couldn't get enough of its medieval town wall with impressive but still approachable towers crowned with cute little red caps. The capital city has accomplished an amazing amount in just one generation of independence from the former Soviet Union. There is a hipster crowd, a vibrant foodie culture, widespread English, and well-developed tourist resources. The local Kalev dark chocolate is hands-down the best of any I've ever had. In other words, I grew attached to Tallinn, and I dreaded leaving it for the next place. But I am accepting that the cycle will simply always repeat, through both the highs of discovery and the lows of leaving, because for my particular type of wanderlust gene, the two absolutely cannot be separated.

Aurora, Helsinki, and the Numbers

wanderlustgail — Fri, 1 Apr 2016 23:00:00 GMT

Leaving Norway on an Aurora High

My goal in going to Norway was realized in the end - I saw the northern lights!!! Going on guided light chases will certainly wreck your budget (see below), but it was totally worth it. You have to be able to get out into the complete darkness, with no interference from city lights, and you have to be able to move quickly to areas with the least cloud coverage. Since Tromsø is on the coast, the weather changes very fast and one area may be completely overcast while another is clear. It would be difficult to do alone, with no car and no familiarity with the area, so I still think a guided tour is the way to go for most people.

The light display was just as spectacular as I had imagined it would be. Over a period of about 2-3 hours, it started off slow, built to a peak of activity, then trailed off again. When you stare at the sky so long, your eyes play tricks on you. You want to see the lights so badly that every reflection of the moon off of a cloud quickens your pulse and you believe you are seeing the aurora because you wish it so badly. We had several false alarms of, "Is that it?! - No; Wait, something's happening over here! - No; Oh, I think I see... - No." In my group were people from Northern Ireland, Germany, Israel, India, and Taiwan. We had come from all over the world to try to witness this beauty together.

First, there was a faint whitish-green glow to our left. We were uncertain whether it was the aurora. Our guide took a photo to better differentiate between moon light and aurora, and the lens litmus showed green light - confirmation that the show had begun! It wasn't all that impressive, but we breathed a sigh of relief that at least we could say we had seen the aurora, even if we didn't really feel like we had. That first glow faded away without any pomp or circumstance, but then we spotted another glow to our right. It slowly grew into a long, wide, twisting curve of white and green, reaching from the horizon to directly above our heads, spiraling and shifting slowly. This was the real deal! Whereas before we knew we had technically seen it, now we really felt it and believed it, with no need for camera confirmation. We stared, we gaped, we felt excited and satisfied. It lasted about five glorious minutes. Some time after that second one faded away, another glow started in front of us, and it was moving quickly. In a flash, it arched all the way to the other horizon, stretching until it spanned across the entire top of the sky. Unlike the previous ones that were slow and steady, this one flashed and danced. Multicolors of white, green, blue, and purple emerged in soft, playful spikes. It was truly amazing. We laughed, we clapped, we screamed, we jumped, we danced, we cheered. We forgot we were cold. We forgot we were tired. Most of us were seeing the aurora for the first and probably only time of our lives, and it was simply exhilarating. It must have lasted for several minutes, but I am unsure. In the moment, it seemed like it would last forever, but then it was gone. After that, there were a few more minor flares, but the peak had passed. Nothing from that point forward matched or even came near what we had already seen, so we started to lose interest. In a matter of hours, we had, as a group, transformed from the Aurora-Naive to the Aurora-Experienced, and with that came the freedom to not be impressed by just any aurora, but to decide which particular displays we found worthy. How quickly we become jaded.

Weird Helsinki

I only had one full day plus a few hours in Helsinki, so I cannot claim any great insight into it. After my lovely time in Tromsø, I didn't have high expectations for Helsinki, but I must say that it surprised me. Perhaps more accurately, it amused and bewildered me. While Tromsø was all bright blue and purest white, Helsinki was sepia, as if somehow trying to mask its bold and quirky contrasts. To me, it was both beautiful and ugly, Scandinavian and Soviet, impressive and depressing, lavishly ornamental and sparely industrial all at once. In addition, there were so many strange figures and faces carved into the stone of the city walls, everything from squirrels to owls to bears to leering trolls to graceful mermen. The architecture is like nothing I have seen before. Several times, I couldn't help myself from laughing, or commenting out loud, "Helsinki, what are you doing?! You're so weird!" In keeping with the disorienting strangeness, the Finnish language is a complete mystery, having neither Latin nor Germanic roots, and seeming to string together long series of umlauted vowels just for my amusement. Mercifully, nearly everyone speaks English. In short, I'm glad I saw Helsinki, though very briefly, but I don't think I would go back.

The Numbers

Even though I was expecting my daily expenses to double what it was in Trip 1, I am a bit dismayed and embarrassed to see that it really happened. Scandinavia in general, and Norway in particular, is one of the most expensive places in the world, so I'm trying not to be too discouraged.

Norway Numbers: From the day I left home until I returned to Oslo, which includes 8.5 days. I only had one coffee and two lunches in a restaurant. The rest of the week, I bought groceries and cooked for myself.

Airfare from the US to Oslo (one-way): $94.50 + 20,000 AAdvantage miles
Airare from Oslo to Tromsø (round trip): $257.80
Private room with shared bathroom in a hostel for 7 nights: $405.18 (I ended up being upgraded to a private apartment for free because the hostel decided to close for Easter!)
Guidebook: $11.20
Arctic Explorers Northern Lights tour: $166.35
Tromsø Friluftsenter Northern Lights tour: $111.81
Daily expenses (airport bus, food, money exchange): $139.31

Norway Total: $1,186.15

Norway Average: $139.55 per day

Without the light tours, it would have been $106.82 per day, which would have been easier to swallow, but I don't regret the tours for an instant. I only wish I had decided to go with the cheaper one the first time.

Helsinki Numbers: From the time I left Oslo until the time I left Helsinki, which includes 2 days. I ate out twice at some cheaper places and bought a few groceries, but it is harder to buy groceries when you're only staying a short time.

Airfare from Oslo to Helsinki (one-way): $66.24
Bed in a 2-bed female dorm in a hostel for 2 nights: $59.00
Guidebook: $11.20
Daily expenses (24-hr transportation pass, food, laundry): $44.11

Helsinki Total: $180.55

Helsinki Average: $90.28 per day

Combined Average for Scandinavia over 10.5 days: $130.16 per day

So, it is almost double my Trip 1 average of $66.51 per day. There is room for improvement as I move into the less expensive Baltic and Eastern European countries!

Arctic Norway: What Am I Doing Here?

wanderlustgail — Sun, 27 Mar 2016 23:00:00 GMT

March’s full moon accompanied me on the last leg of my arrival in Norway, hovering just over the wing of the plane from Oslo to Tromsø and giving me my first view of the country. In the south, there was only patchy snow on the watery land, but by the time we made it all the way up past the Arctic Circle, the snow covered everything, including the airport runway. We landed with a skid that didn’t seem to phase anyone but me. I suppose it was a normal Nordic landing.

Tromsø is so silent. It felt eerie on my first night as I walked from the bus stop to the hotel at 9:30 pm, with no other soul and no sound except the crunching snow under my shoes. The full moon was still with me, brightly reflecting off the snow to show me the way. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from wondering, why am I here? Why did I fly 4,000 miles from home to this frozen, deserted place on the day that terrorists attacked another major European city? What am I doing?

This is an undeniably beautiful area, but it is a stark and lonely beauty, the kind you don’t feel that you can touch or ever really be part of. Surprisingly, there is not the homogenous ethnicity that I expected; instead, I have seen quite a lot of people of African descent who seem to live here. Nearly everyone speaks perfect English and I can understand a fair amount of Norwegian by combining German and English with some imagination. The colors of the buildings are almost as cheerful as those in Lisbon and Spain. But despite all that - the signs of multiethnic integration, little to no language barrier, and an idyllic cuteness - there is still a persistent feeling of isolation. It is not necessarily a negative feeling, it is just noticeable. I really don’t mind it, in fact, I love solitude, at least for a time. It must come from the surroundings, being so far north, with so many small islands, everyone wrapping in so many layers of clothes. It creates a space between people. I feel as though I’m perched at the top of the world, all by myself, free to explore the uninhabited wilderness.

But of course I am in a city. It’s just feels empty because the population density is only about half that of the US, about a sixth that of Spain, and about one-twentieth that of the UK. Additionally, nearly everything was closed for my first two full days - the Thursday and Friday before Easter - then opened for half a day on Saturday before closing again on Easter Sunday. Even if restaurants were open, though, they are very expensive and I wouldn't have gone to one. Grocery shopping is the only way to visit Norway on a budget. So I’ve been walking the mostly empty streets, mostly alone, taking photos and just thinking.

I’ve never seen so much snow, yet I can tell from the way it resolutely holds its ground that it is old. It has been here for months and will continue to be here for some time. I laughed out loud when I saw it covering park benches, with only the tips of the benches coming up, checking to see if spring had arrived yet. Here and there, some of the snow has fallen away from a high bank to reveal layers, like sedimentary rock ready for carbon dating and the discovery of snow fossils. I did manage to find a very nice walking trail which was amusingly designated as a joint pedestrian and ski trail. There were signs posted in Norwegian and English “Skisone (Skiing zone), Gåsone (Pedestrian zone)” similar to the signs differentiating bike lanes from car lanes. People were literally skiing by me as I walked.

So, what am I doing here? Well, the broad answer goes back to what I wondered about when I got to Lisbon, my first sabbatical destination. I wondered then if I was made of the right substance for this undertaking, and after a month of travel, I think I can answer that in the affirmative. Of course I am nervous after the Brussels attacks, but I must go on. We, as a free society, must go on. The way that travel opens your mind is the very antidote to the closed-minded extremism that breeds terror. But that is a topic unto itself and I cannot do it justice, so I will move on to the more specific answer. I came here to see the northern lights. Unfortunately, my first attempt failed because there was too much cloud coverage. Nevertheless, I saw a very lovely fjord on the way and had a nice time camping out with a tour group on the snowy beach. We had a nearly full moon, thermal suits, snow shoes, wool mittens, a fire, hot chocolate, dehydrated camp food, and lefse (traditional flatbread with butter and brown sugar). I will attempt to see the lights again, but regardless of the outcome, I will try to remember that beauty can still be found in the darkness.

Summary of Numbers from Trip 1

wanderlustgail — Sun, 27 Mar 2016 22:00:00 GMT

I never posted the final overall numbers for Trip 1, so here they are. They include all accomodation, transportation, food, admission fees, etc.

30 days
4 countries, 10 cities
5 flights, 4 buses, 2 trains
Redeemed 40,000 AAdvantage miles
$66.93 per day

I've already started Trip 2 which includes a week in one of the most expensive countries in the world: Norway. I definitely won't be able to keep my expenses as low as I did in part 1, but I'll do my best. Still, I'm expecting it to double!

UK, Dublin, and Numbers

wanderlustgail — Tue, 16 Feb 2016 23:00:00 GMT

I've struggled with what to write about the UK and Dublin. I had a great time, but the problem is that they felt too familiar to say much about them. My muse is a combination of strangeness, solitude, self-reliance, and idle time. There wasn't enough mystery or challenge to give much impetus to my imagination. I understood the language (mostly) and I was with friends who took excellent care of me. It was very enjoyable, but it was an entirely different kind of trip than I had in Portugal and Spain. I feel that I have nothing to say that would satisfy the eager tourist. Instead, I can only describe the parts that stood out to me.

The UK

The UK was unmoved by the fact that Portugal and Spain had wooed me with temperatures between 60-70 F (15-20 C). Feeling no obligation to follow suit, it drizzled and gusted around 35-45 F (2-7 C), but it felt much colder than that in the first few days until my body adjusted. My nose clamped shut, then started running perpetually, while my eyes tried to wash away the pricking cold. While I shivered in my merino wool layers and Himalayan hat, I wondered at the local population who were sometimes wearing only t-shirts or light jackets. As compensation for the weather, the UK provided me with tea rooms. So many glorious tea rooms! At home, most coffee shops serve tea, but I have to search and search for a real tea room. But in Leamington Spa, where I stayed with my friends, and throughout Warwickshire County, it seemed that every 3rd shop served either modern loose leaf tea flavors or traditional cream tea with scones or delicate afternoon tea. It was absolute heaven to me, though it did make me miss my husband quite a bit. Tea has always been "our thing," so I sent him a picture of nearly every cup I had in an attempt to share the moment.

My favorite things in the UK were not the big tourist attractions. My friend took me to Cambridge where a friend of hers who lives and works there gave us a personal tour. It was an invaluable experience to have a guide so knowledgeable and genuinely enthusiastic. I was honored and grateful for the time and effort she spent on our behalf, but what I was seeking was not to be found in those hallowed halls. Instead, it was found in the kitchen of my friends' house, learning how to use their appliances, seeing how their house differed from mine, understanding how they managed work-life balance, going grocery shopping and to their favorite local pub with them, and hearing about their everyday lives. It was found wandering around the ruins of a nondescript abbey and old cemetery next to a playground in Kenilworth while my friends' kids played on incongruously modern climbing frames, seesaws, and swings. It was found looking down the jagged line of an insignificant low stone wall that fell away into the hills and valleys of the Cotswolds while wind stronger than any I have ever felt grabbed at us and pushed us all back into the car. It was in being with friends who made me a fan of Weetabix and Jaffa Cakes, and who were willing to share a piece of their lives with me over a home-cooked meal and a glass of wine or a favorite Scottish whiskey.

Dublin

In Dublin, I was a tourist again, and I didn't have any expectations of it, except that I didn't think it would be much different from the UK. The Irish accent is more melodious than the British accent, and it was difficult to understand at times. Some people were gruff and impatient, but most Irish people we encountered were friendly and seemed to be more talkative with strangers than British people. At first, Dublin was unimpressive. The Dublin Castle was unimposing and the Temple Bar district was surprisingly small. To me, it looked much the same as any other European city and it felt like we had seen everything there was to see in the first day. It was only slowly that Dublin's charms began to break through.

I had read that Sweny's Pharmacy from James Joyce's Ulysses held a daily reading of Joyce's works, so I decided to visit it. I am not a James Joyce fan, but I couldn't pass up the promise of famous local literature being read inside a historic pharmacy. It is no longer a working pharmacy, but it has been preserved to appear as it did when Joyce was alive. It is small, with barely enough room to walk more than 10 steps, and it houses several copies of Joyce's works in various languages. When I arrived, there was only one other visitor quietly reading in the corner and the volunteer working there. The volunteer was a lady of perhaps late 40s with a soft but intelligent face, inquisitively kind eyes, and a welcoming smile. She asked what brought me there, where else I had been, about my travels, and told me to feel free to look through the drawers filled with old prescriptions. When the other visitor left, and it became apparent that no one else was coming for the reading that day, she asked me if I would like her to read the passage from Ulysses about the pharmacy. Of course I agreed, and in her lovely Irish accent, she gave me a private reading of a passage that included this paragraph:

"The chemist turned back page after page. Sandy shrivelled smell he seems to have. Shrunken skull. And old. Quest for the philosopher's stone. The alchemists. Drugs age you after mental excitement. Lethargy then. Why? Reaction. A lifetime in a night. Gradually changes your character. Living all the day among herbs, ointments, disinfectants. All his alabaster lilypots. Mortar and pestle. Aq. Dist. Fol. Laur. Te Virid. Smell almost cure you like the dentist's doorbell. Doctor whack. He ought to physic himself a bit. Electuary or emulsion. The first fellow that picked an herb to cure himself had a bit of pluck. Simples. Want to be careful. Enough stuff here to chloroform you. Test: turns blue litmus paper red. Chloroform. Overdose of laudanum. Sleeping draughts. Lovephiltres. Paragoric poppysyrup bad for cough. Clogs the pores or the phlegm. Poisons the only cures. Remedy where you least expect it. Clever of nature."

How privileged I felt to have that work read privately to me, in the city where it was set, in the pharmacy it described, by a local of the same city almost 100 years after it was written! I can't quite describe how connected it made me feel: to Dublin, to the volunteer, to my pharmacy background half a world away. When she finished, the volunteer told me that the previous visitor was a Japanese lady who came to the pharmacy about twice a month. She never spoke, but bowed when she entered, read from their Japanese translation of Ulysses for about half an hour, and bowed when she exited. Our impromptu trio in that tiny pharmacy reached from Europe to North America and Asia in the blink of an eye.

Later on, I wandered back to the Temple Bar district, determined that I would do at least one touristy cliche and have a Guinness in Temple Bar. I had to go in alone, because it was not a place where my friends could bring their kids, and I didn't feel very confident about it. Who goes to a crowded tourist bar alone? But I mustered up the courage and went inside. It was so crowded, even relatively early at 7 pm, that it was impossible to tell who was alone or who was with people, so I didn't feel very awkward. I squeezed up to a counter and ordered just a half pint because I didn't think I liked Guinness much. To my surprise, I did like it! Maybe it was the atmosphere or maybe it just tastes better in Dublin, but for whatever reason, it was not bitter and it felt like drinking smooth velvet. Some live music started and I squeezed my way over to the little stage elevated in one of the corners. I'm not a big fan of Irish music either, but at the risk of sounding completely contrived, something about that band on that night was magical to me as I stood there alone in the crowd in Temple Bar. I was amused at their first few lively tunes and the energy they gave the crowd. Then I savored the haunting melancholy of "Molly Malone." The melody is still stuck in my head days later. I left early, before the crowd got too drunk and ruined the moment, so that I could keep the memory exactly as I wanted it.

The Numbers

I'm combining the numbers from the UK and Dublin because neither one fits the framework of hostels. In the UK, my expenses were low because I stayed with friends. In Dublin, my expenses were high because we rented an Airbnb house, ate out more, and I had to include not only the flight to Dublin, but also the flight back home.

UK Numbers: Here are my numbers from the day I left Spain until the last night in the UK, which includes eight full days.

Airfare from Seville to London (one-way): $97.03
Bus from London to Coventry: $29.20
Daily expenses (food, entertainment/attractions, other transportation, etc.): $115.22

Total: $241.45 Average: $30.18 per day

Dublin Numbers: Here are my numbers from the day I left the UK until I got back home, which includes five full days.

Airfare from Birmingham to Dublin (one-way): $66.21
Room in a 3-bedroom, 2.5-bathroom Airbnb house for 4 nights: $217.39
Daily expenses (food, entertainment/attractions, other transportation, etc.): $284.08
Airfare from Dublin back to the US (one-way): $42.86 + 20,000 AAdvantage miles

Total: $610.54 Average: $122.11 per day

Combined: $851.99 over 13 days = $65.54 per day

Surprisingly, my combined average was almost exactly the same as my average of $67.56/day in Portugal and $66.51/day in Spain. I'm pretty pleased with that because I wasn't very careful and felt like I was ruining my budget, especially in Dublin. The UK and Ireland are much more expensive countries compared to Portugal and Spain. My Dublin average of $122.11/day is almost twice my previous averages and is more realistic for someone who does not want to stay in a hostel, but still has access to a kitchen to make breakfast and a few other meals.

That's the end of Trip 1, but there will be more trips to come! I might also compile a few stories from this trip before I move on to the next one. Being back at home lets me reflect on things differently than I did while I was traveling, so I will mull it all over and see what comes of it.

Britishisms

wanderlustgail — Thu, 11 Feb 2016 23:00:00 GMT

England does not feel very strange to me, maybe because I've been there a few times before, or because of our shared cultural roots, or because of our common language. In cultures that feel different, and especially when you do not speak the language, all of your senses are alert, trying to capture signals and patterns, trying to piece the cultural framework into tidy packages that you can understand. However, when another culture feels familiar, your senses are dulled. You become nearly blinded by the percieved normalcy, and it takes some time and effort to tease out the differences. Such was my experience coming from Portugal and Spain to England. Once I acclimated to the drop in temperature and the opposite flow of traffic, I mostly settled into a comfortableness that did not lend itself to much analysis.

After a few days, I even started to concede that the entire nation may not, after all, be faking an English accent. I think I represent most Americans in feeling that British accents sound either hilarious, as if the whole population is a character in a Monty Python production, or else very formal and strict. One minute, I was giggling at the way my friends' two-year-old said, "Oh dear, Mummy," and the next minute, I was nervous that I had made an etiquette blunder with my soup spoon when the waitress asked, "And how are we getting on over here?" Of course, speaking the language does make things much easier, but there are some jolting moments when you wonder if you do actually speak the same language. As George Bernard Shaw said, "England and America are two countries separated by the same language." Accents aside, I find British word choices to be fascinating and more creative than American word choices. Some of them are words Americans understand but would never think to use, which makes me wonder why we even know the meaning at all. Others are words Americans know, but in an entirely different context, or with a different meaning. And still other words completely baffle Americans. I can't begin to give a comprehensive review of differences between British and American English, but below is a list of some of my favorites.

Tea the drink vs tea the food

British tea = sometimes American hot tea
British tea = sometimes American pre-dinner food snack (with no tea involved!)

Biscuit vs cookie vs scone

British biscuit = American cookie
American biscuit = British scone
American scone (dense, triangular, sweet thing) = no British equivalent that I could find

Jelly vs jello vs jam

British jelly = American jello (My host related how, for years, he thought Americans were putting British jelly = American jello on pb&j sandwiches. Ew!)
American jelly = British marmalade or jam

Chips vs fries vs crisps

British chips = American fries
American chips = British crisps

Pudding vs dessert vs sausage

British pudding = American dessert (general term)
American pudding = specific type of dessert
British black pudding = American blood sausage (NOT dessert!)

Other food

British crumpet = American English muffin
British aubergine = American eggplant
British courgettes = American zucchini

Pissed vs drunk vs angry

British pissed = American drunk
American pissed = British pissed off (angry)

Telling time

British half five = American 5:30
(Sidenote: German half five, or halb fünf = American 4:30, just to make it more confusing)

Bathroom vs toilet vs restroom

British toilet or WC (from water closet) or loo = American restroom or bathroom
American toilet = specifies the porcelain seat in the bathroom
British restroom = a room in which you rest, no toilet involved

Brand names as common names

British Hoover = American vacuum
British plaster = American Bandaid

Car parts

British boot = American trunk
British bonnet = American hood

Miscellaneous

British wellies = American rainboots
British nappy = American diaper
British bin or rubbish = American trash or garbage
British bit(s) = American piece(s)
British swish = American fancy or swanky or very nice
British cracking = American awesome
British fag = American cigarette
British fetch = not just something a dog does; a human can also go fetch the car or any number of other things (no running or panting implied)
Lots of British sentences end in a rhetorical question that doesn't have the intonation of a question, but rather sounds like the speaker is politely demandng the listener to recognize the truth of the statement, for example, "A comes before B, doesn't it," or "Earth is a planet, isn't it."

I've casually gathered the above examples over the years, but I don't claim to be an expert by any means. If I've gotten any of it wrong, please (politely) let me know. Thanks!

Last Night in Spain, People, and Numbers

wanderlustgail — Fri, 5 Feb 2016 23:00:00 GMT

Last Night in Spain

I starting writing this in Seville, but it has been difficult for me to finish. I haven't written much about Spain/Andalusia yet because, to be honest, the cities just didn't inspire me as much as Lisbon did. It's not really their fault. Andalusia is a beautiful area and there are some fascinating things to see there, but there were three factors that interfered with my ability to really appreciate everything this region has to offer.

Overload: I had been traveling for 17 days and had seen five different cities, all impressive, all beautiful and magnificent in their own way. The first two (Lisbon and Sintra, Portugal) were at a slow enough pace that I could linger and enjoy them. However, I squeezed the last three (Granada, Córdoba, and Seville, Spain) into eight days, which was enough time to hit the highlights, but too fast to have time to pause and reflect to let the uniqueness of each place really soak in. For me, the Alhambra in Granada and the Mezquita in Córdoba were so awe-inspiring that I just needed more time before I had the capacity to take in Seville. Add to that the fact that I was in dorm-style rooms in Granada and Córdoba with little privacy, and the result was that when I got to my private room in Seville, I just needed to hide there and recharge for a while. On the second day in Seville, I trudged my way through the Alcázar, finding it to be just a mini-Alhambra with more Christian elements and some Columbus history, which is an oversimplified and unfair estimation. Then I got in line to go into Seville's massive Gothic cathedral. I looked up at all of the impressive masonry with dread, and in that moment, decided that I would rather roam the smaller streets and spend the €9 admission fee on paella and a glass of wine. So, that's what I did. It's practically a sin to go to Seville and not see the cathedral, but when you get to the stage where it feels more like a chore than a pleasure to see something, then there's no point. My aimless wandering and paella were much more enjoyable. Lesson learned: Slow down and build extra space in the itinerary for downtime and to avoid overload.
Lisbon: I was so enamoured of Lisbon that nowhere else really had much of a chance with me for a while. It was the first love of my sabbatical, and who can forget her first love? Excluding the Alhambra and the Mezquita, everything else was measured against Lisbon, and for me, lovely as they were, they fell short. It is probably more of a matter of timing than of instrinsic quality differences in the places. If I had gone to one of the Andalusian cities first, maybe the situation would have been reversed. I'll never know. As W. Somerset Maugham wrote, "The impression left by strange towns and cities is often a matter of circumstance, depending upon events in the immediate past; or on the chance which, during his earliest visit, there befell the traveler. . . So to myself Seville means ten times more than it can mean to others. I came to it after weary years in London, heartsick with much hoping, my mind dull with drudgery; and it seemed a land of freedom." So, Maugham's Seville was my Lisbon, and that brings us to the third point.
Maugham: When I was on the verge of making the decision to take this sabbatical, I happened upon one of my favorite author's writings of his time in Andalusia. I had considered not going to Spain at all because I had been to Barcelona years ago, but Maugham described the region so eloquently, with such romantic imagery, that I was sure I would love it just as much as he did. However, Maugham's Andalusia existed more than 100 years ago, and it doesn't hold quite the same otherworldly charm today as it must have then. I knew this, knew that he had over-romanticized it, knew that my expectations were unrealistically high, but I was somewhat disillusioned nonetheless. I took his book with me into the Córdoba Mezquita's Court of Oranges, where I had planned to read the following passage under the quiet sun and the fresh aroma of the trees: "And the thought impressed itself upon me while I lingered in that peaceful spot, that there was far more to be said for the simple pleasures of sense than northern folk would have us believe. . . It is well occasionally to leave the eager turmoil of great cities for such a place as this, where one may learn that there are other, more natural ways of living, that it is possible still to spend long days, undisturbed by restless passion, without regret or longing, content in the various show that nature offers, asking only that the sun should shine and the happy seasons run their course." But alas, there was not a single orange on a single tree in that courtyard - they had all been picked just earlier that morning - the sun was shivering, large groups of tourists and students were crowding out the peacefulness, and I did not have much time to linger.

Despite all of the above, my time in Spain was still pleasant, and my last day in Seville was very enjoyable. Trying to outdo Lisbon, Seville managed a very lovely 70 F (21 C). I continued to avoid cathedral duty and also decided against a daytrip I had considered to either Jerez or Arcos de la Frontera. Instead, I wondered the streets by the river, sat in the sun, and didn't do anything of much consequence. It was exactly what I needed to do.

A Short Review of People

Visually, I could not see any differences between the people of Lisbon and those of Andalusia, but there was much more of a language barrier in Andalusia. Whereas about 95% of people I encountered in Lisbon spoke excellent English, only about 10% of the people in Andalusia did. In Andalusia, I found the people to be a little louder than in Lisbon, and more likely to start spontaneously clapping out their own flamenco rhythm or singing in the street. They felt somewhat gruff and impatient with my limited Spanish, and not quick to give a smile. I sometimes thought I might have detected a note of sarcasm, but I couldn't be sure. I was most aware of it in Granada, then it seemed to lessen as I moved to Córdoba and Seville. Perhaps it was all in my mind due to the immediate contrast with Lisbon and my own self-consciousness about not speaking Spanish. Perhaps people in Granada were weary of their town being overrun with tourists visiting the Alhambra. To be sure, there were still helpful people, but you had to seek them out rather than just finding them at every turn.

With Granada having steep, hilly areas like Lisbon, people continued to wear mostly flat-soled shoes and avoid bicycles. Then as the cities flattened from Córdoba to Seville, there were more heels and bikes. Seville even had what looked like a nice public bike rental system, though I didn't try it. The visible police presence was higher in Andalusia than in Lisbon, and I was surprised to see several police officers carrying submachine guns.

The Numbers

Here are my numbers from the day I left Lisbon until the last night in Seville, which includes nine full days.

Airfare from Lisbon to Granada (one-way): $121.36
Bed in a 4-bed female dorm room in a hostel in Granada for 3 nights (breakfast not included): $66.70
Bus from Granada to Córdoba: $9.92
Bed in a 4-bed female dorm room in a hostel in Córdoba for 2 nights (breakfast included): $40.40
Bus from Córdoba to Seville: $17.50
Private room with ensuite bathroom in a pension in Seville for 4 nights (breakfast not included): $116.88
Andalusia guidebook: $16.04
Spanish phrase book: $8.56
Daily expenses (food, entertainment/attractions, laundry, other transportation, etc.): $201.27

Grand Total: $598.63

Average: $66.51 per day

Well, I didn't manage to significantly change my average daily expenditure from the Lisbon average of $67.56/day, but at least it didn't increase, even though I treated myself to a hammam (Arab bath and massage), and my overall transportation costs went up from $110.40 to $148.78 because of moving between three different cities. Breakfast was included every day in Lisbon, but only for two of the nine days in Spain, so I think I can still be proud that I decreased my daily expenses from $26.16/day to $22.36/day. I slowly increased my grocery shopping so that by the time I got to Seville, I prepared almost every meal myself and only ate out twice. Unfortunately, the stove was not working in the pension in Seville and I only found that out after purchasing eggs, so I learned to make nicely poached eggs in the microwave. It was better than it sounds!

Hostel Life After 30

wanderlustgail — Sun, 31 Jan 2016 23:00:00 GMT

After staying in about 10 different hostels in my early 20s, I had not seen one in 15+ years. If you're in a similar boat, or have never stayed in a hostel, here's the experience I've had so far with staying in three different hostels in my late 30s. Overall, I think hostels have improved since the 90s. All of mine have had wifi throughout, were clean, pretty comfortable, and in good locations. The hostels I remember from the 90s were all in less convenient locations. There are more private rooms available now and some even have ensuite private bathrooms, but of course those are double or triple the price of a dorm-style bed. There's also a really convenient Hostelworld app to research hostels, read reviews, and book your stay on the go. There are a lot of solo travelers around, and there's definitely a nice hostel culture where travelers look out for one another, readily offer pointers on places you're going where they've already been, and are willing to give you either company or space, depending on your mood or travel style.

Lisbon: Private room with shared bathroom, breakfast and towel included, $28.91/night

I decided to ease my way back into the hostel world for my first stay in Lisbon with a private room and shared bathroom. I was relieved to find that each bathroom had a single toilet, shower, and sink - not multiple stalls - and there were three or four bathrooms on the floor for about eight or ten private rooms with one or two people in each room. It was not a problem at all to share the bathrooms. The hostel staff and the other guests kept them clean and there was plenty of hot water. The hostel provided a towel, but no toiletries, except for hand soap at the sink, but I expected that and had packed a travel-size bottle of body wash. I also had flip flops to wear in the shower and a PackTowl robe which was wonderful because I hate having to dress in the humid bathroom immediately after showering. (I'll write another post soon on what I packed for this trip.) All of the hostel staff spoke English, and I was made to feel welcome when I arrived. I was given a tour of the place, and personally taken to my room. The reception was open 24 hours. The kitchen and common living space were big and comfortable, and you could always find someone to talk to if you were so inclined, or you could watch TV, or curl up in a chair with a book. There were a couple of computers with Internet. I met fellow travelers from France, Norway, Chile, Finland, Germany, Australia, Denmark, and the Netherlands, mostly during breakfast or when having tea in the evening. Some people were staying only a night or two while others were staying weeks or months. There were people younger than me and people older than me, so I didn't feel out of place at all. A simple breakfast of cereal, toast, cheese, jam, deli meat, and fresh fruit was included, and coffee/tea was available all day at no charge. Hostel employees made a very nice dinner every night which you could have for €10, or about $11, and included an appetizer, soup, salad, entree, dessert, and unlimited sangria. You could also buy groceries and use the kitchen any time you wanted with refrigerator, stove, pots/pans, and basic oil/seasoning supplies. I unfortunately did not take advantage of the kitchen like I should have because I was a little intimidated by grocery shopping in Portuguese and I kept wanting to try restaurants. I think I only tried cooking in there once, but I did bring leftovers back and reheat them for other meals. Hostel staff were happy to give any recommendations or advice about budget sightseeing, and also offered daily free walking tours, based on tips, and occassional nightly activities such as a pub crawl for an extra €10 fee. The hostel was not loud, thankfully not a "party hostel," but the walls were fairly thin, so sounds in the hallway or from the street could be heard easily, but anticipating that, I brought earplugs and it was not a problem. The hostel also had a laundry service of €5 for washing only or €10 to wash and dry, and they could arrange a shuttle back to the airport for €10 (in contrast to €25-30 for a taxi). The location of the hostel was perfect, very central, very convenient to everything. My room was small, but comfortable and safe, on the 4th floor, and even had a private balcony. The building had an elevator, and the room had a heater over the door that I could control by climbing up on my chair. It was by far the best hostel of the four on this trip.

Granada: 4-bed female dorm with shared bathroom, breakfast and towel NOT included, $22.23/night

After such a nice hostel in Lisbon, I was not looking forward to moving, especially to a shared room. On one wall were the four beds, two on the bottom and two on the top. I had one of the top bunks. On the other wall were four tall, horizontal lockers. There was only one chair and not a lot of floor space. When I got to the room, there were three girls already there with their bags open on the floor, so even though they tried to make room for me, there just was not much space. That was the biggest challenge for me - not having even just a small surface of my own. I had my bed, but it was too high to be useful as a surface, and I had my locker which was thankfully big enough for both my backpack and my bag, but it was also not useful as a surface. I was paranoid about leaving anything outside of my locker, even just to use the bathroom. There were personal lights for each bed, but no electric outlets for the top bunks. Fortunately, I had a charging cable (supplied by hubby) that was long enough to reach down to the multi-plug device on the floor. I felt disoriented and exposed there for about the first 24 hours. Until the very last day, I only saw other guests that were about 10 years younger than me, so I suspected that I was already too old to be hunching into my locker or clattering up into my top bunk. However, on the last day, I saw a couple there who must have been in their 60s, though I think they had one of the private double rooms. There were two bathrooms for about four rooms with about 10 people. One bathroom had a single toilet, shower, and sink, while the other bathroom had one toilet stall, two shower stalls, one sink, and a long bench with a mirror running the length of it. I happily managed to do all of my showering in the bathroom with the single shower. The bathrooms and rooms were very clean, and were cleaned daily by hostel staff, but hot water was a bit limited, so showers had to be quick. I still used my robe, but there was not much of a point because I didn't want to change clothes in the room with other people, so I had to change in the bathroom anyway. A towel had to be rented for €2 ($2.16) for the stay, and a simple breakfast could be purchased for €3. I decided that if I had to buy breakfast, I would rather go out, and I could always find a coffee and some kind of bread or pastry for about €2. Coffee was only available at breakfast, but tea was available for free all day. The hostel staff spoke English, but didn't give a tour or take me personally to my room or arrange any group activities, and the reception closed from midnight until 8 am. The kitchen and dining areas were similar to the previous hostel, smaller, but clean and comfortable. I still didn't use the kitchen much except to heat up leftovers. I met travelers there from Taiwan, Japan, South Korea, Texas, Italy, England, and Chile. Most people were only staying one or two nights. This was also not a loud, party hostel, but with four people in a room, it was inevitable that people would sleep and wake up at different hours. Earplugs and an eyemask were a must-have to get rest. They offered the same laundry service as the previous hostel and the location was convenient. The room was on the 3rd floor and there was no elevator. There was a small heater in the room with only an on/off switch, but it worked pretty well. With no private room to hide in, I found myself spending more time in the common areas and socializing more, which turned out to be a great advantage. I met an Italian girl who had been in Seville for five weeks and gave me good recommendations for it. I gave her some tips for Lisbon where she was going soon. And we discovered that we were both going to Córdoba on the same day and both staying for two nights, so we were able to meet for tapas or dinner or coffee a few times and it was nice to have her as a companion for a few days.

Córdoba: 4-bed female dorm with shared bathroom, breakfast and towel included, $20.20/night

Having already gotten my bearings on how to manage a shared room, I didn't have much difficulty adjusting here. It also helped that this room had a better layout, and I had taken the advice of a guest in the Granada hostel to email ahead and ask for a bottom bunk, which was successful. There was one bottom bunk and one top bunk on each side of the room. At the head of each set of bunks were two stacked lockers, so the top bunk could use the top of the locker as a surface. There were personal lights and outlets for each bed, two chairs in the room, and more floor space. The locker wasn't quite big enough for both of my bags, but I was less paranoid now and felt comfortable with leaving one bag with no valuables under the bed. Most other guests here were also younger than me, but I didn't feel it as much. The bathroom ratios were similar to the Lisbon hostel and all had just one toilet, one shower, and one sink. Everything was very clean again, with plenty of hot water. I gave up on my robe and just left it packed while here. A towel and breakfast were both included. Breakfast was only cereal, toast, jam, and fresh oranges, and coffee/tea was available all day at no charge. The hostel staff spoke English and were more like the Lisbon hostel in welcoming, giving a tour, and taking me personally to my room. The reception was open 24 hours. They organized a few group activities, but less than the Lisbon hostel. The kitchen and common areas were similar to the other two, but on the 4th floor and with no elevators. Luckily, my room was on the 2nd floor. I didn't use the kitchen at all because it didn't feel worth it to buy groceries for only 2 nights, and tapas were cheap. In my room and at breakfast, I met travelers from Slovakia, Germany, Columbia, Canada, and Argentina. Earplugs and an eyemask were great again. The laundry service was only €5 for washing and drying. Location was convenient. We couldn't control our heating, so it was a little cold, but we had warm blankets. I again met a companion, a German girl who was going to Seville the day before me. We met again in Seville, had tapas, and saw flamenco together, which was really nice because I probably would not have gone alone.

Conclusion

Hostels are not just for 20-year olds, but you might start feeling more out of place the further away you get from 30. Still, people of all ages can be found in hostels and you are only limited by how self-conscious you feel. One of the lessons travel tries to teach is to feel less self-conscious and more confident, so the hostel environment can help with that. Shared rooms were nice for meeting people, but as an introvert, they left me feeling drained and really needing alone time, so I definitely prefer a private room. Having said that, I probably would not have met my two new friends if I had been in a private room the whole time, and they both made my travels happier and less lonely. So, maybe the best plan is to alternate private and shared rooms in order to be able to appreciate the advantages of both.

The Curious Case of Lights and Language

wanderlustgail — Thu, 28 Jan 2016 11:00:00 GMT

The curious case of lights

If you go into a bathroom in Europe and can't find the light switch, that's probably because it is outside the room. In the hallway. Where any passerby could turn the light off while you're using the bathroom and leave you in the dark. I did that very thing, mistakenly, to some poor soul at my hostel in Lisbon, Portugal, while searching for the hallway light. But despite the resulting paranoia that it would happen to me as well, it never did. It's remarkable that it doesn't happen more often. Why in the world would the light switch for a room be located outside the room, particularly a bathroom?! In what situation would that ever make sense?! And it was not just an irregularity of that hostel. I remember this arrangement from my previous trips to Europe and I have found the same phenomenon now in Spain. In my hostel in Granada, there was a puzzling layout where the switch for the sink light was located outside the bathroom, but the switch for the shower light was next to the sink. My husband even recalls a hostel in Hamburg, Germany, that had an absurd light switch with a timer outside the room. So, if the timer ran out, you had to either finish your activity in the dark, or find a way to pause and exit the bathroom in order to turn the light on again!

Speaking of timers, Europe also has lots of lights that only come on when motion is detected. It is a great energy-saving strategy, but it has some quirks. You might have to stumble halfway down a flight of rickety, wooden stairs in pitch darkness before your motion is detected. Or you might be in a public bathroom in a foggy 8th century Moorish castle where motion is detected only near the sink, but not in the stall, so you find yourself groping blindly for toilet paper. I have had the distinct pleasure of saving energy via both methods in the last weeks. :) Mind-boggling though they are, I still love discovering these quirks of Europe.

Language

In Granada, I found that English was less widely spoken than in Lisbon. I don't know yet whether that is a function of Spain vs. Portugal, or smaller city vs. capital city, or just an anomaly that I happened to encounter. At any rate, I was often forced to rely on my scant Spanish knowledge. I think everyone should experience not speaking the language at least once in life. It is quite an enriching experience. There will be fear when you cannot understand a situation and frustration when people dismiss you or are not helpful and you are unable to accomplish what you want. These are the times that show you what it is like to be in someone else's shoes. But there will also be enormous gratitude for a stranger's kindness and patience in taking the time to help you understand or in using mime to help you learn a new word. These occassions teach you how to treat other people when you find them in a similar situation. You gradually release yourself from the rigid constraints of what you want to eat or do, and instead become content with whatever you are able to manage. The smallest breakthrough, like understanding the price of something without having to see it written, brings the greatest pride of achievement, and you strive to improve yourself each day.

Coming Up...

Next, I'll try to give a review of staying in hostels again after 15+ years and point out some differences I've noticed between people in Lisbon and Andalusia. But for now, I'm off to something I've really been looking forward to seeing: The Great Mosque of Córdoba, first a Visigoth Catholic basilica, then converted to a Muslim mosque in the late 700s, then converted back to a Catholic church in the 1200s. It is supposed to be a fascinating mixture of the two religions and I can't wait to see it. Until next time!

Last Night in Lisbon, People, and Numbers

wanderlustgail — Sat, 23 Jan 2016 22:00:00 GMT

Last Night in Lisbon

I am sorry to see my time in Lisbon come to an end. It ushered me so gently into this endeavor that I have begun to feel quite comfortable here, and I am looking ahead with a little bit of nervous anticipation again. I have managed to see most of the big sights, including a day trip to mythical Sintra, so I spent my last day enjoying simply being here - listening to, observing, appreciating, and absorbing as much of the ordinary as possible. I have found that I still have to make an effort to be mindful and really live in the moment, so I hope to develop that ability as I go along. It was rainy and overcast the last two days, which made for an enchanting time in the Moorish Castle of Sintra, but today Lisbon rallied its best weather, a sunny 60 F (15 C), to bid me farewell. I wandered around and lingered by the river, which feels very much like the sea, dreaming about whether it would ever be possible for me to live in such a place as this, and if I ever were able to live here, wondering whether I would appreciate it as much as I do now, or whether this too would eventually be enveloped in the haze of the mundane.

A Short Review of People

Even though I overheard some German tourists joking about the "typische Südlander," into which they often group southern Europeans, I have found the Portuguese to defy that stereotype. To me, they seem more organized than expected, soft-spoken, patient, friendly, and willing to help, without the machismo. English knowledge is widespread and they project no bitterness or derision when speaking it with tourists. Shopkeepers do not pounce when you enter their shops. They keep their distance until you initiate contact, then they are welcoming and helpful, not pushy or aggressive. Their manner is a relief and makes the whole experience more enjoyable.

The young people look like young people anywhere these days with skinny jeans, big scarves, and smartphones. Boots are popular for women, but they mostly have flat soles. I imagine that heels would be a nightmare in this uneven city with so many steep hills to climb daily. For the same reason, I suppose, there are not many people riding bicycles, and they do not walk very fast for residents of a capital city. The people are fashionable, but not outrageously or uncomfortably so. They are, however, dressed for winter at 60 F. Their clothes are mostly black or dark, making them seem like shadows swirling amongst the bright colors of the buildings. In their present narrow strip of Europe, I wonder if they ever feel like shadows of their ancestors who built the first ever global colonial empire. I doubt that they do. The older people dress more formally, with men in vests under suit coats and hats, and women in smart, long woolen coats.

The written language is somewhat intelligible if you have a bit of Spanish knowledge. However, the spoken language has a surprising sort of Slavic sound superimposed on a soft Spanish sound and swallowed at the end of some words like French. As far as I can tell, the Slavic impression comes from the prevalence of consonants like 'zh' (as in vision) and 'sh' (as in ship) and nasal vowels. Overall, it is a pleasant language to hear.

There is enough of a police presence to make you feel that the area is safe without feeling militarized. Lights at pedestrian crossings are treated as only a rough guide. If no traffic is coming, most pedestrians will cross on red. The ones who do not cross at such times appear to be unsure tourists or smugly law-abiding citizens. ;)

The Numbers

For those interested in budget travel or just keeping up with whether I can stick to my budget of $50-75 per day, here are my numbers from the time I left my house until now, which includes eight full days. My transportation to Spain will be included in the next portion of the trip.

Airfare from the US to Lisbon (one-way): $96.40 + 20,000 AAdvantage miles
Shuttle from LGA to JFK airport: $14
Private room with shared bathroom in a hostel for 7 nights (breakfast included): $202.39
Lisbon guidebook: $11.19
Portuguese phrase book: $7.19
Daily expenses (food, entertainment/attractions, laundry, ground transportation, etc.): $209.31

Grand Total: $540.48

Average: $67.56 per day

I'm glad it is below $75 per day, but I hope to be closer to $50 per day in Spain. The hardest thing for me has been limiting the food costs. I love eating in restaurants and cafes, so I have found the food budget to be the biggest limiting factor and I have not taken much advantage of the hostel kitchen like I intended to. We'll see if I can improve on that later!

Lisbon Impressions

wanderlustgail — Thu, 21 Jan 2016 22:30:00 GMT

Lisboa, Lisbon, Lissabon, Lisbonne

Quote from Fernando Pessoa (1888-1935), Portuguese poet, born in Lisbon:

"Over seven hills, which are as many points of observation whence the most magnificent panoramas may be enjoyed, the vast irregular and many-coloured mass of houses that constitute Lisbon is scattered. For the traveller who comes in from the sea, Lisbon, even from afar, rises like a fair vision in a dream, clear-cut against a bright blue sky which the sun gladdens with its gold. And the domes, the monuments, the old castles jut up above the mass of houses, like far-off heralds of this delightful seat, of this blessed region."

Arrival By Night in a Strange City

As I arrived by plane, the graceful curvature of Lisbon shone against the sea and the night sky. This place would be my first real test, the place where my sabbatical would begin, and the place where I would start to find out whether I was made of the right substance for this quest. I splurged on a taxi, being too timid to try the metro for the first time with luggage at night. Bless the dear driver, who put me at ease with his kind smile, his patience, and his effort to speak with and understand me. He spoke very little English and I spoke very little Portuguese, but we found we could converse best in broken Spanish. How easy it is to find common ground when both parties are willing! While we squeezed through the narrow streets, bolstered by magnificent architecture on either side, I caught glimpses of even more narrow lanes falling away precipitously, flowing toward the river. I was already captivated.

My hostel room was perfect, just as I had imagined, only better: A small, safe, clean, and quiet room with a small bed, small table, and chair, right in the heart of Lisbon, in Chiado, the district of poets, bookstores, and literary cafes. It even had a small private balcony on which I could perch to observe the city at night while listening to live music from the square around the corner. In my mind, there could certainly be no better place than this.

Light and Shadow, Near and Far Compete for the Most Breathtaking Beauty

Wandering around Lisbon, it is hard to decide which view is best. Is it when the sun shines brightly and energizes the vibrant colors? Or is it under the clouds, when calm and melancholy dominate? Is it from the depths of the city, surrounded on all sides by cobblestone, fountains, Gothic gargoyles, and the ceramic azulejos tiles? Or is it from the heights, the lookout points called miradouros, from whence the clay roofs tumble carelessly in all directions? As soon as the best view is found, it is superseded by the next, because there can be no one best. The light is most beautiful only when juxtaposed with shadow, and the highest curve of the hill is only completed by the deep stone alley. Thus, you feel that you can wander Lisbon endlessly without tiring of it, constantly exploring, and approaching what you seek, but never entirely discovering it.

From across the river, the Rio Tejo, the statue of Cristo Rei contemplates the city. It is a jumble of white mounds garnished with muted pink and yellow accents. Bits of green can be seen, but there is an overlay of light gray that keeps the vibrancy in check. The windows and doors are narrow and not very tall, but still inviting. You feel that if you are quiet and contemplative, you might be invited inside. If you were to get inside, you are sure that you would want to stay.

Did They Get You to Trade?

Relaxing on my balcony after a day full of exploration, I could hear the live band around the corner covering "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd. How often I had listened to these lyrics in the last couple of years, thinking that my answer was yes. Now the words drifted up to me from the Largo do Chiado, "Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? Did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?" and in that moment, I could finally answer no, at least for a little while.