Day 347: Museé D’Orsay, Rue Cler, et La Tour Eiffel

We were supposed to go to the Louvre. Until we discovered the Lion Entrance was closed for the day, and we became apprehensive of the long line through the Pyramid Entrance… so we headed to Museé D’Orsay instead. “What’s in the Museé D’Orsay?” Andrew asked. “Some Degas… a lot of impressionists, but the best part of the museum is the building itself. It’s in an old train station!” I explained, as we walked across the bridge. Afterwards, we strolled through the infamous (thanks to Rick Steves?) Rue Cler and then sat in front of the Eiffel Tower until the wind picked up and it began to rain, signaling it was time for us to head home!

Museé D’Orsay is an art museum that displays collections from 1848 to 1914. But it wasn’t always a museum. Before the 1900 World Fair, the French Government gave land to the Orleans Railroad Company. The Company in turn, decided to build a new railway station where a palace once stood, also named D’Orsay. (Quelle surprise!) Because the location was somewhat in between the Louvre and the Palais de la Légion d’honneur, all involved wanted a station that complimented its surroundings.

Architect Victor Laloux won a competition to design/build the Gare D’Orsay in 1898 and it was completed in time for the World Fair in 1900! The station was in operation for 39 years until the platforms had become too short for the newer, longer trains. A couple years later, a hotel complex threatened to destroy the old station until the Museums of France decided to instead, turn the station into a museum. In 1978, the building was declared a historical monument and it was commissioned to be a museum. In 1986, President Mitterrand inaugurated the museum and it was opened a week later on December 9th.

While I love the impressionist collection the most – and the Opera exhibition as well – I continue to find the history of the building itself (especially the old clocks) more fascinating and worthy of a visit. Andrew asked if this station was where Hugo was filmed, I assured him (wink wink) it was. Please don’t tell him otherwise.

On the top floor, you can enjoy lunch or dinner in a small restaurant in front of one of the huge intact clocks before stepping outside on a balcony overlooking the Seine, the Tuilleries, and even Sacre Cour in the distance.

After the Impressionist collection, you exit the wing facing another giant intact clock. In other words, my absolute favorite part of the museum. If you wait long enough other tourists with cameras will clear out and you’ll be able to get a picture without any of them in front of the clock. I couldn’t resist this ajjumma (older Korean woman- in a visor nonetheless) and her daughter in front of the scene though!

It’s huge, as you can see, and worthy of an entire afternoon. The beauty, however, of revisiting museums in Paris is not feeling the need to see absolutely every work of art inside. We saw what we wanted to see, and after a couple of hours, we made our way out satisfied with our visit and less stressed than most who try to speed through in order to see it all!

We made our way over to Rue Cler, passing Les Invalides, at which point I declared to Andrew that it was one museum I refused to walk through again. I went with my Mom a few years ago, and military museums, even if it includes Napoleon Bonaparte’s tomb, are not for me. If you’re into history. war. armies. Check it out. Otherwise, keep walking (like we did) and head to Rue Cler, or the Eiffel Tower instead!

Rue Cler, was a result of my recent Google search for what to do in Paris. Like I said before, I wanted to mix as many new things into our itinerary as possible, so when I found a Rick Steves’ article all about Rue Cler, I thought it would be fun to walk through! We weren’t the only ones, as I saw others with laminated Rick Steves’ Guidebooks stopping in front of the same stores we were stopping in front of, reading the description. It was fun and felt like we were on our own walking tour, one that we could easily pop in and out of shops for fresh veggies (i.e. more avocado) and fresh pastries and a baguette for dinner later! I’ll let the pictures do the talking, and if you’d like to read more information about each shop or the street itself, click on the link above and read what Rick Steves has to say about it!

And then, only a few blocks away, we found ourselves standing in front of La Tour Eiffel. In English, obviously, The Eiffel Tower. We stopped to take pictures, we sat to eat our apple tart, and when we were too chilled to linger longer, we started walking closer arriving underneath the tower just as it started sprinkling rain down over the lines and lines of people winding around the bottom of the tower waiting for their turn to see the view from the top. I was grateful Andrew didn’t care to go up the tower, and instead we entertained ourselves photographing the tower from below.

I know, it’s probably overload, but I couldn’t help taking advantage of my zoom and getting some closeup photos. With the overcast sky, I’m sure they’ll look better in black and white, but that additional editing will probably happen when I get myself more in order and put images up for sale!

While walking back “home” we passed the Liberty Flame practically in the middle of a large intersection on the other side of the Seine. According to the plaque at the base of the sculpture, “The Flame of Liberty. An exact replica of the Statue of Liberty’s flame offered to the people of France by donors throughout the world as a symbol of the Franco-American friendship. On the occasion of the centennial of the International Herald Tribune. Paris 1887-1987.”According to one reviewer on Trip Advisor, it stands at the entrance of the tunnel that Lady Diana died. I’m not entirely sure of that fact, but it does make for some interesting speculation regardless.

Day 346: Bonjour de Paris!

Bonjour Paris et Bonjour de Paris! After a quick relocation of our things, we were off! Lunch on the Seine, a tour of the Left Bank (or Latin Quarter, whichever name you prefer) and a leisurely stroll back through the city past the Louvre, the Opera, and a quick duck inside the Galeries Lafayette for some new clothes, some perfume, a Prada purse or two… Or… in our case, the magnificent view of Paris from the roof!

Full disclosure: This is not my first time in Paris. Andrew asked me exactly how many times I’ve been to Paris, and I was a bit befuddled that I wasn’t exactly sure. (Yes, I totally admit that this detail about myself is ridiculously annoying.) There was my high-school exchange trip and the whirlwind couple of days we spent in the city hitting all of the tourist spots in obnoxious tour group fashion. There was my college trip with two of my best friends after the month we spent studying at  L’université d’Aix-Marseille. Those few days I decided to return on my own after galavanting around Germany with a friend after our month in Aix… Then the time I met my Mom for a weekend in Paris before she spent a week visiting me in Prague…

And now, with Andrew. I warned him it had been awhile (six years?) since my last visit. He was prepared for Korean to come out amidst my French. I was prepared to revisit a lot of places. And we both tried to prepare ourselves for how expensive we heard the city had become. I looked up a vast amount of alternatives for us to do in addition to the usual (museums, Eiffel Tower, etc. etc.) so we would both be happy and off we went!

“Well, that’s certainly new to me!” I responded as we stood on one of the bridges overlooking a man-made beach. We later learned, Paris Beach, or Paris Plages is an artificial beach built every summer for locals and tourists alike! How fun! Instead of lounging, we went to the opposite bank and had lunch on the Seine. I have to admit, it doesn’t get any more French than sitting down on the bank of the Seine with a baguette tucked under your arm and cheese, fruit, and more stashed in your backpack. I’m sure the French would have tsk-tsked us for having coffee instead of wine, but hey, we tried!

Our plan was to meet outside of Notre Dame Cathedral to go on another free walking tour of the Left Bank with Discover Walks Paris. (My mom and I stayed in a hotel on this bohemian side of Paris, but I didn’t know a whole lot about it and thought it might be fun to start our visit here!) We had enough time to check out the church before the tour started, but after seeing the loooong line to get in, we enjoyed the view from the outside instead. I was a little taken aback at the crowd- I’ve been inside the church not only as a tourist, but for a mass!  Where did all of these people come from? From what we heard, clearly they were all from North America- and it was weird. We were surrounded by tourists in Istanbul to the same extent, but it was a much more international crowd. Not so in Paris. I’m pretty sure everyone spoke English.

The Left Bank Tour started with a friendly and handsome Parisian tour guide, and we were immediately led across the bridge to the Left Bank right smack in front of Shakespeare and Co. bookstore. It was here where many famous writers hung out, sometimes just to write, sometimes to sleep, sometimes both. But more on it later, because Andrew and I knew we were going to come back and hang out a little inside rather than just in front of the shop in a big group.

Fun fact: Paris parks are awesome. Not only can you do whatever you want in them (eat. drink. sleep. work.) there is free wi-fi. Pay attention other international cities. This is a remarkable thing to offer, and chance are you can afford to provide the same amenity to your visitors!

We walked through streets with leaning buildings that we were told was done on purpose. Otherwise, at a right angle, the buildings would collapse due to the soil below. It’s a bit interesting because when you’re standing in the middle of the street, it’s not nearly as noticeable until you’re looking at it from the end and then you can really tell the difference!

Quick tip for when you go to pick up some cheese to go with your baguette: pick a shop that has a “Meilleur Ouvrier de France” sign. This store clearly won a competition and was voted the best of France! Similar signs will be on other shops selling bread and meat!

We did a quick re-enactment of Cyrano, walked past the Sorbonne, took a group picture, and then our guide bid farewell- but not before he suggested we give 10 (or maybe it was 20?) euros each as a tip. My eyes grew wide. Whichever amount it was, it seemed a bit ridiculous and after doing countless tours around Europe on this trip, I somewhat apprehensively looked around to see how much other people were giving. For the record, Andrew and I usually give somewhere between the equivalent of $5.00-$10.00 for an hour and a half tour. This tour was barely 45 minutes, and 20 of those minutes were our fellow tour members re-enacting Cyrano on the sidewalk! I saw one American (he was from Chicago. Gold Coast.  – I asked.) whip out not only 20 euros but an additional $10.00 bill to give from his family of four and I was somewhat shocked. With over twenty people on our tour, this dude made a killing. Not with any help from us- as we gave our usual amount…  But if everyone gave what he suggested… who needs a 9-5 when he can take advantage of first-time “free-walking tour” attendees and work less than an hour a day in Paris!

The BEST “free” tours are the ones who do it for the fun of it. Not for how much money they will make at the end. Furthermore, the best guides are those who don’t even suggest a specific amount! If you find yourself on one of these free tours, a great introduction no doubt, but certainly not the best we’ve been on- don’t be pressured into giving anymore than you feel is a worthy amount. Consider how long the tour was. Consider how many people are on it. Consider how much you learned. But definitely don’t consider their suggested amount. It’s undoubtedly inflated, and if anything, it makes me want to give less!

Now, about Shakespeare and Co. Aside from hosting the likes of Hemingway and more, the shop continues to be a bit of a refuge for writers and readers alike. Our guide told us about work-exchange positions that the shop offers to travelers. In exchange for a few hours of work each day, and the commitment to read at least one book per day, the shop offers free room (and maybe board? I’m not sure) to the lucky participant. I asked the guy standing at the door supervising the line (yes, there was a line to get into the shop) how he was enjoying his position. He said it was great. I asked how I could find out more information about it and he vaguely told me to ask at the desk. On our way out, I did just that, and the girl behind the register vaguely told me that the woman in charge was busy (she was right behind her and I’m fairly certain she heard our entire conversation) and that I should stop back in later. I asked if there was any information I could put up on my blog about our trip around the world and the girl responded…

“Well, you just have to come in and talk to her, she has to get a feel for who you are in person…” and she smiled, signaling the end of the conversation.

“That was weird…” I said to Andrew on our way out, relaying the conversation to him.

“Unless, she recognized me from the security camera taking pictures in the forbidden to take pictures area upstairs…” I wondered.

Sorry, Shakespeare and Co., but I couldn’t help it. For the record: another girl was taking pictures and I asked if we were allowed, she shrugged, and continued to take her own pictures. Why shouldn’t I?! Also, I don’t exactly understand your rule. I didn’t use flash. I wasn’t disturbing anyone reading (not even that dude below, who I super sneakily photographed in passing, I promise) and the old guy who looked so lovely in front of the window smiled and said something along the lines of “Feel Free!” Don’t you want others to see how beautiful your shop is and how full of wonderful character it is? Maybe I’m just another annoying visitor with a camera, but chances are someone is going to see these photos and know more about Shakespeare and Co. because of them! (Unless you email me demanding I take them down, which I will, albeit a bit sadly.)

Somewhat overstimulated, we began walking back towards our little apartment we were couchsurfing in for the next three nights. I took advantage of my zoom lens to photograph the bouquanists on the other side of the street. These river-side vendors sell old books, prints (new and old) and some artwork. They are lovely.

Walking through the Louvre, we eyed the line outside and debated when we were going to visit. Certainly not this afternoon, not so late. It’s advised to enter through a different entrance, one that is flanked by lions, not through the giant glass pyramid.

We continued down the street, and I couldn’t help but overhear a father point out the Hotel de Louvre sign to his children.

“See that sign? And the window above it? That’s where Mommy and Daddy stayed and we have a picture right at that very window!”

I thought it was the sweetest thing. I whispered what I had overheard to Andrew and turned around to point the adorable family out. The father was taking a picture of his family. I cursed myself for not sticking around to offer to take a picture of all of them together.

Galeries Lafayette. We walked in at first and I was sure we were in the wrong location. And then… we found the atrium and I knew we were in the right place. How unbelievably photogenic is this store? I know, I know, you’re probably channeling my mother singing “Material Girl” to me, but I couldn’t stop taking pictures! Even the top of the dome, outside was interesting to me. The lines. The behind the scenes of what everyone else was concentrating on drew me in. Andrew was beyond patient (as always) while I went from window to window getting as many unique angles as I could.

And then we found ourselves on the roof. Another new view to me. I had never been here before! I always thought the best view of Paris was from the Georges Pompidou Museum… But now I think we have a fierce contender. We were there right around dusk and it was pretty smoggy, so we made plans to try to come back to capture a more picturesque sky.

Day 301: an extra day in Belgrade

We decided to stay an extra day in Belgrade because we were slightly rained out the day before, and well, we loved our hosts. We probably could have done a lot more with an extra day in the city, but we enjoyed walking around and people watching, and then looked forward to dinner with Marija and Vladimir and then, bonus: Vladimir’s adorable brother. Andrew asked about what life was like during the war, a bit hesitant if it would be a touchy subject. Vladimir kinda laughed at us and said it was a bit of the elephant in the room and that they expected most couchsurfer guests to ask about it. It was interesting to hear how mostly, in Marija’s case, she remembered being bored at her Grandmother’s house outside of the city.The bombings were mostly spot on their government building targets that school would be canceled and… well in a very broad sense, that was it. They asked us what we thought about it, and didn’t judge me when I basically said I was preoccupied with high school,  learning how to drive, and didn’t know much about the situation. Sometimes I feel a bit silly, at how much of a bubble I have lived in (in America). I also continually wish I had paid more attention to my History classes and wish I had made it a point of keeping up on my current events more. Learning so much everyday on this trip is great, as long as you can ignore how much of an idiot you are for not already knowing (or remembering) it.

One of my favorite parts of our conversation was when we mentioned our plan to travel until Thanksgiving. Andrew asked if they knew about American Thanksgiving. Our new favorite Serbian friends promptly made fun of him for asking, insisting that they’ve seen Friends. I assured them that it’s tradition that someone must get the turkey stuck on their head every year. (wink wink) Vladimir’s brother thought for a minute and then agreed, he had seen it on Grey’s Anatomy.

As a former English teacher, and somewhat lazy language learner myself, it continues to amaze me how much English (and culture in some cases) others are able to pick up from American television shows. Then Andrew and I both admitted that so many Americans can be too lazy to watch foreign language films.

We were laughed at again.

“But, that’s how you watch a movie!” Marija or Vladimir exclaimed.

“Not in America… We remake the entire movie!” Andrew shook his head.

Day 300: Travel Angels in Belgrade

I’m not sure if Marija and Vladimir really exist. Because I’m pretty sure they were angels sent down by the travel gods to remind us why we are doing this epic trip around the world. I mean, obviously they are real people. They are real, wonderful, lovely, hospitable Serbians that were a breath (of very much needed) fresh air. We woke up to a home-cooked Serbian breakfast and more enjoyable conversation. So enjoyable in fact, that they lit’rally had to remind us that we were there to see their city, not to hang out in their apartment the entire time! And off we went, to walk around town and see the Belgrade Fortress.

We walked through the main street in town, enjoying the relaxed nature of the city. Granted, it was a Sunday, but it was so calm and enjoyable! People were out and about walking their dogs, playing with their kids, having coffee (or beer) with friends. It was lovely. Andrew and I agreed that it was the city (so far) in the Balkans that we would pick to live in. Nothing against the others, there was just a more gentle, relaxed vibe here that we both noticed immediately.

We headed to the Fortress and sat people watching most of the time. The weather was beautiful right up until we timed it perfectly to sit down and have a coffee. And, then it rained. We used the weather as a good excuse to look for new shorts for Andrew (ok, I’ll admit it, and to look at the sale prices in Zara for me) and then, when we couldn’t figure out where the movie theater was in town (to see if Despicable Me 2 was playing), we headed back to Marija and Vladimir’s.

If you missed Day 299, you should know that it was a rough day, nearing the end of a bit of a difficult month of travel. Not the month specifically, nor the wonderful places we visited, but more like the length of this trip hitting me hard. Staying with Marija and Vladimir could not have come at a better time. Whenever we tell people (especially Americans) unfamiliar with this network, they usually gape and question our level of crazy for showing up to a STRANGER’S(!) house in a foreign country to spend the night. We’re familiar with this response. Pretty much everyone who is on couchsurfing is also familiar with this response, and we all laugh about it together. But the truth is, we’ve had a really wonderful experience with it and staying with Marija and Vladimir is no different. We went out for dinner, and again, stayed up later than we (at least Andrew and myself) usually do chatting. We tried to express how grateful we were to have met them, but they shrugged it off, not taking us seriously at all. Later, I had to restrain myself from giving them a big (huge) hug goodnight.

I went to bed thinking not of how hard Month 10 has been, but how wonderful this opportunity (and MANY opportunities along the way) to meet them has been. Sometimes on this trip, our emotions get crazy. They swing back and forth from one extreme to the other, and I have to remind myself of that before I inform Andrew that I’m ready to jump ship. Or maybe, I have to remind myself to thank him for not taking me too seriously.

Day 228: another rainy day in Durban

I make mistakes all. the. time. But I try (emphasis on try) to own up to my mistakes, and/or at least apologize for them. Our host did not apologize for waking us up in the middle of the night. He acted like nothing happened the next day, while avoiding eye-contact. This did not bode well with me. But again, I reminded myself that I was sleeping on his couch. for free. without having known him prior.

It was another rainy day. We did much of the same as we did the day before. We also made plans to leave earlier than planned and were motivated to have more control over the rest of our time in South Africa by renting a car. We stopped by our host’s restaurant, and had a few drinks. I really enjoyed our host’s friends, but again, we excused ourselves early as we had to pick up our rental car and start driving down to Cape Town early the next morning. 

Alas, again, we were woken up in the middle of the night. Our host wanted to tell Andrew he would be outside. I think he wanted to have another heart to heart. Andrew didn’t humor him this time. We woke up to a hand written note about how cool we were. Unfortunately, we didn’t leave him a similar note.

Day 227: a rainy Durban

That’s all it did. It rained. We went to a cafe and did some work and slipped “home” early for a dry, cozy night in. We went to sleep not long after, and then in the middle of the night, the lights were flipped on, and our host was standing before us as we were blinking sleep out of our eyes, while swayed, asking if we could move,  so him and his roommate could eat dinner and watch tv.

It was 3:30 in the morning.

I sat up, briefly, wondering if this was going to be the couchsurfing experience that my cousin, Amy was afraid of. Then I realized, he was drunk. Wasted. Yet harmless, and so was his roommate. I laid back down on my couch and shut my eyes, hoping they would lose interest, turn off the lights, and go to bed instead of hanging out in the living room, where we were trying to sleep.

Andrew, on the other hand, shook himself awake, sat up, and humored our host. He is a champion. Andrew, not our host. I listened as Andrew told them both what we did during the day.

“DO YA WANT SOME CHIPS AND CHICKEN?” Our host’s roommate yelled. I heard Andrew respond that he was ok. If my eyes were open, they would have rolled. We were asleep, no, we don’t want to eat chips and chicken. It was nearly four. in. the. morning. And we’re only three feet away from you. Why are you yelling?

It’s since become a huge inside joke between me and Andrew, yelling to each other in our ridiculous attempts to do a South African accent “DO YA WANT SOME CHIPS AND CHICKEN?”

Andrew explained how we went to a cafe, how I wanted to try to catch up my blog about our trip… and that the weather really kept us indoors…

“YOU DIDN’T GO TO THE BEACH? WHY DIDN’T YOU GO TO THE BEACH? DON’T YA LIKE THE BEACH? IT’S WONDERFUL. YOU CAN WALK ALONG THE BOARDWALK, THERE’S ALL SORTS OF CAFES AND SHOPS… IT’S THE BEACH! GO TO THE BEACH!” The roommate continued yelling.

Andrew, again, tried to explain that it was raining all day. We like the beach. We’d love to go to the beach. When it’s not raining… Eventually the roommate lost interest, or was full of his CHIPS AND CHICKEN! and went to bed. Our host took that as his cue to sit down with Andrew and have a heart to heart about how much he wants to travel and a lot of other possibly too personal things to share online. (This has happened before, where people we meet along the way seem to be intimidated by the fact that we’ve been, and will be traveling for awhile longer. This seems so silly to both me, and Andrew. As wonderful as this adventure is, there have been hiccoughs (like tonight?) and sometimes we miss the “normal.” It’s an adventure. A wonderful one. But it is a challenging one. Dude owned his own restaurant. Bottom line: grass is always greener.)

Anyway, his heart to heart somehow included showing Andrew his camera and taking pictures of me (trying to sleep) with the flash on. I reminded myself we were sleeping on his couch for free and continued to pretend I was asleep. He talked for awhile. Andrew listened and agreed with everything that he said, playing along.

“He was just drunk…” Andrew came to his defense the next day as I shook my head in complete awe that the night happened. Until now, we have had a flawlessly wonderful experience with couchsurfing, and while this experience wasn’t the worst experience ever, it is now the story we tell when we’re asked if we’ve had a bad experience.

“I don’t know if I should admire you or think you’re an idiot for how patient you were!” I told Andrew. He explained how he’s done this before. Humored good (but very inebriated) friends when they have no control over themselves after several drinks.

“But, they’ve (his friends from home) earned it. He (our host) hasn’t.” Andrew concluded.

Day 222: Joburg Neighbour Goods Market

There are good people in the world. And those people are couchsurfers. In this case, our hosts. If you’re unfamiliar with what couchsurfing is, just check out their website to see. We couldn’t do this trip without it and will forever be thankful for the opportunity to be a part of this crazy, yet unbelievably hospitable community. Our hosts for the night (and the following few nights) graciously picked us up from our hostel (we later found out it was roughly thirty minutes away from where they lived) and took us to the Joburg Neighbour Goods Market for the afternoon!

Niel and Resh tried to explain that they get out more when they host and appreciate where they live even more. I hope they weren’t just saying that to be nice. When Resh insisted on buying us coffee, Niel joked that she was rich and could afford it. I wanted to explain how meticulous we are with recording what we spend everyday. How not paying for coffee today could mean I could buy a beer tomorrow. On top of not spending money on accommodation for the night or a taxi to get to the market… Instead, I thanked them both profusely. for a my first latte in three months. (Because Uganda and Tanzania export all of their coffee, using the cheaper Nescafe instead. I’m assuming the same goes for Mozambique- but I don’t know if coffee is a big export for them, or they simply don’t grow it. Either way. We’ve been drinking Nescafe for awhile now.)

We walked around the market. Andrew and I were overwhelmed. It’s the same kind of reverse culture shock I get whenever I’m in an American grocery store after being in Korea for extended periods of time. (Once, an aisle of hummus and an attractive store clerk- who spoke English! – sent me running home without any groceries at all. I was so overwhelmed and didn’t know what to get or how I would ask someone for the cut of pork that goes in kimchi chiggae in English that I ran.) Now, going to any kind of grocery store is an adventure for the two of us, so an artisanal foods market was overwhelming.

Cheese. An entire stall devoted to Mexican food. Pizzas. Sushi. Homemade jams. Sausage. Beer. Mimosas. Champagne and Oysters. Bread. Sandwiches. Burgers. Quiches!

There was everything… except… black people. Being in Africa for three months, reminded me of what it was like in Korea at times. I didn’t really think I stood out until a child would touch my hair or my arm, or I would be sitting next to someone with beautiful skin that looked a bit different than my own and be so envious of how they would never be pasty white. As in Korea, in Africa, I got used to standing out from the crowd a little. In Korea, I would notice more readily when another “foreigner” was around. Now, in South Africa, here at the Neighbour Goods Market, I noticed more readily how many others looked similar to me and how few looked different. It was strange.

“There’s a lot of white people here.” Andrew stated the obvious within the first few minutes of walking in the doors.

“Yea… Weird…” I agreed. That, and the plethora of options to eat continued to befuddle us throughout the afternoon.

After the market, we headed back to their place where we sipped on Scotch and a South African cream liquor while we watched 2001: A Space Odyssey. Andrew and I could not stop saying “Thank you” and were in constant awe of how easy everything was after Mozambique.

Day 158: another broken down bus

We stood outside of the bus not five miles outside of Essaouria and I counted how many buses have broken down on us on this trip. One in Nepal, one in India, and now this one in Morocco? That’s it? It sure feels like there were more… But here we stood, on the side of the road facing another broken down bus.

It was pulled over after a strong gas smell filled the back of the bus (where we were sitting). We climbed out. We waited. We were told to climb back on. We waited some more. Then another bus pulled up and we were told to get on the other bus. Eight hours or so later we pulled into a station in Casablanca.

We made our way back to our first couchsurfer hosts in Morocco- at least we made our way back to their apartment. We kinda fell in love with them our first weekend in Morocco. They made breakfast for us, allowed us to crash their dinner parties, and even took us around the black market. So as if that wasn’t enough straight up goodness- when we let them know we were coming back in town for two nights before our flight(s) down to Uganda, they let us stay in their place even though they had volunteered to go on a school field trip for the weekend.

Obviously, it should go without saying that we were disappointed we wouldn’t get to hang out with them some more before we left Morocco… But after the LONG day getting back into town, we were elated to have a place to crash. One that we were familiar with. One that had a bathroom that I didn’t have to put shoes on to go into… One that had a kitchen.

It was glorious. They were/are glorious. Sometimes it’s easy to get frustrated with the travel- with the cultural differences- with the cab drivers. But when we meet people like Catherine and Brian, it totally restores my faith in not only travel, but humanity as well. Now we just have to time it out correctly to run into them again in Europe this summer when we’ll all be galavanting around the same continent!

Day 157: Essaouria’s medina

Essaouira’s medina is pretty similar to the medina in Rabat. It’s nice, but it lacks the charm that the medina in Fes is so full of. Also, we began our day with possibly the worst breakfast we’ve had in all of the nearly six months we’ve been traveling. So… that certainly didn’t help matters. But after walking around the medina, we settled in for some soup and internet at a really lovely cafe on the edge of town, almost towards the port area. It made up for breakfast. As did being able to snap this picture of a man wearing a jalaba. Most Moroccan men wear these. It’s pretty much like being in a Star Wars movie when they walk around with them on.

When we got back to our couchsurfers’ place, another surfer had arrived for the evening and had just finished preparing dinner for us all! They all obliged me with my self timer during dinner.

Day 144: a stopover in Belgium

We landed in Liege, Belgium at five in the morning. The bus to Brussels didn’t come until seven thirty. The glass building we had to wait in for two and a half hours was cold. drafty. unpleasant. Andrew walked around to find a warmer spot. We moved our bags and sleepy selves to an elevator bank in the middle of the lobby that opened up in front of what looked like a banquet room. Higher, and surrounded by another layer of glass, it was warmer. I laid down on the floor using one of the backpacks as a pillow. And then the banquet lady came. I actually don’t know who she is, but she was not happy to see us. She told us (en Francais) that we had to move. I asked why. I told her we were cold, that there was no one around, and assured her it would not be a problem for us to stay there (in what I thought was Francais). I don’t think she had any coffee yet, because she didn’t take my response well. She threatened security on us. I think I responded that there was no security in the building… like there weren’t any other people in the building either. Because, I’m sure, there really wasn’t. There was me. Andrew. one other girl from our flight. and this crazy lady.

“‘Whey’ is ‘why’ in French as well?” Andrew asked as we sat there for a few minutes, not wanting to give in so quickly.

“Oh. no. I guess I was also speaking Korean to her…” I responded. Andrew laughed.  (I totally forgot until later when our new friends reminded me that ‘Whey’ is the slang version of ‘Yes’ sooo maybe she was just angry I was being so informal with her, when in fact, I was just speaking Korean to her.)

We moved back down to the drafty part of the lobby. Nobody showed up to the banquet room before we left. I was really hoping we would run into the banquet lady before we left so I could say “Ohhh Regard tous les persons!” which is the only French I could think of saying after a night of no sleep and eight years of no practice. (I know, I know, it’s probably wrong…)

We took a bus to Brussels. Got a waffle. Then a train. Got a waffle. Then another bus to the airport. Got some french fries. We tried to sleep. Checked into our flight. Went through Passport Control. Got grief about how full my passport has become. Slept at our gate. Found out our flight was delayed. For four hours. Ate some terrible airport food. Boarded our flight. Arrived to a rainy Casablanca. Paid too much for a taxi into the city. Arrived to our couch surfer hosts’ apartment close to midnight and crashed.

Day 133: The Old City in Jerusalem

The Old City is where religions collide or live harmoniously, depending on how you view your glass… Within its walls are The Wailing Wall (also known as The Western Wall) and The Temple Mount for the Jews. Just on the other side of the wall lies The Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque for the Muslims. On the other side of the Old City, a mere ten minute walk (if you know where you’re going and you’re not like us passing it up by accident more than once) is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre for the Christians. It was a long, religious filled day. After spending two months surrounded by Buddhism in S.E. Asia and then two months surrounded by Hinduism in Nepal and India… one day of three different religions was a lot to wrap my head around. It was overwhelming and spiritual at The Western Wall, calming outside of the Dome of the Rock, and familiar inside the Christian Basilica.

We headed to The Western Wall first. It’s the holiest site (right after the Temple Mount) in the Jewish religion as it’s the only remaining wall that surrounded the Jewish Temple’s courtyard. From my understanding, the Jewish Temple and the Temple Mount itself is so important because, according to Judaism, it’s where Adam was created among many other significant events recorded in the Bible. The first temple was built by Solomon (son of David) and then destroyed by the Babylonians. The second temple was built by Zerubbabel and then destroyed by the Romans. It was sometime at the end of this ‘Second Temple era’ that it’s believed the current walls were built by Herod the Great. (I think.) According to  (Jewish) TRADITION! (sing it Mom, I did that for you) it’s believed the third and final temple will be built here.

When we arrived at the Wall, Andrew and I stood behind a high dividing wall set up in the middle of the square dividing it into a large section for men and a smaller section off to the right for women. I stood and watched the men for awhile performing lots of Bar Mitzvahs with a few older men praying against the wall. It was full of life. There was singing and dancing and younger boys-turning into men were hoisted on fathers shoulders and led back to their awaiting families, with women on the other side of the wall watching all of the activity.

Obviously I could not go into the men’s side, so when I spied the entrance of the women’s side, I marched right in. There was no singing and dancing and cause for celebration. Instead, I was faced with the reality of the wall’s nickname; The Wailing Wall. Women anxiously pushed (but not in a rude way, just in an urgent I need to pray real bad kinda way) their way towards the wall to reach out and stuff a prayer written down into a crevice or lean up against it as they whispered their prayers into the stones before them.

Some women stood a few rows away from the wall with open prayer books and Bibles (I think, I’m assuming, they were Bibles) crying and praying. Some silently. Some out loud. It was powerful. I haven’t been so surrounded by such fierce prayer since… since… I don’t know when. For someone who hasn’t exactly been practicing, I was surprised by how much it took my breath away. There was a certain charge to the air. I’m sure it was the general energy of all of the women there, but I have to think it was more than just their (our) energy alone. As I walked out a mother and daughter walked backwards out of the designated women’s side to the open square, like they couldn’t turn their back on the Wall. It made me smile as I followed, facing them as we walked out at the same time.

Ok, so what’s confusing to me is that even though the Wall is technically a part of Temple Mount, Jews aren’t even allowed on Temple Mount itself because according to the Torah, it is forbidden due to it’s sacredness. I feel I need to take a course on Judaism and Islam in addition to Buddhism and Hinduism. Can one study all of this out of curiosity? If only…

Fortunately, visitors like myself are allowed to cross over The Western Wall into the designated Temple Mount area. This area is also the site of the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque. Although it’s under Muslim control, The Rock (which resides in Dome of the Rock), according to Jewish TRADITION! is where Heaven and Earth meet. The (Sunni) Muslims regard Temple Mount as the third holiest site in Islam. It is the ‘Noble Sanctuary’ where Muhammad ascended into heaven. The Dome itself is one of the oldest Islamic structures in the world. This ownership dispute between the Jews and Muslims is at the top of the Arab-Israeli conflict.

So just like that, we were out of intense Jewish TRADITION! and in the middle of a calm Muslim garden and pavilion outside of Dome of the Rock. Not allowed inside the Dome of the Rock, Andrew and I sat in the sun until we were kicked out for prayer time.

Moving onto the third religion of the day, we walked through the Old City to the Christian Quarter. I have to admit, walking through the narrow streets and up the stairs past different Stations of the Cross- like where it was ACTUALLY a Station of the Cross (not just a plaque on a church wall), I felt a wave of “Oh Jesus was a real person?” wash over me. When you grow up in the Catholic Church taught to believe in God, it can feel a bit forced and in a way, mythical at times. Or maybe I’m just a bad Catholic… I mean, obviously, I’m a bad Catholic. A few people I went to high-school with probably already have made a list of reasons to back up this claim.

But being in the Old City in Jerusalem and walking past these clearly marked Stations towards the Church of the Holy Sepulchre makes being a Catholic and the plight of Jesus a bit more real. I’ve gone to a Catholic school my whole life, and I’ve never heard that the Hill of Calvary (where Jesus was crucified) is currently an altar that looks like a mini church built inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. It makes everything more believable. 

Furthermore, the Sepulchre (tomb) is right at the entrance of the church under a line of candles and more often than not, kneeling pilgrims kissing the rock itself that Jesus is believed to be buried underneath. It is also believed that he will be resurrected at this very spot as well. Today, the Church is shared between Eastern Orthodoxy, Oriental Orthodoxy and Roman Catholics. A Muslim family holds the keys to the Church itself to avoid conflict between the different Christian sects.

Worn out by religion, we headed over to the swanky hotel our couchsurfer host, Meidad was working and told us to meet him. He was full of enthusiasm when he met us and called us out on looking worn out. I think he thought it was from the four and a half months of travel, even though it was more from the day making sense of three different religions and one history. He poured us a much needed glass of wine, directed us to the rooftop restaurant for some warm bread and a beautiful view of the city, and then took us home with him at the end of his shift.

Day 1: The beginning, on three hours of sleep

After a year of planning, a summer of packing, a month of moving, and a the most stressful final two weeks I’ve ever experienced… I thought this day would never come. But it has. And we made it. Aside from the 54,000 won baggage fee Air Asia forced us to pay for our backpacks, on top of the three hours of sleep we managed to sneak in the night before we left, we’re in good spirits.

We arrived in Kuala Lumpur in the late afternoon, and made our way to our very first couchsurfer’s apartment. Before we left, I contemplated leaving my mini-umbrella and a pair of slip on nike (somewhat rain-proof) shoes behind. Thank God I didn’t, because when our subway car pulled into our final station, the doors opened to a downpour and no cover over the station platform. Andrew sprinted out of the train car, while I casually pulled my umbrella out of my backpack pocket and tiptoed between massive puddles to the covered platform.

Our couchsurfer host, Anwar, although gracious to open his apartment to us for the night, didn’t provide his exact apartment number. This was problematic when we tried entering the complex. The guards (who didn’t speak English) were ready to turn us away until a kind resident (who spoke English) asked if we could go inside the complex and try to call him from the cafe within. Anwar finally came down to get us out of the rain, took us to a chain noodle restaurant for dinner, and seemed to get the most animated when we told him about the K-pop slam game we were playing with our students before we left Korea, which was cute. Not so cute; he knew all about Gangnam Style. (Seriously, how did that song travel so quickly?)

One cold shower later, in a bathroom that was obviously used by men only, (Anwar has two dude roommates) I was grateful to sleep longer than three hours, even if it was on a foam mattress on the floor. It’s pretty incredible that perfect strangers will open their home to a fellow traveler to sleep for free, right?