Day 381: Puna Tienda Galeria featuring: Jorge Flores

You know what’s awesome? Walking into a new city, or making a new friend, or visiting a creative space and being completely swept off your feet inspired. Which is a little like being swept off your feet in love for the creative types. At least, for me it is. Anyway, I was certainly swept off my feet when we stepped into Puna one night on our way home this week. Not only was I immediately nostalgic for all of my art supplies, sewing machines (I have two. I think. In my sister’s room and/or somewhere in my mother’s house…) and a permanent space to be creative, but I also wanted to stay in Puna forever. Or buy everything I loved so I could at least take it with me. Instead, I asked the two wonderfully sweet girls working if I could return the next afternoon to photograph the space and perhaps learn more about what fueled something so creative and contemporary in a city that seemed to (rightfully so) embrace it’s traditional culture(s). Fortunately, Berenice and Stephanie excitedly agreed and when I returned the next afternoon, I was not only lucky enough to have the store mostly to myself, but to meet local artist, Jorge Flores as well! In the end I wanted to take the store and all three of them with me. Instead, I settled on some pictures, a “day in a minute” and in the end a print that I simply couldn’t live without.

When I returned to Puna, Berenice Diaz, the manager (below on the right) explained the objective of the gallery while Stephanie Guerra (below on the left) patiently helped translate when I didn’t understand. With only a few days of formal Spanish lessons under my belt, I was surprised I could follow along as well as I could, but there were some gaps that I was grateful to Stephanie for filling in the blanks for me. (Muchas gracias, Berenice y Stephanie!)

Practically everywhere else in Cusco (and from what I noticed in Peru) embraces traditional arts, especially the beautiful weaving so much so that it was almost a surprise to see a place with such modern and contemporary art on display. Berenice explained that Puna’s objective was to be a gallery and a store. While some stores (especially of this kind of variety- in my own opinion) look down on visitors wandering through simply to look, and not buy… Puna welcomes the chance to simply inform others- especially visitors to Peru of Peruvian art. I can’t emphasize enough how warm and friendly both Berenice and Stephanie were, and how grateful they seemed at my interest in Puna! I’m not the only one who thinks so highly if this little burst of contemporary culture in Cusco either. Trip Advisor has nothing but wonderful things to say, and to rate a “store” so highly has to say something, right? Right. I will say that most items fall outside of the typical backpacker budget, but if you can’t live without a piece, then the price doesn’t really matter. At least, that’s what I tell myself when I linger in front of an editioned prints with a price tag over $100.

Puna is modern art (and style) that meets traditional Peruvian culture. Currently 150-200 Peruvian artists have work on display and for sale in Puna. Traditional woven styles have been integrated into purses and even little clutches that I wanted so badly it hurt. Instead of wool llama ornaments, chic leather llama keychains were for sale. And the artwork, oh, the artwork. Where does one even begin? I’ll let the pictures -of beautiful pictures- speak for themselves.

Before I had met Jorge, I fell in love with another Peruvian artist’s work, Fito Espinosa. You can see some of his illustrations in the picture directly above. One print (not above) in particular plagued my mind for the next few days. I would have purchased it immediately had it not been for my backpacker budget. Andrew kept trying to talk me into getting it, and of course, the night I make up my mind to get it, we arrived to the store after it had closed. Good thing Andrew loves me so much because during our break from class the next (and our last) day, he ran across town to pick up the print for me! No easy feat in a city that is 11,200 ft above sea level.

Who is this Jorge (above) you might be wondering? Just another fantastic Peruvian artist who happened to stop by Puna to drop of some new work. It’s his work Berenice and I are talking about in the “day in a minute” above. And just like Berenice and Stephanie, he was so sweet and so talented that I felt so torn not taking some of his art home with me. (To make up for it, I’ve promised myself as soon as I’m gainfully employed again, I’ll be messaging Puna for several pieces of art, jewelry, a clutch or two…) Jorge is such a perfect example of a Peruvian contemporary artist who is absolutely unafraid of tapping into his cultural heritage yet making a statement with modern issues. He was dropping off some framed pieces of TEN, an installation of a grid of old Peruvian bank notes with different words painted over them. The individual pieces were striking, but seeing the photo of the installation on his website makes me want several pieces to have a small grid of my own!

You might hear him say “It’s my lucky day!” at the end of the “day in a minute” but I couldn’t express enough to him, Berenice, or Stephanie that it was my lucky day to be able to meet and talk to them all!

Day 344: Picasso and Pinchos

Picasso Museum Round Two was a success! We introduced Nat to Bo de B (and got another salmon salad of course) and then headed to the Picasso Museum to see how crazy the line was and if we were up for waiting. It was long, but it moved surprisingly fast. The museum contained a LOT of Picasso’s first works and pieces that I’ve never seen before, yet there was a huge gap of Picasso’s life and works that are obviously in other museums throughout the world that I think everyone (me included) are more familiar with. We bummed around the Born and Gothic districts again before meeting up with Nat for another round of tapas! This time, we opted for pinchos! Tapas served on bread, count. me. in.

Have I told you lately how much I love the Born and Gothic neighborhoods (districts?) because I do! Check out the latest street art sightings just around the corner from the Picasso Museum! I also looked up some recommended vintage and boutique stores and popped into “The Box” which was also right around the corner from the Picasso Museum. Suuuper cute store! Also, Can I just say for the record that I love it when owners welcome me taking pictures! The boutique was so photogenic I couldn’t help myself!

We ducked into a few other boutiques, and one was really neat and very well designed- lots of vintage signage and props scattered around the store- along with ‘No Photos’ signs. As a photographer, this always annoys me. As a consumer, it makes me not want to buy anything! The Box on the other hand, was warm and welcoming and if the picture below doesn’t make you want to stop by and buy a few bow ties… something might be wrong with you!

 These cookies looked like they were to die for in the window, we opted for the carrot cake instead. It was delicious -a bit overpriced – but delicious nonetheless.

I was kicking myself for missing a previous photo opportunity of an accordion player roaming the streets of the Gothic district. When this musician passed by us this afternoon I was so excited, Andrew was rolling his eyes. Who doesn’t love a second chance, especially when it comes to taking a photo!

We sat in a square and people watched for a little while, killing some time before we met up with Nat one last time. Directly in front of the bench I was sitting on (while Andrew went off searching for some Dr. Peppers for us) a little girl only about two or three years old walked up to a younger boy in a stroller. She was completely enthralled by the younger boy. She put her face in his and attempted to touch his hand and then remembered there were others watching and looked up. Her father was standing behind her, encouraging her to say ‘Hola’ while the obviously non-Spanish speaking tourists laughed and encouraged their son to wave back. We all watched, amused at the miniature confrontation before one of the parents decided it was time to part ways. I marveled at how brave and innocent the little girl was walking up to a “stranger” and immediately touching his face. While I recounted the event to Andrew when he returned empty handed, I couldn’t help but wonder at what point do others become “strangers.” And then I was distracted by this family walking by with children slung over their shoulders like bags of rice, and all I could think of was how much I love people.

Day 330: I love you Prague, but you’re bringing me down (Thanks, Hostel Florenc)

Having lived in Prague for a year, I can honestly say that being a tourist in this wonderful (glorious, beautiful, fabulous) city is not the same. But perhaps, it had a lot to do with where we were staying: Enter Hostel Florenc, located conveniently practically inside the Florenc bus terminal in Prague. We hadn’t planned to stay here. Instead, we had made arrangements to stay in a studio apartment in the old town for our entire week (turned two) stay. That is, before the owner of the flat decided the price was in euros instead of dollars (as it was stated online). We tried couchsurfing. We tried AirBnB. But ended up at Hostel Florenc because it was the cheapest, included breakfast, and advertised decent wi-fi (something that is increasingly important for a girl trying to put up a daily blog post about her trip around the world).

I didn’t realize how tolerant Andrew and I have become along this trip until today. I mean, sure, I’ve chuckled at ourselves throughout incredibly uncomfortable bus rides through Africa. I continue to make fun of Andrew for getting frustrated over teeny cups of coffee that come with milk when he had specifically asked for black. He continues to make fun of me for getting frustrated over the lack of dipping sauce when I order calamari, or there’s no lettuce in my Greek salad, or the bed isn’t made, or his bag explodes all over our tiny room for the night… (I just asked him what he makes fun of me for, and couldn’t stop him from listing every. single. thing.) One of us gets worked up. The other rolls their eyes and laughs. We get over it.

But after one full week of staying at Hostel Florenc, a stay that included a missing camera (mostly our fault), a clogged drain in a dirty, shared bathroom, an oven-like room, 4AM wake up calls thanks to construction noise and dozens of buses starting up outside our window, internet speeds so slow they rivaled those in Africa… When we got back late last night, I opened my big backpack to discover its contents soaked – including the inside of a binder full of women electronic outlets, camera accessories, and the worst part: a paper bag full of ticket stubs, travel pamphlets, and one full travel journal… I could no longer tolerate Hostel Florenc and followed Andrew down to reception, completely disappointed with not only Hostel Florenc, but that our week long stay in Prague was not nearly as glorious as my year residing in the city had been. To try to make up for our disastrous accommodation, Andrew acquiesced to an afternoon of thrift and vintage shop hopping in and around Vinohrady and Žižkov.

After stumbling upon some fun stores in Budapest, I decided to put a little more effort into looking for fun thrift and vintage stores in Prague. I found some good articles and lists, did a bit of cross referencing, and tried to go to an area where it looked like the most were. (You can check all of the inks out here, here, and here!) We ended up starting in Vinohrady and I ducked into several hoping to find some new (to me) clothes that would fit into my budget.

First stop: Second Street Boutique

I found several things, but they were all on the regular priced racks and I couldn’t justify spending the equivalent of $10.00 on a second hand shirt. I didn’t realize the bargain bins were such a bargain until I had already been inside for fifteen minutes- if you go, head to those first! Unfortunately, I didn’t find anything. If I weren’t traveling around the world- living out of a backpack (and trying my hardest to stick to a budget) I would have bought a few things, but… if I bought something I’d have to give up that much of my daily budget annnd I’d have to figure out how to stuff it into my backpack… I walked out empty handed.

Second stop: Second Hand Fox’s

This was set up more like a boutique, which kinda meant there wasn’t tooo much to choose from. It’s right smack in the middle of lots of other choices, so it’s worth stopping, but don’t get your hopes up.

Third stop: Second Móda

Random stop in between other shops on the list. I went in because there was a giant (not exactly friendly in the end) dog I wanted to be friends with and it looked properly packed. There were piles. and stacks. and disorganized racks of clothes. It was great. But possibly too vintagey for this trip?

Fourth stop: Praha Thrift Store

This one reminded me most of my favorite back home. It was organized. It was full. There were even weekly discounts (although none applied to me). It wasn’t terribly expensive, but I just couldn’t find anything… I started to feel a little disappointed, but reminded myself it was all about the adventure of it instead of the final purchase today.

Fifth stop: Bohemian Retro

This was probably the most vintagey (and fun) store on the list. There was even a ‘man chair’ for Andrew and a lovely American (I believe it’s his wife’s shop) who had been living in Prague for awhile to chat to while I mulled over a bag and if I could take it around South America with me. In the end, I decided the bag wouldn’t work on the road and we headed back towards Old Town for some langosš (you can see him eating it in the video above) and a photography exhibit.

I was a little bit bummed that we went to sooo many places and I was returning back to Hostel Florenc empty-handed. And then I remembered that my bag got soaked the night before and if I were to get something fabulous, the way this trip has been going, chances are it something would have happened to it… It was a good day of distraction (from our hostel nightmare) and one that wasn’t as touristy as our other days in Prague have been.

The photography exhibit; Viktor Kolář: A Retrospective was nice- well, that’s just it- it was nice. It probably shouldn’t have been called a ‘retrospective’ in my very humble opinion, and that it wasn’t arranged in chronological order was a bit strange… Disconnects like these make me curious how the show was curated. But I always feel like I learn a bit more about photography and what I like and dislike when looking at others’ works, exhibitions, and even ‘retrospectives.’

Back at Hostel Florenc, we were greeted by the worst reception girl on the whole of this trip. Seriously, she was that awful. I’m jumping ahead a bit, (simply because I don’t want to talk about Hostel Florenc in another post) but the reason we stayed so long at Hostel Florenc in the first place (despite less than lovely conditions) was because all of the other women at the front desk were so nice! Apparently this woman (with bright red dyed hair I might add) was not in the same training session. When we went to check out and ask if the manager had anything for us to make up for my soaking bag (we were hoping for at least a refund for one or two nights stay) she muttered under her breath the entire time about how we left the window open (we didn’t) and it was our fault (it wasn’t). Had she simply followed the typical customer/hospitality rules of apologizing and being nice about an unfortunate situation, I would have chalked the whole thing up to the joys of travel… and our plain bad luck some times.

Instead, she decided to be a horrible person and I walked out in shock at how terribly she spoke to us before we left- after staying for (and paying for) eight nights! I was fuming as we crossed town to meet our couchsurfer host for the night (Thank God for him!) and if the hostel wasn’t located in such a crap location (in the middle of the Florenc Bus Station) I probably would have marched back in to give her a piece of my mind. Instead, I took to Trip Advisor and left quite possibly the worst review I have on this entire (nearly one year) trip.

They of course, responded and said I lied. While I fumed- again- at Hostel Florenc, Andrew laughed at how absurd they were and took to writing a Trip Advisor review for them of his own. A few days later, in Barcelona we met up with a friend of ours who had stayed in the same place and had a similar (terrible) experience with them as well. We commiserated. Andrew showed her our list of what we would include in our future boutique hostel/guesthouse (investors wanted). She approved.

We all agreed hospitality is key. All Hostel Florenc had to do was apologize profusely for the inconvenience. Perhaps offer a dryer. Maybe even some complimentary tea or coffee after I spent an hour trying to clean up a mess that wasn’t my fault. But noooo, they shot us dirty looks, talked badly about us under their breath, and didn’t even thank us for our week long stay! My only hope is that others stumble across our reviews and possibly this post so they realize it’s worth it in the end to pay more to stay elsewhere!

Day 318: Budapest’s Great Market Hall & Thrift Store Spotting

The last time I was in Budapest, let alone in the Great Market Hall, it was without a currency converter accessible on my i-pod. I’m pretty sure I spent about $50.00 on a handmade Hungarian embroidered doily. Seriously. I remember getting back to Prague and doing the math, freaking out over how much I spent on A DOILY, and then promptly decided I shall enjoy the sh*t out of that doily.

It’s currently in a box in my parents’ house in Kentucky. I don’t think Andrew believed me, until he figured out the currency conversion of the long pieces of embroidery work on display on the second floor of the Great Market Hall.

“That’s $600.00?” He looked at me incredulously.

“Yep. Now you see how mine could have cost $50.00? Aren’t you glad I already got that out of the way? Now we don’t have to stop, because I already have one!” I tried to concentrate on the excitement of this thought, rather than the embarrassment over my rookie souvenir purchase.

The first floor, when you walk into the market has a lot of meat or fruit and vegetable stands. Some have spices including touristy souvenir spice sets. There are a few flower and newspaper stalls off to the sides.

We read in Lonely Planet not to miss out on the basement- something that I had missed out on before (when I was too busy negotiating a “good price” for my doily). We went down, but only found a few pickle shops. We did get some really tasty cheese stuffed peppers though!

The woman behind the pickle counter thought it was funny when we only asked for six stuffed peppers. I don’t think she gets many tourists as customers… She humored us though and we walked away with a little bag of peppers and an equally little bag of pickles to have for later.

One thing I regret is arriving to the market hall absolutely not hungry at all. For some really strange reason, we’ve been having a really hard time finding an authentic Hungarian restaurant to dine in! We’ve eaten Thai, Mexican, chicken wings, take-away slices of pizza… but the only Hungarian restaurants we saw were in the expensive touristy area near the river. Where were the small (and dirty) Hungarian holes in the wall that served excellent goulash and cheap langos?

The answer: The Great Market Hall.

If you have the chance, go when you’re hungry and walk around a little bit, but make a beeline for the food stalls on the second floor. They all looked wonderful!

One of Andrew’s favorite things about traveling around the world with me is when we roll into a city I’ve already been to and I have to find a specific restaurant or store or food stand that may or may not still be in existence. Half the time, this is NOT Andrew’s favorite thing. Sure, it’s great, when the bahn mi stand IS in fact still on the corner of the same hostel and serves Andrew an amazing sandwich… But when we’re in the middle of Budapest walking up and down streets looking for a bar I just can’t remember the name of, it’s a different story. (I just read this out loud to him and he insisted he didn’t mind, but it’s obvious, he’s just trying to be nice.)

“It has red walls… I thought it was called “Castro” or maybe “Cuba” or something like that… But it was sooo cooool!” I tried to remember and then stopped in front of another street insisting that we walk down. We walked past this place below. I wasn’t sure, but we stopped to have a drink anyway. I have a picture of ‘the cool bar’ in Kentucky. We’ll compare upon our return.

We wandered back towards our place afterwards, but not before I dragged Andrew into a pretty awesome thrift/vintage/independent designer boutique, Retrock on our way home. I loved it. I loved the store displays. I loved the selection. I loved that the dude behind the counter said “Sure” when I asked if I could take some photographs, and then loved it even more when he seemed to appreciate receiving my card so he could see my photos. I would have spent a small fortune on freshly designed cropped t-shirts and vintage leather bags if it wasn’t for this trip around the world. Although this store has been excellently curated, it’s not exactly the Eastern European thrift store for those traveling around the world (on a budget no less).

While searching the web to link up Retrock, I stumbled upon some possibly helpful thrift store listings in Budapest, in case you’re interested. I wish I would have done this while we were there and spent the day combing thrift stores!!! So for next time, I’ll remember to check out “How to and Where to Thrift-Store-Hop in Budapest” (although, to be fair, I did stop in Second Chance –1061 Budapest, Király Str. 28.- and I was not impressed with their selection. When I was there, it felt like a lot of racks full of 90s clothes without the occasional super good find from the 60s or 70s if you know what I mean…

I also found this map of thrift stores and a list of The best vintage shops in Budapest. Next time, I’ll spend a day cross-referencing the map and list and my own finds and see what I can come up with, unless of course someone else gets to Budapest and scouring the city’s best thrift and vintage stores before me! Let’s hope they share their list with me!

Day 266: Walking around Galata

We walked through Galata on our way to meet Josh and Leanne yesterday. It’s at the very end of Istiklal Street on the opposite end of Taksim Square. We’ve been through Taksim and Istiklal several times, but hadn’t made our way all the way down Galata until yesterday. It was calmer than Istiklal (the Myeongdong or Michigan Avenue of Turkey) and much more artistic and eclectic. I knew I had to return for a more comprehensive hang out than a quick walk through to meet our friends.

We started our afternoon off with a burger from a little Turkish joint that had pictures promising a better burger than we had seen in a long time. It wasn’t bad! I stopped often to take pictures of the street, of Andrew walking in the middle of it, posters collaged on walls, a random Charlie Chaplin work of art hanging outside what appeared to be a deserted building. Music stores dotted the sides of the street. Andrew declared he just might want a ukulele after a recent Ted Talk he watched. I coerced him into trying one out from a man’s shop overflowing with the most random assortment of… stuff.

The old medieval tower, is what the neighborhood is named after: Galata Tower. It’s not so big (only nine stories) and we hear it provides an excellent view from above over Istanbul. I preferred people watching below and ducking in and out of the boutiques that surrounded the tower.

here were some pretty good murals on different buildings around Galata as well, that made me smile.

I looked for the perfect carpetbag, and decided to get a close to perfect carpet purse for the time being instead. I wandered down an alley and into the most glorious vintage store ever.

I debated over purchasing a sixties dress while we walked up around Galata some more. We ran into the couple, who stayed at our guesthouse in Selcuk not once, but three times as we walked around the neighborhood. The woman seemed utterly perplexed after asking what we had been doing. I told her we were just walking around, enjoying the street art. It was like she had never heard of street art, much less wandering around to do just that, wander around.

We walked back across the bridge to a carpet shop I had read about online hoping the store, Arsah Carpets carried perfect carpetbags. It didn’t, well, not what I was looking for. But the owner was elated to hear that we had stayed at the guesthouse he had pamphlets sitting on his front counter for. Huseyin was everything the article described him to be, which was a lot of fun! And, as it turned out, he was friends with the guesthouse owner and invited us downstairs to show us some of his carpets. It was fun looking at all of the different carpets, old grain bags, and old saddlebags. It was also fun that Huseyin seemed to genuinely love carpets and his job of finding carpets around Turkey and selling them to new owners. He wasn’t pushy. He wasn’t aggressive. He just let me see what he had and showed us all kinds of carpets (some super old and super expensive) just to show us.

I loved this back room Huseyin had going on- it looked like it was just a mirror on the wall, but it was actually a little doorway into another room. He said he designed it to look that way. Good job, sir. I told him I would be back. Maybe for a carpet. Maybe for a saddlebag to transform into a tote bag. Maybe for both. But I should probably start setting money aside for where we are going to live when this trip is over, instead of more things to put inside the place we’re going to live. I’ll be back though, that’s for sure!

Late to meet up with Josh, Leanne, and Margarita for another evening of nargela, we left to cut across the backstreets of Sultenamet to the old madrassa for our last night in Istanbul.

Day 197 Zanzibar back to Dar

Instead of recounting the series of unfortunate events that led me to getting only slightly ripped off (instead of completely) while purchasing our ferry tickets from Zanzibar back to Dar Es Salaam, I will simply say this:

Zanzibar is beautiful. Walking around Stone Town, swimming with the sea-turtles, lounging on the pristine beaches was really, really lovely. But it was all marred due to the fact that my guard was constantly up trying to avoid getting scammed. This feeling was not aided by the fact that we usually returned to our room before dark to avoid getting mugged on the beach throughout our visit. As unbelievably gorgeous and so rich with history and culture, after the hour I spent trying to get a ferry ticket without paying extra for commission, yet ending up paying extra due to the false exchange rate the “official” ferry ticket booth quoted me, I wanted nothing more than to get off the island… even if it only landed me back in Dar.

Our only plans in Dar were to figure out our bus situation to Mtwara the next day, and to track down some Masai shukkas. We asked the front desk how much a taxi to the market should cost, and headed out to do a little shopping. The girl at the front desk warned us to be careful (the market is notorious for pickpocketing) and that it was very close, but we risked getting mugged just walking there. I tucked my money in my underpants and we asked a taxi driver how much it would cost to get to the market. He told us it would cost nearly four times the amount our front desk friend quoted. We shook our heads and kept walking. We asked another taxi driver. Same story. We kept walking. Eventually, we were halfway there and gave up trying to get a taxi. Hands were in Andrew’s cargo shorts pockets four (he says six) different times. Luckily all he had in them were expired ferry tickets and receipts. No one seemed to be bothered with me. I very clearly had nothing in my pants pockets and my backpack zippers were so locked up in carabiners that it was annoying for

While there was an abundance of beautiful and bright Swahili cloth, it wasn’t what I was after. I was starting to get rather disappointed none of the shops seemed to carry any shukkas. And then, I spotted two Masai. I walked up to them and pointed to the red and blue checked cloths wrapped around them.

“Shuka, where?” I asked them, completely oblivious to how random I must have presented myself, being one of two (Andrew being the other) western faces in the market zoning in on the only two Masai men that we had seen in Dar, let alone that market, all day. One of the men pointed back in the direction that we had just come from. I shook my head and squinted, wondering if he could be more specific. He told his friend to wait and then motioned for me to follow him. We practically retraced our steps until he led me up into a covered sidewalk. Low and behold, a tiny Masai shop was hidden, tucked behind some street vendors, with a handful of men selecting shukas from the tiny counter.

Andrew and I picked out an assortment of shukas, of two different varieties. I was ecstatic. I got them for less than any prices quoted in the touristy market in Arusha, and the scavenger hunt made the find that much sweeter.

Day 155: More of Marrakech

It seems to do anything, or get anywhere in Marrakech, you pretty much need to cross through Jemaa el-Fna (the main square) to get where you’re going. Fortunately, we didn’t have to linger long, and were able to cross a corner of it to follow a small street (full of twists and turns and moments where we thought we were lost) to Marrakech Museum, then to another (much more impressive) Islamic school. After these, we thought we would wander, but got lured into a Moroccan pharmacy, which led to being lured to the tanneries of Marrakech. We agreed, because we were told there would be an auction. There wasn’t. We upset a couple more volunteer “guides” before we crossed back through town to see more of Marrakech at night. Although, that certainly didn’t last long, especially after we walked onto the square and immediately heard a fellow tourist get reprimanded for taking a photo that she insisted she didn’t take.

The museum was like visiting someone’s private art collection in a restored palace. Which, maybe that was exactly their goal. I was much more impressed with the old Islamic school we wandered through.

I’ve been intrigued by these herb shops that we saw EVERYWHERE in Marrakech. I didn’t really know what to make of them- were they cooking spices? medicinal? We finally got pulled into one and found out that they are both. It was actually really interesting to be in and fun to try all of the different kinds of herbs. I didn’t get the sachets for breathing well (seems it would be incredibly beneficial when you have a cold) and I wish I would have. Instead, we got some tea to go with the Moroccan tea pot I wanted to get before we left.

I was thrilled with our visit in the Herboiste, thinking we didn’t get ripped off, it was a pleasant exchange, we learned something, I got some pictures, Andrew got some videos, the Herboiste got a sale… and then they suggested we go to the tanneries for the auction. I didn’t necessarily need to see another set of tanneries- but I was curious what a Moroccan auction was like. Immediately some dude they knew- or they didn’t know sprang out from nowhere to lead us. Off we went. He traded us off to another man who took us around a very barren set of tanneries. And then predictably led us into a leather goods shop.

So when I shop around in foreign countries- I never really know if it’s a reasonable price at the first quote. So, I typically shop around. I price check everywhere and then walk away. Walking away is the best way to get the price down as low as they will go before I even start bargaining. In Chefchaouen, a popular leather purse design was going for about 150 durams. When I asked this dude, it was 700. I laughed. like out-loud in his face “No effing way, dude” kinda way. Because if you’re going to mark it up that much- well, that’s just rude! I signaled for Andrew to leave. We both walked out. I didn’t even respond to the shopkeeper how much the bag should have cost because I didn’t even want to consider buying it from him after he initially marked it up so much. On our way out, BOTH guides were waiting for a tip. Presumably so because they weren’t going to earn any commission from the ridiculously overpriced leather purse I didn’t buy.

I didn’t have much- Andrew didn’t have anything. I fished around in my pocket and handed it to one of the guides. He looked at me like I was crazy. And because there was no auction, because the shop-keeper marked his price up sooo high, because BOTH guides were standing there demanding money for services I didn’t ask for, I grabbed the coins back. “Fine, if you don’t want it, then I do!” And we walked off, me apologizing to Andrew for dragging him to a non-existent tannery. At least it didn’t cost us anything…

Shopping for Moroccan tiles and tea-sets on the other hand, cost a thing or two…

Day 142: Jaffa Flea Market

Jaffa Flea Market, also known as Shuk Ha Pishpishim looked like it would be fun even when we walked through as everyone was packing up a few days prior. It was the very first thing I wanted to do with our day back in Tel Aviv. Andrew, not wanting to get on another mode of expensive transportation readily tagged along. Although, he wasn’t nearly as excited about the Hebrew block letter collages as I was. He waited outside, then talked me out of buying an expensive already assembled piece of printing press letters, then waited somewhat patiently as I assembled my own smaller collage to take home to reassemble and frame for the wall I don’t yet own…

The flea market had everything. Junk that people found on the street (we assumed) to quality leather goods, antiques, artwork, used children’s clothes, and lots of hand pressed juice to go around. It was entertaining to walk through, and even though I spent too much on the block letters, it was more fun splurging on them than it was paying for a day of transportation in Israel!

Day 94: Bapu Market

“I can take you to a market where Bapu Market owners go to shop. It’s not for tourists. It’s wholesale. Better than Bapu Market.” said the rickshaw driver. I was curious if it was indeed a market for shop owners and not for tourists. I played along. We agreed to a slightly higher fee because ‘Mughal Market’ was further away from the touristy Bapu Market, and off we went. I was looking forward to learning about a secret market that wasn’t listed in the books, that is, until we pulled up to a storefront that wasn’t at all a market and catered very much to tourists. Tourists who didn’t know any better.

I asked for prices and did a bad job hiding my disdain. “I’m sorry, this is too expensive for me. I got similar pieces for much less. These pieces aren’t even finished!” I pointed to the beaded wall hangings half the size of what I purchased in Varanasi. I bristled and signaled to Andrew it was time to go.

“I bet our driver is going to be disappointed he won’t get any commission off of this trip…” I said to Andrew on our way out.

Then I turned to our driver, “So how much commission would you have made?” I asked. He didn’t respond, and didn’t seem too pleased that I was calling him out. I declined when he asked if we wanted to go to a silver shop and requested we go to Bapu Market to try my luck there instead. He knew I knew what he was up to and that he was not going to earn a rupee of commission off of me, dropped us off at Bapu Market, and charged us only half of the original fare. To cleanse his karma, I’m sure.

So please, be warned (we later found out another couple fell for the same ruse), as always, if it’s too good to be true… It’s really a rickshaw driver getting a healthy commission out of you. Better off at Bapu Market. Besides, it’s much more fun, especially when the shop you settle down in has a could-have-been-born-in-New-Jersey salesman trying to get you to buy his entire shop.

“Sit down!” New Jersey kept pushing.

“No. I know your tricks. I’m not sitting down. I want to see your wall hangings, beaded please and I need to know how much they are.” I paced. Not necessarily in the mood for the sit down, small talk over chai tea, hour long sales pitch before I could find out what the lowest price for a wall hanging might be.

“Be comfortable! Sit down!” he said again. I looked through several wall hangings (gifts for friends or sisters back home so no, I won’t be posting pictures of them here!) and not sitting once, I haggled him down to a decent price.

“Are you happy?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m happy. Are you happy?” I asked, getting used to this exchange… Indians want you to be happy. When they aren’t too busy trying to pull the wool over your eyes.

“Yes. Now what else can I get you. You want to try on a sari? Take your picture?” He asked. Andrew was bored. I declined, eyed the scarves, and said we would be back- maybe- for a scarf or two. We walked through the market. Everyone shouted an invite into their shop. My advice? Just pick one.

After getting totally surrounded by a group of uniformed children who just got released from school, we went back to New Jersey’s shop.

“Alright, what kind of pillowcases do you have?” I sighed, playfully, and sat down in his shop. By the time we walked out, Andrew got him to be in his video, I got his picture, he asked for a picture with me, we were besties. It was way better than walking out wondering how much money you were overcharged because your rickshaw driver brought you there…

Andrew and I went further across town than we anticipated for a restaurant that had high rankings on Trip Advisor. An Indian buffet, kinda like Vips in Korea, only with unlimited amounts of curry instead of kimchi. Then we made our way back across town to the Raj Mandir; an old movie theater my Rough Guide insisted it was THE theatre to check out in all of India.

We showed up nearly an hour before the movie started and waited in a line (ladies in their own) outside of the theater. Despite the beautiful facade, waiting in the dark outside of the theatre, for a cheap seat (only 60 Rs!) to see a Bollywood film… I honestly wasn’t expecting much. And then we walked inside.

The theater lobby was beautiful! Old school. Art deco. Classy. Andrew sat, while I walked around taking pictures of the lobby and then when I joined him, all of the men surrounding us, staring at our every move, decided they wanted pictures first of just them and then with me… right up until the lobby was empty and the theater was full. We squeezed into our seats for the first half of Jab Tak Hai Jaan.

It was my first Bollywood film, and it was fabulous. The lip synced songs weren’t exactly my favorite, but the choreographed dance routines more than made up for the cheese I was certain was being sung about. Around midnight, the lights went up for intermission. With full bellies still from BBQ Nation, and an early alarm already set to catch our bus to Pushkar the next day, we snuck out with intentions of downloading the second half of the movie later to watch at home!

Day 59: Life in Pai

We weren't sure if we were going to swing up to Pai or not, but after the not so lovely front deskman at The Chiang Mai Thai House informed me we'd have to move to a more expensive room if we wanted to stay, we decided we may as well catch a bus to Pai after all! I'm rather glad that the stars aligned for us to visit. Because somehow, I managed to forget how much I love this tiny town.

It's much more popular than it was four years ago. When I was here last, there was one shop to get eclectic hippie meets graphic design postcards and paraphanalia… now there are dozens. The town stays up later than it did in the past, and many more tourists sit in coffeeshops by day and roam the streets by night. The roads have since opened up to more streetfood stalls and vendors selling t-shirts, leather bags, woven scarves, and so much more. It's glorious. The only problem with Pai is that I want to buy everything! (Including the beautiful and out of my price-range handmade leather bag I'm eyeing in the video. And yes, I know, it's another bag… I do not deny I have a problem. At least the giant black and silver ring I found- not at all to Andrew's surprise, was in my price range!)

Day 40: Our Last Day in Siem Reap

Our last day in Siem Reap was spent mostly waiting out the rain in the same coffee shop down the street from our guesthouse. We went to the market for some concrete bag bags (obviously, I wanted to do this more so than Andrew). Thai concrete comes in these sturdy bags with a big elephant on the front. Someone came up with a brilliant idea of repurposing the bags into wearable totes, ipad covers, wallets, you name it. They are quite cute, and I felt like I was playing a round of Texas Hold Em bartering and bluffing over prices in the market. I got a big, plastic covered tote for $5.00 (she started at $10.00) Winning! Linda helped me find a good massage salon before dinner, and then we wandered through the night markets thinking they'd be more elaborate than those in the day – but really, they were same same (not different at all).