Andrew

Day 328: The day we almost got arrested.

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It’s not nearly as exciting as getting arrested could (should?) be. But it happened nonetheless. In Prague, of all places…

A little backstory: the metro and tram system in Prague require a ticket to be punched upon entry, but there aren’t turnstiles or even people watching, so it’s quite easy to sneak into the metro or onto a tram without a ticket. The clincher is that metro police (sometimes in plainclothes- at least when I lived in Prague they would often be in plainclothes) ride the trams, trains, and sometimes stand at the exit of a station to check for tickets. If you don’t have a ticket, you have to pay a fine. If you don’t have money to pay the fine, you will be escorted to an ATM to withdraw the appropriate amount. If you refuse this, you will be arrested.

This is where we got into a little bit of trouble, even though we tried multiple times to buy a ticket…

Day 328 Expenses.jpg

 

I’ve been adamant that we buy tickets for the metro. I told Andrew all about the police and how a few of my friends were caught. I might have even been caught as well when I was pick-pocketed and my monthly pass was taken in my wallet! Anyway, I’m all for sticking it to the man, but not when it come to the Prague metro.

We got down to the metro station without any change for the machines and an unmanned metro office. So we bought some expensive water to break a bigger bill and promptly returned to the machine and slipped in a 50 koruna coin for two tickets. The machine ate our coin. No worries- there was a person behind the ticket office now, we could get help! No dice. The woman refused to listen to us, going so far as to hold up her arms in the Korean-style “X.”

Twenty minutes had passed trying to do the right thing by getting a stupid ticket, the machine ate more than enough for two tickets worth, and now we didn’t have any change (again) to get tickets from the machine that could possibly eat more of our money.

“Let’s just go.” I suggested, annoyed and not wanting to lose any more money in a broken machine.

Two stops later, coming up out of the escalator tunnel, two metro men in uniform were checking for tickets. Of course. The one and only time we didn’t have a ticket, they stop us. I prepare myself to spend an hour looking through my backpack until the officers get bored and let me go. Andrew, had another idea. He wanted to be all honest about it… like it would work or something…

“We tried to buy a ticket, but the machine ate our money, and no one would help us.” he started to explain.

“But you got on the metro without a ticket! You have to pay the fine. Why would you get on without a ticket?” The metro officer asked.

“Because we paid for the tickets! And it’s the hottest day of the year!” I responded, as it was, really, the hottest day of the year in Prague.

There was a lot of back and forth. Andrew started walking towards the ATM machine to withdraw the equivalent of $80.00 to pay the fine for both of us. But then I got indignant. If I really hadn’t gone to such lengths to buy a ticket, let alone lost my money in the process, I would have immediately withdrawn the money. But we really did try to buy a ticket and the machine really did eat our money and the woman really did refuse to help us!

“Andrew, NO! Don’t get money out. I want to talk to the police!” I called over to him halfway across the station and the metro policeman got on his phone.

“They are on my side.” The metro policeman told me.

“Ok.” I said, as Andrew started pacing and going into a bit of a silent panic (he later told me he was trying to play it up, although I’m not so sure…) in front of the officers. I pulled out my camera and asked if I could take their picture while we waited. They declined. I didn’t ask about taking video…

Andrew sat down. I stood next to the officers, clearly not making any attempts to go anywhere, filming the process of checking tickets, and occasionally haggling them a bit when they missed checking someone.

“If you don’t pay, you go to the station, you can spend the night and call your embassy tomorrow” One of the metro men threatened.

“Ok.” I responded, rolling my eyes at the thought of calling my embassy. I wondered how long Andrew would let me be indignant. Would we really ride in a police car to the station? Would I be able to take pictures? How long would we stay at the station? Would I be able to video the station? Would there be an ATM inside the station for Andrew to withdraw money when he got tired of my antics?

And then a wave of commuters came up the escalator and the other metro policeman quietly, but rather sharply told me to “Leave immediately.”

I said thank you, signaled to Andrew, and we left. I have to admit, I was slightly disappointed I didn’t get to see what would happen once the police showed up, but I was excited to return to Radost FX for a delicious brunch and an overpriced (and under liquored) bloody mary instead.

Day 327: Yes, we do have planning days.

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A friend recently asked if we ever had these days – devoted to planning. The answer is a huge (HUGE!) “YES!” We were in desperate need of one today because we had to figure out a rough itinerary for Peru in case my Momma was going to book a ticket to come and meet us there. It ended up taking up most of the afternoon, and isn’t going to make for a very fun blog post for you. But, perhaps these pictures of Andrew will make up for it? He’s probably going to kill me (he’s sitting right next to me as I type this out, completely unaware I’m going to put up this glorious photo shoot we had in our oven of a hotel room before we left for the day. It all started when I spotted him getting ready with his bandana around his neck (like a proper prepster) on top of his collared shirt. I begged him to let me take his picture. He relented, even though it was really hard for him to keep a straight face.

Day 325: Mala Strana (part 1)

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My old ‘hood: Mala Strana. In 2006, I knew I was lucky to live here (two blocks away from the end of Charles Bridge) and loved every second of it. The neighborhood was (and still is) spectacular (albeit a bit more touristy than I remembered). I walked home either over the infamous bridge or towards one of the more famous churches in town everyday. My roommates were great. Even the ten flights of stairs to climb up to our apartment were more than manageable! It is probably my most favorite place that I’ve ever lived. I missed it all as we walked thirty minutes from our hotel room through the old town towards ‘the little side’ that used to be right out my bedroom window, and front door. Andrew humored me, and insisted he enjoyed hearing me reminisce about my year in Prague. We’ll all just pretend he really meant it and wasn’t tired of my stories after awhile…

I insisted the Kafka Museum was cool. I told Andrew that I’ve been, but still have yet to read any Kafka, so perhaps I should wait to return until I’ve read at least one book to better appreciate the museum. He agreed, and instead we took a picture of the statues of men peeing on a pool of water in the shape of the Czech Republic before moving on. If you want to read about the sculptor, David Cerny, and see more of his pieces, I suggest you check out this article. I had no idea he was the one responsible for so many works throughout Prague! 

Marionettes are popular here, and not just chintzy ones either. While one of our walking tour guides didn’t seem to understand their popularity, a Czech friend of ours remembered shows being put on for children at one point. I love (LOVE) marionette shops and dream of one day having a theater and put on a show much like the one in "The Sound of Music."

These marionettes only ran around $400-$600. I totally would have gotten them… you know, if not for the old budget. Oh right, and the fact that I don’t have a theatre yet, or a house to put it in, or a job to pay for it all…

After a quick lunch and some more of Mala Strana, we plopped down and took a nap in the park.

We walked back towards the area of town sandwiched in between Narodni Divadlo (the national theater) and Narodni Trida (where the best fried cheese sandwich stand used to reside). Walking around this town was like riding a bike. Usually Andrew relies on google maps to get us around, but I wouldn’t even let him peek at his phone, insisting I would figure it out. I did, and it felt good. What didn’t feel so good- eating cold (and overpriced) wings at Jama!

This restaurant, Jama- used to be a block away from where I worked. It had really cheap food (salads and wings were my favorites) and really terrible waitresses. We would go for lunch and try to order tap water with our food, and the waitresses would always insist, “It’s not possible!” wanting us to buy overpriced bottled water instead.

We would always grumble “IT IS POSSIBLE, YOU’RE JUST NOT GOING TO DO IT!” to each other and then order a (cheaper than water) beer instead. A friend of mine who left Prague only a year or so ago warned me about the decline of Jama, but I had to see for myself. At least now I know.

Paying a visit to one of my favorite places, which has (for the most part) remained the same made up for it. Hello, Usudu, you old friend! What’s great- is that it’s still pure awesomeness walking down several flights of stairs through an old, dark wine cellar that has been converted into a bar. What’s not so great- we learned later on that it’s on a tourist pub crawl and if you don’t time it right, you’ll suddenly be surrounded by thirty or forty twenty year old Brit boys drinking Pilsners in Prague for the first time.

Day 317: Ruin Pub Hopping

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You’re probably super impressed with our efforts to learn more about fascism and communism and what life was really like in Budapest during those times… How we spent an afternoon in the House of Terror and went on not one, but two three-hour walking tours in the past two days… After spending a week in Bosnia and Herzegovina trying to wrap our heads around the Balkans and the Bosnian War. Well, get ready to be equally impressed with our mission to check out as many ruin pubs as we could in one day.

It’s a day of drinking, folks!

In abandoned Hungarian buildings in the Jewish district of Budapest that have been transformed into what is arguably one of the coolest drinking scenes around the world. Yep. I said it: around the world. A few months ago, Al Jazeera published this pretty good read about the ruin pubs, and if you want even more information, a list of ruin pubs, a map, or even drinking coupons; then go here. (We totally should have gotten the coupon book when we first arrived to Budapest, if you like beer, or just hanging out in cool places, you should probably invest in one!)

So we got up and had breakfast… Andrew did some travel research, I blogged, and then we decided at around two in the afternoon, we could probably make our way to our first ruin pub of the day… I have to admit, we checked this out the other night after our tour and I loved it. But I wanted to take more pictures and figured it was a good excuse to return.

First stop: Szimpla, the original (and oldest) ruin pub. It was built, or transformed I should say in 2001. Even though I was here last in late 2006 (or maybe it was early 2007?) I don’t remember any ruin pubs being popular. We went out, and I remember the few places we went being very (VERY) cool- but not ‘ruin pub cool.’ According to Lonely Planet, it’s the third best bar in the world (in 2012). It’s kinda like that feeling you get of being ‘home’ when you’re drinking on a patio in Chicago, only edgier because you’re in an abandoned building surrounded by eclectic retro decorations and art installations and oh right, carrot vendors. One night we even walked past one guy performing a magic trick (which we read is a scam, so be careful!) while two fratty looking boys smoked shisha as they watched. I loved it. It’s laid back. It’s unpretentious. It’s just… cool. You can walk in as a tourist and take pictures before you sit down for a beer or you can meet your friends and film an Indian drum music video. We saw both. Simultaneously.

Yep, that’s a car in the middle of the garden. The interior had been redecorated. I was hoping it would have comfy old cushioned vinyl seats, but they had been replaced with a more outdoor appropriate bench. Although empty in the middle of the afternoon, I found the random rooms off to the side of the main entrance area just as interesting as the garden out back!

Carrots for sale? Yes, please! It’s very hard to turn down a fresh carrot. We actually went back another night and I was really sad there weren’t any carrot vendors walking around… I should mention too, that when we went back (on a Friday night) it was PACKED. There were security guards. There were groups of stag parties. There were locals expertly weaving their way through the crowd. Andrew and I didn’t even try to squeeze into the garden area and instead sat on an unclaimed bench in the main entrance area and people watched for at least two solid hours. It was awesome.

I guess some would say that the best part(s) of the Jewish Quarter are the ruin pubs that are scattered throughout. Obviously, we enjoyed them immensely. The beer was good. The atmosphere at each was pretty unique. There were a lot of international food choices in or near the ruin pubs… The list goes on. But one of my favorite parts was walking to and from each pub. The street art, the architecture, even the dilapidated buildings were fun to pass by, and of course stop and photograph.

Not far from Szimpla, is Koleves Kert (our second stop). It’s nice. In the afternoon, it was calm and quiet, but when we walked by on Friday night, it was bumpin’. I might go on a limb to say that this was the least, perhaps, unique kert. I love being in a garden, but as far as enjoying it because it’s a garden in Budapest, I don’t know if it’s worth it. The bathrooms were really nice though! I especially liked the rear-view mirrors in lieu of the more traditional type above the sink.

Directly across the street from Koleves, is Ellátó, garden and taqueria. Our third stop had a lot more character than Koleves (sorry, Koleves) but not as much as Szimpla or Fogas and the tacos are crazy small. Seriously. Crazy. Small. (There’s another taqueria next to Szimpla, so go there to get your fix.) It was still fairly early in the evening (ahem, afternoon) so maybe it’s more fun when there are more people around, but I wasn’t feeling it…

I thought perhaps we just haven’t seen a taco in awhile, and maybe sizes have shrunk… But even on the back of the door in the ladies room, one girl scrawled “THE TACOS ARE TOO SMALL!” and I wished I had my own Sharpie to scrawl “AMEN!”

Fourth stop, Fogas. Probably my second favorite ruin pub. They have chicken wings, people. How can any pub go wrong when there are cheap chicken wings available? It, like Szimpla has a lot of different rooms although, my favorite was the main garden mostly for the giant circus like ceiling.

We retraced our steps a bit for our fifth stop, Kuplung.

It looks super pretty with all of the jellyfish lamps hanging over the garden area. Had we known it was going to fill to capacity in the garden, perhaps we would have stopped in earlier instead of skipping over to Fogas. Because, instead of sitting outside and enjoying the ambiance of the garden, we had to sit inside.

And it was awful. Stop, if you can sit outside… skip it if you can’t. It’s advertised that there is dancing late night though, so maybe that’s worth it as well!

Sixth stop, Anker’t, the trendiest of trendy ruin pubs. Moby-esque music plays in the background. Wood beams and corrugated steel glow under both stark neon and soft paper lamps. The burgers looked ah-mazing. But I wasn’t hungry (after wings at Fogas, remember?) and sadly declined when Andrew asked if I wanted to order one. Every table was full, and often chairs were taken from tables of two. I’m curious what this place would be like really late. Would it stay the same amount of trendy? Would it get crazy? Go find out and tell me.

Seventh stop, Most. It was right around the corner from our apartment. It’s not on the ‘ruin pub website’ rather it’s one of their ‘recommended’ bars. It felt more like a restaurant than a ruin pub. I mean, it was a restaurant, and I think our waiter was disappointed we only ordered drinks in the garden. If you want Hungarian food (albeit a bit overpriced) go here. Perhaps the wine (bor) is great if they have an entire bar set up for it. But just to have a beer… nah…

To be fair, we also went to Instant on two other nights. Perhaps you’ll stop here at the end of one of your walking tours (we did on the Communist one). It was also right around the corner from our apartment and I was shocked to see a line down the block at around 11 one Friday. It felt a lot like Szimpla, only not as cool. The inside ‘garden’ had a retractable glass ceiling that was closed both nights we went in. It’s big. There are lots of different rooms, but it just felt like it was trying too hard. It was more on the ‘weird art’ style of things than the ‘retro cool’ that I like. If you’re into things like a herd of rabbits suspended from the ceiling, or photoshopped ‘family’ portraits, or even a very creepy mental-institution-like bathroom on display, then knock yourself out, otherwise stick to Szimpla or try somewhere new!

Day 313: We’re going to Zagreb?

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This was not a part of the plan. Sarajevo was closer to Budapest… And Budapest was THE plan. Little did we know, there were no direct trains nor buses between the two, despite it being a quick (six hour) drive… I suggested we hitchhike. Andrew brushed the idea off. Instead, we had to spend an entire day on a train to Zagreb, and then another simply to get to Budapest. I wasn’t happy. Andrew wasn’t happy. When we saw the prices for even just a hostel bed in Zagreb (after not hearing from any couchsurfers) we were practically dreading the detour.

The silver lining (after nearly missing our train out of Sarajevo waiting for the tram to the station) was that we scored our own cabin and I was able to recline the seats into a bed and sleep for the majority of the ride. I slept so much that when I woke up, Andrew questioned if I was feeling ok.

Another silver lining, is that when we were given the wrong tram information in Zagreb, and ended up having to walk several blocks to our hostel, Andrew carried my big backpack for me. He always does. He won’t even let me carry it anymore, and instead gives me his smaller backpack in it’s place. Sometimes though, I’ll trick him and I’ll get to both big backpacks first. This doesn’t happen often though, because he has this whole height/long leg advantage over me.

Whenever other couples see him with both big backpacks, the men roll their eyes and I have this feeling that they give me the once over thinking I must be sooo high maintenance. But then they usually see me schlepping behind with our smaller backpacks, a bag full of snacks (now including coffee and toilet paper) and my Nepalese yak wool scarf under one arm while I try to balance my camera in the other for either a picture or some video… Then they don’t know what to think. The women look at Andrew like he must be the sweetest. I always want to tell them that he’s equally stubborn- even if it’s in a completely charming and sometimes infuriatingly chivalrous way.

Day 309: Mostar and its bridge; JUMP!

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A friend commented on an Instagram photo I had posted last week, asking if this place really exists. It does. And it’s beautiful. During the war, and after, without the bridge intact, it probably (ok, I’m sure it definitely wasn’t) as pristine looking… But now, thanks to the reconstruction of the bridge, and a growing young population ignoring the rules of the previously divided Croat vs. Bosnian sides,  the town seems (at least to my visitor’s eye) to be one again. Despite a plethora of tourists walking through the town during the day, it was a fraction of how crowded the streets were in Dubrovnik and Kotor. In the evening, only a handful of visitors roamed the cobblestoned alleyways and the town had a bit of magic in the air that gently reminded us both how lucky we were to be able to visit and enjoy this little town together.

We started our day in Mostar at the Museum of the Old Bridge. It’s on the small side, basically housed in one of the towers (Tara tower) and discusses the history of the original construction. It provides views of the bridge from above, a walk through the older underground sections below, and a bit on the destruction and reconstruction. I know, you might be a little surprised at my (our) interest in a museum dedicated to a bridge… But it really was quite fascinating. The architecture is pretty amazing and the history involving the destruction during the war is eye-opening. Normally, I might not suggest starting with a museum like this, but in this case, I highly recommend it.

Damage to the city, from the war, is still evident. Buildings like this one dotted the streets. Usually, when we visit a city devastated by war at some point in history, it’s so far in the past that only a museum serves as a reminder. You get an entirely different perspective when you look at a building crushed by a bomb or riddled with bullet and grenade holes.

Crossing the bridge, I was surprised to see a young man standing on the edge of the bridge, acting as if he was going to jump. I waited (as you can see in the video) and then got bored… waiting. As we walked past him, I asked if he was going to jump.

“If 25 euros are collected, then I will jump!” He answered.

“Ohhh, I see…” Andrew sighed. I rolled my eyes. He stood on the ledge all afternoon. He was there all throughout our next museum visit in the opposite tower. He got longer shorts when it looked as if it was going to rain, but still stood out on the ledge. He was even standing on the ledge a few hours later when we climbed up a minaret down the way for a different view of the bridge… I didn’t (and still don’t) understand their system. Why these boys don’t have an organized daily jump surprises me. It seems as though it would be a much better idea to have a daily jump at a specific time everyday. Ask the city if they will sponsor them, even if it’s just by printing flyers and advertising their daily jump on their tourist website. Pose for pictures before the jump. Jump. Collect donations afterwards. Boom. One hour and done. I’m sure they would even make more than 25 euros per jump!

Instead, dude stood around on a ledge of a bridge for at least four hours waiting for one person, or a crowd to take it upon themselves to collect 25 euros for him to jump. Lame. Unless he likes the attention, which could very well be his thing… but it didn’t look like he ever made any money standing on the ledge all afternoon…

We walked out of the old town to see what Mostar was like outside the historical/bridge area. The most interesting thing we saw was an abandoned building that looked as if it was a graffiti mecca. That, and judging by the amount of empty bottles of beer littered around the floor, that it was/is probably a local night haunt for Mostar teens.

We made our way back towards the old town, looking for the mosque with the minaret that had a wonderful view of the bridge and both banks of the river. Koskin-Mehmed Pasha’s Mosque is small, and we were told it is no longer in use, however a man was praying inside after we climbed down from the minaret.

You go to this mosque, not for the interior, but for the view of the town (and the bridge) from the minaret. Climbing the minaret wasn’t my most favorite thing to do, but once you get to the top, you’ll see that the short climb (going in circles in the dark) is worth it.

Towards dusk, we went around to the other side of the old town and sat at the water’s edge to take some pictures of the bridge at night.

I even set up the self-timer and scurried across the rocks to sit with Andrew for a few pictures of us. If I was looking at these pictures of another couple, I would roll my eyes. I told Andrew just that.

“Ohmigod, these pictures are sooo cheesy!” I started laughing at us.

“What? It’s not our fault our love is so adorable!” He responded, on his way into the bathroom, and then he promptly yelled at me that I had left a turd in the toilet.

“Well, I don’t know how it got there!” I just yelled back.

Day 307: Walking the walls of Dubrovnik

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Walking the walls of Dubrovnik is the number one thing to do. I remembered loving it a few years ago, but also being very (very very) hot when I went in the middle of the afternoon. We decided to go as late as we could to avoid the heat and the wave of other tourists. It’s supposed to take roughly an hour to walk the walls around the entire city. We tend to dawdle. We sit. We people watch. We take pictures. We talk (or, I talk and Andrew pretends to listen). It took us nearly two hours, but that was also considering we got caught in a downpour and had to wait out the rain as I didn’t want my camera (and my fancy lens) to get soaked. The price to get on the walls has gone up in the past few years, and might make someone on a budget cringe… but it’s worth it, and you won’t regret the leisurely stroll, the views, or the pictures you’ll have afterwards!

Our thirty minute walk to the old town was not without some beautiful scenes along the way. This fancy gated in pillar lined road caught our eye, we think it was to a university or a library of some sort. Then what looked to be an average residence also boasted a pillar lined walkway. We made the executive decision that our house shall also have a pillar lined walkway in the future. Maybe not the one we plan on finding in Brooklyn next year, but the one after that?

While waiting for the sun to go down a little more before we headed up to climb the walls, we strolled through more back alleyways. Some postcards in a shop doorway caught my eye. I ducked in and found out the shop was a relocated/former gallery (Galerija Sebastian Atlas Dubrovnik). I keep trying to buy smaller art (I have too much art for a girl without walls as it is) and settled on a postcard print of a painting by Zvonimir Lončarić.

We made our way up to the walls, hoping most of the ‘cruisers’ were making their way back onto their ship(s). It wasn’t as crowded as I thought it would be, but still a lot more crowded than it was when I walked the walls with my friend, Jess a few years ago.

The view of the city was beautiful, so I’ll let the pictures (the many, many pictures taken of similar rooftop scenery) speak for themselves:

Aren’t the little boys ready to ring the bell cute? There were lots of bells on the rooftops actually, and we wondered why. My guess was that they were used to warn other houses of danger, like a fire, perhaps?

Not even a third of the way around the city, we heard thunder in the distance. We could see the rain coming down further down the coast and hoped that it was moving in a direction that would magically avoid us on the walls. You can’t have a rainbow without some rain though, and a faint one appeared over the sea.

Thankfully, the walls above (and around) the city weren’t as crowded as the streets within. But the rain was moving towards us, and with about half of the walls to go, we weren’t sure we were going to be able to avoid it.

And then it poured. I tucked my camera under my arm and we stood under an overhang until the heaviest part passed. All of the sidewalk cafes cleared out and I had to tiptoe on the slick stones so I wouldn’t fall. We didn’t have too much left to go, and made it in time to meet Josh and Leanne and two of their friends visiting from ‘merica for dinner at the cafe at the foot of the mini Spanish steps.

We thought the prices were reasonable when we looked at the menu the day before. We didn’t take note of the price of beer. (Curses on our forgetfulness! For this is typically the best way to figure out if a restaurant is over-priced or not… knowing roughly how much a beer should cost.) In Kotor (Montenegro), an expensive beer within the walls was a little more than two euros. Usually at a store, a beer costs somewhere around 2-3 euros. We found out in Dubrovnik, an expensive beer within the walls was six whole euros.

I know, you might be thinking that six euros for a beer isn’t sooo bad… Especially if you’re on a short vacation (and you have a job that you receive a check from every other week). But again, when you’re traveling around the world for months on end… when you have ordered a beer for as little as $.25 in previous countries… it simply takes away from the experience a bit. Travel shouldn’t be tainted by expensive food and drink. I don’t foresee Dubrovnik losing visitors anytime soon. It’s a beautiful (stunning, gorgeous, lovely) city. But I do foresee Dubrovnik losing backpackers, students and/or budget travelers. I couldn’t have agreed more with what the cafe owner said the night before about needing a week to really see and appreciate Dubrovnik, but I’d rather spend my money elsewhere if it’s not going to get me very far in this beautiful walled-in city…

Before the end of the night, we took turns playing scenario (it made up for the six euro beers): 

Day 299: Traveling around the world is no holiday

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You know that feeling you get in the middle of winter (granted, that feeling you get when you live somewhere that gets cold for months on end) and you’re just not… happy. There’s nothing particularly bad going on in your life, it’s just… winter and chances are you’re lacking Vitamin D or something and you’re just a little sad and you feel a bit lethargic? That’s what Month 10 has been feeling like. Again, being sick – then Andrew waking up with similar sick-ish feelings – then finding out we got a speeding ticket in South Africa- then finding out Citibank has been charging me up to $20 for each ATM withdraw. It hasn’t been good. I’ve found myself all through Month 10 going through the motions of getting up, packing our bags, and walking around a new town following a strange, but somewhat set routine. I was going through the motions much like I used to do going into work everyday. Only, we’d be in a different country every couple of weeks (sometimes days) walking around so much beauty and history and learning so much more than I ever did going to the same job day after day. It made me stop and think. I wondered if continuing this epic trip really WAS worth it or not, especially if I was being so blasé about it. It sounds crazy, I know. Many people think traveling around the world is a never-ending vacation. It must always be easy and magical and awesome, right? But the truth is- it’s SO MUCH HARDER and more challenging than I thought it would be. And sometimes – quite simply – there are days like these. Traveling around the world is no holiday.

I debated quitting the trip. Really, I did. Instead of my goal to finish a children’s book about a girl from Kentucky going around the world- what if I were to rewrite The Little Engine that Could. Only, it would be The Little Engine that Couldn’t. I mean, who needs to achieve things? What’s wrong with QUITTING? I even wondered what the point of continuing this blog everyday was. The last time I posted about a bad day (in India, involving pushy tuk-tuk drivers) I got a somewhat negative comment that the reader didn’t appreciate my lack of optimism and excitement about this trip. I tried to explain I still was excited, but it was a bad day, and especially in India, bad days happen. I reminded myself that I am NOT a travel writer (even though I KNOW travel writers have bad days, too). I’m a photographer. an artist. I wanted to document this trip as it really is- as it really can be- not a blog that sugar coats travel, the challenges involved, you know… life.

I figured I would keep traveling, but continued to debate blogging about it. Maybe that one commenter was right, who wants to read about bad travel days? I tried to convince Andrew that no one really reads the blog anyway… But he didn’t buy it. He was all “You’ve done it for this long and you’re going to quit now?”

“Yep.” I responded, obviously letting my emotions get the best of me.

I lusted after a group of friends drinking coffee outside in a cafe and told Andrew, “I wish I had friends…”  He reminded me that I have them. I grumbled that it didn’t feel like it.

I checked my Instagram feed. Usually this makes me feel better. I cooed (Lit’rally, cooed) over an adorable baby picture that my friend posted. I nodded my head in agreement at one of the comments declaring adorable pictures like this one were making her baby crazy. And then narrowed my eyes when I saw that the new mom had urged her Instagram friend to “Do it” as in “Do it, have a baby.” Like it’s THAT easy. Sure, the picture makes me a little baby crazy too, and I’d like to have a baby, too- someday. But right now, I’m busy!

If you follow ME on Instagram, you’ll see just how busy I am, playing ‘Edward mug-hands’ in Bucharest. Visiting Dracula’s Castle just outside of Brasov. Photographing street art in Belgrade. And more recently roaming the streets of Montenegro and now, Croatia. I’m trying to tackle my dream of traveling around the world for one year, even if it includes trying to ignore the fact that I have a pending speeding ticket in South Africa. I have a pile of expensive American Citibank ATM fees that I haven’t had the chance to sit on a long distance phone call to the bank to take care of. I have worn the same five outfits for the past ten months. I haven’t slept in the same bed for more than three (ok, maaaaybe four) nights in a row. I can’t even go out for dinner without doing some kind of currency conversion to figure out if I can afford to eat at that particular restaurant or not. And now Instagram is telling me to “Do it, have a baby!”

As if Facebook wasn’t enough pressure, NOW Instagram, too?!?

This is my dream. This is my dream. To travel around the world for one year. I’m doing it. It’s really hard sometimes, but I can do it. 

I tried to remind myself over and over again.

Andrew could tell I wasn’t in a good place. He tried to remind me how many people might not be able to relate to our feelings on this trip and perhaps they have a different view of it entirely than we do- especially on our worst day.

I’m sure he was (is) right. He usually is (even if I don’t admit it to him).

I recently wished a friend (on Facebook, of course) ‘Happy Birthday’ I told him I hoped it was awesome.

He responded “Not as awesome as a year long vacation!”

I yelled at my ipod, “VACATION?!? YOU THINK THIS IS A VACATION? THIS ISN’T A VACATION!”

I told Andrew about it. He laughed. And agreed, but reminded me how much we’re going to miss it when it’s over. I sighed. Again, knowing how right he is. He went into his usual pep-talk about this trip and all that we have learned from it. About us, and what we’ve managed to survive together. About how bored we’re going to be days when we get back to ‘merica, but how we’ll appreciate it so much more because we haven’t had a home for so long and how we haven’t been surrounded by friends for so long and how we haven’t had a coffee shop or a bar where we can simply walk in and say “I’ll take the usual” and they’ll know what we’re talking about. And not because we both speak English, but because we saw them last week and the week before that, and we ordered the SAME thing!

I heard him out and eventually I tried to focus my attention on all of the positive of this trip, instead of the ten months without a home and the related feelings that were starting to suffocate me. I focused on the emails from my friends (and family) that DO stay in touch and tried to forget about the ones who really haven’t. I focused on those who have said “Thanks!” for postcards I have sent home. I focused on Andrew’s Dad (yes, you!) who I know appreciates reading this blog (even though I know he won’t like hearing how stressed I was on this particular day). He constantly tells Andrew how much he enjoys it, and that makes me want to continue working on it.

I reminded myself of the day we spent at Angkor Wat, the day we arrived in Kathmandu and got incredibly lost only to find our way again. I remembered paragliding over the Annapurna and then finding a hole in the wall Korean restaurant after. I remember seeing the Taj Mahal for the first time and it taking my breath away, and then a month later celebrating New Years Eve in the desert outside of Dubai. I thought of Petra, the Western Wall in Jerusalem, floating in the Dead Sea, meandering through the medinas in Morocco. Sub-saharan Africa and going on not one, but two safaris. Spending a day with the Masai. I thought of meeting up with fellow travelers in Istanbul, motorbiking around Santorini, and now jumping around the Balkan States on a whim (because it’s cheaper than jumping around Western Europe).

I thought of Andrew and how lucky I have been to share all of these amazing, wonderful, beautiful moments on this trip and told myself that this day, shall too, pass.

They always do.

I find sleep (and sometimes a beer and/or a good cheeseburger) and meeting wonderful people helps.

And that’s exactly what happened. We arrived in a rainy Belgrade (from Timisoara, Romania) well after dark, but were welcomed with open arms into our latest couchsurfer hosts’ abode. Before I could even continue thinking about how hard Month 10 has been, we were recounting all of our adventures to our new friends, Vladimir and Marija. They excitedly listened like we were all old friends and both Andrew and I became equally excited hearing about their upcoming trip to The United States. It was even a bit encouraging listening to their professional accomplishments, and hearing how awesome they thought WE were for taking a chance and doing this trip. We stayed up late talking and when we finally went to sleep, Andrew and I exchanged a smile that was so full of gratitude we didn’t quite know what to do with ourselves. Other than, of course, sleep a bit better than we have in awhile…

Day 297: a rainy Sibiu

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We’re nearly at the ten month mark, and we’ve hit a lull – to say the least. The rainy (and sometimes very cold) weather in the middle of what is supposed to be summer has not been helping matters at all. I woke up not feeling well. at. all. and we decided to stay a day longer to give me a chance feel better without lugging bags across the country and being on old European trains (that I quite enjoy when I’m feeling well). Luckily (in a way) it turned out to be a rainy day in Sibiu and I didn’t feel as guilty staying in bed for half the day before we ventured out to try to see the town. We were two of the few jumping over puddles and ducking under overhangs to stay out of the rain as we walked around. The city is pretty adorable and its description as being a smaller, untouched ‘Prague’ was pretty accurate. My favorite part of the city: the little windows on the roofs that looked like little eyes watching your every move. I kept waiting for one of the eyes to wink at me.

We came across this pillar that boasted handmade nails from craftsmen who resided in Sibiu and had completed their ‘traditional journey’ (which lasted three years and one day) were invited to decorate the pillar. I’m not sure if the tradition has lasted until today, but it was a fun to see outside of the church (especially as the church was closed and under construction).

After about an hour of walking around in the rain, we debated what to do and felt bad wanting to go ‘home’ and get warm and dry. Instead, we rallied through and went into the Brukenthal Museum to check out the Romanian art exhibit. It was nice, there were a few pieces that I really enjoyed and we wondered if one of the rooms of portraits was the same that our friend had mentioned to us. The girl who we rode from Brasov with said there was one room where all of the portraits would watch you wherever you stood in the room. I’m not positive, but I think the first room (of the Romanian exhibit) was what she was talking about. It was a little creepy and most of the pieces were by the same artist, so it made sense.

Day 212: More of Nampula

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Really, all we did was hang out. I just wanted Andrew to get better, even if that meant another boring (for you), relaxing (for us) day.

We did sneak out of the hostel to go back to the bus station to check on times and tickets for the bus out the next day. When we pulled out our original tickets and pointed to Andrew’s leg, trying to explain how we had to go to the hospital… the boys on the bus exchanged looks and one of them got on his phone. We waited.

“You have to go to manager.” The one said after he put his phone back in his pocket. Andrew was perplexed. I was hopeful, thinking that maybe we would get lucky and the tickets we paid for, but didn’t use would somehow get us a free seat on the next bus down to Vilanculos. We hopped in a taxi and headed across town to the office. I should say “office” because, it was simply another dirt parking lot with a different bus sitting in its lot.

We asked around for the manager and then handed over our tickets. Three men eyed them. One did not seem happy. I crossed my fingers that the laid back one would sway the not as happy one and again, we waited. We stood outside the bus, while they talked, got on their phones, talked some more, before eventually one of them said “Ok. Tonight. You will go. Ok.”

Andrew tried to ask where he would sit, trying again to point to his leg. This didn’t go over too well. We didn’t want to push our luck and wanted out of Nampula, even if it meant that we would possibly have to stand or perhaps sit in the aisle for the 16 (more like 20) hour ride.

Day 211: Teaching Euchre to a South African

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I convinced Andrew we needed to stay an extra day to recover. I was worried (and he was too, even though he probably won’t admit it) about him being on medication with unknown side-effects, especially before an 18+hour bus ride down to Vilanculos. We stayed. We taught Eben and Annelies how to play euchre (more like reminded Eben, as he knew how to play) and relaxed for one more day before dealing with another (hopefully the last) long, uncomfortable bus ride through Mozambique.

Day 210: Andrew goes to the doctor

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We let Andrew sleep in, and then called the clinic. The doctor who spoke English (and treated Eben) wouldn’t be in the office until three. Eben and Annelies warned us it would be a wait once we got there. It probably wouldn’t have been as long had someone let us know we needed to sign up to see the doctor. Instead, they directed us to the waiting room and told us “ten minutes.” Like, maybe, they thought we just wanted to hang out for a few hours for fun. When we neared our third hour of waiting, I nudged Andrew to go talk to someone. He found a German dentist. Because, isn’t that what everyone expects to find in a Mozambican health clinic?

Turns out, the German dentist could speak Portugese and he was able to help get us into see the doctor. Less than another hour of waiting later, Andrew was on the examining table, and I was sitting across the doctor’s desk like a worried mother hen. Andrew described the accident, the swelling in his one injured leg, and now the recent pain in the other leg.

“What about your toes?” The doctor immediately demanded. My eyes grew wide and I couldn’t help smiling in that ‘I WAS RIGHT!’ kinda way. Here’s the thing: Andrew’s toes are gross. They have been gross for the entire three years (THREE YEARS) we’ve been dating. He has always blamed running. He used to run 10 kilometers several mornings before work in Seoul. He’s flat-footed. He blamed the running and his flat feet for the state of his toenails. Andrew avoided eye-contact with me and brushed it off with the doctor before he further examined him and ordered a blood test.

We waited. We got the blood test. We waited for the results. We were called back into the doctor’s office to find out something was off. He had an infection and the doctor was going to give him antibiotics and ibupofen and some cream for his toe-nails.

Seven hours in a Mozambican clinic suddenly felt like a small price to pay if it meant Andrew’s toes would no longer be as gross. Oh right, and his leg would stop swelling and the pain would go away.

We got back to our hostel, Eben, and Annelies after nine o’clock. They had dinner waiting for us. Really. They sat around the kitchen table with us while we heated up our dinner and shared the events from the doctor’s office with them. We went to sleep, Andrew thinking we were going to leave the next night, me thinking I absolutely didn’t want to rush anything.

Day 148: La Tour Hassan

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La Tour Hassan is the tall red sandstone tower, a minaret that was supposed to be the largest minaret in the world, with what was supposed to be the largest mosque in the world. Unfortunately, the Sultan in charge died in the middle of construction, and the minaret only reached half of its intended height. There are 200 columns also unfinished, yet providing a really wonderful area to sit and talk or, my favorite; people watch.

On the other side of the square of half finished columns, the mausoleum of Mohammed V contains not only his tomb, but those of his two sons, King Hassan II and Prince Abdallah. My favorite part of the mausoleum were the guards that stood outside every door and inside every corner of the mausoleum. I walked out of the dim interior to a blinding sun above and nearly walked into a column outside. The guard at that door laughed and agreed with me that the sun was too bright! Seriously, the sun is crazy bright. I’ve been blinded since we arrived in the UAE- had a brief respite during the snowstorm in Jordan, but then was blinded, again, by the light in Israel and now Morocco.

Because we were too late to rock the kasbah (that’s for you, Mindy) the day before, we went back to check out a cafe that our new friend Catherine recommended. We walked through the garden, at a different entrance of the kasbah and directly to the cafe. We had our first official tea a la menth in Morocco (mint tea) and ohmyyum is all I can say. I’ve been drinking way more tea than coffee on this trip, and I have to admit, I think I like the mint tea more than the chai in India and Nepal. They call it ‘Moroccan whiskey’ here because everyone drinks it all. the. time. (Although I don’t really get why they call it whiskey- because no way could I drink whiskey as often as they drink this tea. I think ‘Moroccan water’ might be a better term for it… But… I don’t think I’ll be changing any minds any time soon.)

Another thing I don’t quite understand are the motorbikes. They really are motorBIKES with pedals AND an engine. From my observations, it seems as though the pedals are used to kickstart the engine, but I’ve also seen some people pedaling their motorBIKE with the engine running. I don’t get it. They’re pretty cute though.

After we had our fill of the kasbah, we debated what to do for dinner. Andrew and I are very different travelers. I’m used to traveling without the internet at my disposal and making decisions as I go. He looks up cities, hotels, restaurants online- seeing where to go and where to avoid, and is way more prepared than I ever am. Great, right? He’s prepared. I’m spontaneous. The perfect balance. In the perfect travel world, yes. In our travel world, not. so. much. This overwhelming difference between the two of us sometimes results in stony silences during dinner. Stony silences that include agreeing on what to order and even sharing our food- poutily (is that word?) and silently, until one of us caves and starts talking. Lindsay said her family wondered what we do when we just want to be alone. Well, we don’t always have that luxury. Frankly, I don’t feel safe being alone in Muslim countries. Men leer. They catcall. It makes me uncomfortable. It makes Andrew extra protective. So instead we wrap ourselves up in our own little worlds like we did tonight at dinner until one of us realizes how ridiculous we are being and we talk our way out of it.

Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes it’s real hard. But we get through. And then Andrew teases me the next morning “Remember when you were mad at me for wanting to eat at a Trip Advisor restaurant?” and I fire right back “Remember when we ate at the Trip Advisor restaurant and it sucked, was expensive, and I was still hungry after?” I give him the “AND what?” face. He rolls his eyes. We carry on.

Day 137: The joys of traveling around the world

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“Smell my fleece.” Andrew demanded. I kept seeing him sniff different parts of it while we had been sitting in front of our computers in the hostel lobby. The joys of backpacking are not limited to smelling each other’s clothes, shoes, bodies at various times. I leaned in.

“Was your fleece on top of your shoes? Because it smells like it. Right here.” I pointed to the left side of his chest.

“Not here… but, right. here.” I said after sniffing around his chest, noting that there is something seriously wrong with us that we are willing to do such activities without hesitation.

“I knew it! Ohmigod I can’t wear this today. We HAVE to do laundry!” He said, and then we went upstairs for him to exchange his smelly fleece for a scarf instead.

My friend Michelle recently asked and made the comment “How is it wearing the same clothes over and over again? These are the kinds of things that people who are too scared to do what you’re doing say is the reason they arent doing it.”

Sometimes, it’s not fun at all. I fall asleep thinking of the variety of shirts and jewelry and bags and heels I have waiting for me at home. Who needs to count sheep when one can lust after her own closet thousands of miles away. Wool sweaters that are too bulky to pack. Dangly earrings that aren’t meant for overnight buses or camel safaris in the desert. The cocktail dress that is not wrinkle free. My silver pointy pumps. My green ballet flats. My ‘moquestian’ boots. I miss my shoes the most. 

This is when my Mom starts singing ‘Material Girl’ and I do not disagree. I miss it all. Sometimes I wear the same outfit for three days in a row because it’s the only thing I have that is warm enough. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve worn mascara on this trip. I’m pretty sure both pairs of my leggings (that I wear as pants, sorry Casey) have holes in them. And I still despise my backpack/daypack situation.

I miss having my own bed, clean sheets, and a pillow that is just right. I hate carrying my computer, DSLR body and three lenses around all of the time because I don’t feel it’s safe to leave behind in our hotel or hostel room. Relying on Skype to call your Mom or your best-friend is the WORST. Unless you keep getting sick in Nepal and India. In that case, that’s the worst. And you miss being able to safely lay down on the bathroom floor knowing you just scrubbed it a week or two ago and it’s relatively clean.

I haven’t cooked anything- as in follow a recipe and/or make something from scratch- since… August? I am officially ‘dog-crazy’ meaning I want one and have to have one right now. But I can’t because Andrew says it’s impossible or whatever while we’re traveling around the world. I miss wing nights and having a ‘place’ where you you go for a beer after work or to meet your friends for dinner. I miss my friends. Desperately. Especially of the girl variety because I’m tired of Andrew rolling his eyes whenever I mention movies starring Channing Tatum.

But.

Like I told Michelle, and like I remind myself constantly, it’s all temporary. And it’s totally worth it. Because when you’re walking through the Siq towards The Treasury in the middle of Petra, you’re not thinking about the closet full of clothes at your parents’ house. When you’re paragliding off the Himalayas, you’re suddenly not so worried about the backpack you’re going to have to pack up and haul around the country when you land back on the ground. And when you’re able to swap out a lens to get a close up shot of the kid hanging out on the Palestinian rooftop, you suddenly don’t mind having carried it around for the past four months straight.

Day 114: Andrew reads the “news”

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Our dear friend, Kate got into Goa in the wee hours of the morning. We stayed up late, chatting, and then slept in late before getting coffee and being entertained by Andrew reading the “news.” Then we spent another day on the beach, but this time with a GIRLFRIEND! It was pretty great! I can’t even begin to tell you how much I miss my girlfriends from home (both Kentucky and Korea!)… so having at least one of them around again was the perfect Christmas present.