Day 360: Miraflores; This is it?

Miraflores is a district in Lima. It’s the weathiest, and according to Wikipedia, “Miraflores is known for its shopping areas, gardens, flower-filled parks and beaches.” We walked through two lovely parks, and through some tourist markets, and then through a LOT of gated apartment buildings with heavy security to the Pacific. It looked as if there were beaches down below the cliffs we were perched upon, but it did not look like the kind of beach I would want to hang out on (read: cold and windy) and I had to assume that I was missing something- that we were missing something.

What is there to do in Miraflores? What were we missing? Is there more? There has to be! What do all of these people in ritzy (I’m assuming) and expensive apartments do here? Bottom line: I didn’t see much. Admittedly, because it took so long to navigate through the traffic to get from one side of town to the other, we didn’t have longer than half of an afternoon to explore, but I certainly didn’t leave with that wistful “Oh man, I wish we had more time here!” feeling at all!

I couldn’t pass up this freshly painted garage in the market. Momma was busy buying something for someone (little did we know then that this would be her favorite thing to do) so I made Andrew stand in front of the door so I could photograph him. I keep teasing him that he’s going to have a pretty solid modeling portfolio by the end of this trip. Except, that he’s wearing the exact same three outfits throughout all of the pictures.

The park on the cliff overlooking the Pacific that we walked to is called the Park of Love. In the middle of the park is a passionate sculpture titled “El Beso”, by Victor Delfin. It seemed to be popular with young couples. Momma made Andrew and I pose for a picture in front of the sculpture. Obviously we posed just like the sculpture. Just kidding.

Day 308: Mondays are the worst. Unless…

It’s rather difficult to stay in a ‘Ten Month Travel Slump’ when this is what your Monday morning not only looks like, but involves before getting on a bus to jump countries in the afternoon. Mondays are the worst. Unless you’re on a ‘Round the World’ trip… and then, sometimes, Mondays are the best! We spent part of our early afternoon on this pebble beach inside a little cove on the outskirts of Dubrovnik’s Old Town. The rocks were hot. The water was not. And it was a little slice of heaven, just as beautiful as is in the picture.

It’s my humble opinion that Croatia has the prettiest water. Andrew could not stop talking about how pretty the water was between the islands in Greece. It is, also pretty. But Croatia is where the water is at. Just look at it!

The beach wasn’t too crowded, although when we left (towards 2ish) more and more people were arriving. My favorite part was watching everyone run across the too-hot-for-bare-feet rocks to get to the water. Only the water was quite cold, so everyone would stop suddenly, and let their bodies adjust to the temperature change, deciding which was worse: getting in the cold water or walking back across the hot beach to their towel or chair.

Young ones climbed up the bluffs and jumped into the sea, sometimes from quite high, sometimes making me squirm hoping they would jump far enough away from the cliffs. Needing to get going so we would make our bus into Bosnia and Herzegovina, we tore ourselves away from the beach as best we could. I have to admit, having had our sunscreen taken from us in Crete’s Airport (we forgot to put it in our checked luggage) it made leaving the burning sun a little easier. I took one last picture to remind myself what a ‘typical (even though on this trip, there really is no such thing) Monday’ on the road was like.

And then, a few hours later we were greeted like we were old friends by one of the sweetest hostel owners we have met so far. We felt so bad we were a little over an hour late arriving in Mostar, but Taso shrugged and told us not to worry. He informed us of the buses having GPS and he wasn’t waiting long. He whisked us off to his guesthouse, which really felt more like his house (in a really great way, not like staying in ‘the lady’s’ actual house in Dubrovnik). We had juice and cookies and he told us all about the town. We chatted like we were old friends, and I smiled at how great it is when you get to meet people for the first time and your interaction is so pleasant.

Taso talked about the old bridge that is the city’s main attraction. It was originally commissioned by Sultan Sulaiman the Magnificent in 1557, and survived all the way up until the war in 1993, when the bridge was bombed and destroyed. It has since been rebuilt and declared an UNESCO World Heritage site. (You can read more about the bridge here, if you’re interested)

I knew a little about this bridge (mostly relating to the war) before our arrival. I knew nothing about the bridge jumping that has become a rite of passage for the men (and some brave women) of the town. Taso told us that at just 25 meters above the water below, men would jump from the bridge, and women would give the man they liked a wreath of flowers afterwards, to signal wich one they liked the most. I asked if Taso had jumped off and he laughed, saying that he was too old to do it now. When he was younger, there was a wooden bridge in place of the older one that was bombed. He jumped off of that, but he suggested it wasn’t as high as the original (or current) bridge.

We walked through town to get an early dinner, above are some of the views of both sides of Mostar from the bridge. Beautiful, right?

Day 232: Knysna

We woke up to a lovely breakfast spread and then jumped in the car to get our tire checked out at the local mechanic. After the tire was checked out, we were told the inside rim was bent. He would pound it out for us. I shook my fist at “First Car Rental” and vowed that next time I rent a car and am told “It won’t be a problem at all” I will get a written statement with a signature. Because, what if something happened?!

After our car was good to go, we went for a drive around town. We started with a lookout point that gave different views of the city, the lagoon, and the ocean below, drove through an area of fancy vacation houses and then walked around downtown. We slipped in a few thrift stores. We tasted oysters (Andrew’s first time). And we picked up some meat for the brai (South African for barbeque) at our hostel that night.

Driving into Knysna we passed a rather extensive shanty town just outside of the city. Driving through the town to look at the fancy mansions or just smaller houses along the water reenforced our perceptions that there is a continued racial divide in South Africa. The shanty houses we drove past were minimal. stacked on top of each other. cringe-worthy. Not ten (I’m guessing here) miles away were huge houses that were seemingly empty. Vacation houses, Andrew suggested. None of them even looked lived in. A few maids (black people, in uniform, of course) were seen beating dust out of a rug or taking out the trash, but it was apparent that only white people lived here.

When we walked through town, a few people stopped to ask us for money. Andrew and I have tried to avoid handing out money. If we gave everyone something, we wouldn’t be able to continue this trip. That’s why we’ve tried to volunteer along the way, or give back in a other ways. It’s not always easy. I’ve caved and bought something from a child (or remember my five minute massage?). Andrew has given some small change here and there… It has affected us differently and at different times.

Whenever someone would stop us here in Knysna, they would hone in on Andrew. I’m not sure why. Sometimes they go for me. Sometimes they go for him. Usually, we try to be as polite as we can while not slowing down. As soon as you stop, it can be so much harder to get away. We don’t always know when it’s a scam or not either. Quite simply, it can be a toss up.

Today, a man came up to us a few blocks away from the grocery store we just visited and said something very softly to Andrew. The man practically ignored me, not in a rude way, more like one man talking to another man. I kept walking, figuring Andrew would eventually get away and catch up. I waited around the corner. and waited. and waited. Eventually, Andrew caught up and told me he needed to go back to the store for more bread.

“Is that all you gave him?” I asked slightly surprised that he gave him some of our dinner, yet also slightly surprised that all he gave him was our bread. We wanted to get so much more from the store- more vegetables, more cheese, some Nandos sauce, some ice-cream- but decided we didn’t NEED any of it, and in the spirit of trying to get our budget back down, we walked away from everything extra we wanted. Andrew looked a little shook up, but I didn’t press it, and we stopped in another store to pick up a cheap bottle of wine to go with dinner.

Which again, felt a little wrong. Andrew had just given away some bread to a man who clearly (unless it was indeed a scam) needed it. And we were still able to walk into a store and get a $4.00 bottle of wine. While we were in there we overheard a white South African girl calling friends asking what they were going to drink that night, asking if she should get more bottles or not. She circled the store, spotting her uncle’s label of wine and then complained (loudly) how expensive it was. Then with her two friends in tow, she ponied up to the counter, talking (still way too loudly) on her phone the entire time about their plans for that evening, and then walked out with two boxes of various wines. I could tell Andrew was uncomfortable. I could see it written on his face how bad he felt having talked to the man on the street, having only given away some bread, buying some drinks for himself, and then having to listen to a young, rich, white, South African girl unintentionally advertise how wealthy she was in comparison to the older, poor, black man outside.

We walked back to the hostel. Andrew told me the man had come on a boat from the Sudan and he was trying to find other Sudanese people that he knew about in Knysna, but all of the truck drivers were asking him for 100 Rand (basically $10.00) and he didn’t have any money. He said he hadn’t eaten in two days and he couldn’t find any ‘familia’ around to help him. Andrew said that the man was in tears, he looked really scared. His voice started shaking and Andrew could tell he was trying not to cry, but he couldn’t help it. Andrew admitted that it could have been a scam, but if it was it was a damn good one. He had never seen someone look so scared and helpless before. I could tell Andrew was conflicted, wondering if he should have given the man more or if he should be satisfied for what he did give him or what if it WAS a scam…

Tired from a restless (slightly sleepless) night in the hostel, I had planned to take a nap. Andrew paced back and forth, clearly still upset as he thought about the man on the street.

“Do you want to lay down with me?” I asked, knowing that would make me feel better if I was him as I climbed into my bottom bunk that I couldn’t even sit up in. He nodded and climbed in after me. We’ve gotten remarkably good at squeezing into these bunks that are entirely too small for two, let alone when one of us is so tall. I wrapped my arms around him and fell asleep. I woke up to him still in my bunk looking at his computer, telling me he was going to run back to the store for more bread. When he returned, I asked if he saw the man on the street again. He didn’t, and perked up over a beer and a brai that night.

Day 207: The other side of Ilha

Ilha is a longer, skinny island. You could walk to the other side of Ilha from where we were staying fairly quickly, but then once you turned up or down the beach, it could turn into a longer journey. We decided to walk down along the beach to an old church. The tide was out again and a handful of people were out collecting seaweed or possibly some shellfish.

On our way back, I was stopped to take a few pictures. We think word got out on the island about me, and my camera. It probably didn’t help that I wore the same dress everyday. I stopped to take a picture of him and his friend. Then he saw his brother and wanted one with him. Then he wanted one with me. I didn’t even have my Polaroid with me, he just really wanted his picture taken and enjoyed looking at them on the LCD screen after.

Aside from our place being such a haven after the rough week, I was obsessed with the lighting at night. It was just so atmospheric! Going to the bathroom in the middle of the night felt almost romantic with the light gently bouncing around the tiles. I posted those pictures on Instagram awhile back. I’m hoping that I can find lamps similar to those at the Patio. I’ve also decided that our house in America needs to have its own hanging canoe. If our budget still wasn’t higher than we want it to be and I didn’t have such issues with shipping (especially from Africa) I’m sure I could strike up a deal with a local fisherman for an old, leaky, discarded dugout canoe! Next time… or perhaps I can find one stateside…

Day 6: Kayaking & Kerfuffle-ing

While the majority of “The Party Boat” was recovering from the previous night, I snuck Andrew up to the roof to do some double pull-backs and a shim sham shimmy. Hey TapKun, (my wonderful tap studio in Seoul, South Korea) this is the first of many tap dances around the world just for you! We kyaked in the rain, we learned how to make spring rolls, hustled it back to Hanoi, and Andrew and I had our first kerfuffle in the midst of the hour we had in Hanoi between one bus from Halong Bay, and another bus heading to Sapa.

Other backpackers (I kinda detest this title I have assumed I should add. I mean, just because I have a backpack- one that I’m not satisfied with, I should add- but will save it for another blog post entirely- doesn’t mean that I’m a backpacker.) Anyway. Other backpackers were a little annoyed at the timing of different Halong Bay activities. Kayaking being one of them. There simply wasn’t enough time they all complained. And Andrew and I found ourselves in the same kayak. (Ha. Get it? Same boat? Same Kayak!) I loved our guide, Coung, and would like to believe that our kayaking was cut short because we were, after all, getting rained upon. It still made for some pretty pictures though, raindrops in the Bay and all, don’t you think?

I find it impossible not to add that I was the only one bold enough to take my camera kayaking. I know, I do pretty stupid things with my camera, and I don’t treat my lenses nearly as well as I should, but hey, at least I was able to take all of these fun pictures of everyone kayaking AND exploring this random cave in the middle of the Bay, right?

After they brief kayaking excursion, we were granted an hour to clean up before our “cooking class” where Coung taught us how to make spring rolls. We all took turns making a couple of spring rolls, and then we sat. while it rained. and we waited for lunch. Which I should have skipped, because I’m pretty sure the chicken is what upset my stomach starting on the bus ride back to Hanoi.

Once we got back to Hanoi, we had about an hour to re-pack our overnight bag, get something to eat, and get ready for our overnight bus to Sapa. Which would have gone smoothly, had I not started feeling badly, and had Andrew and I communicated in a more effective manner. Only, we didn’t communicate effectively at all. I said “crackers.” He heard “water” and went in search of dinner while I waited at the tour agency with an angry Vietnamese man huffing at me, hand gesturing to me, asking without English where my travel partner was. I sighed back, paced, and tried not to think about bathroom related activities and/or the fact that our bus was supposed to leave 20 minutes ago, unbeknownst to Andrew- and he was no where to be found.

By the time he did show up, we were a solid 30 minutes late, and what I would find out to be an over-priced sandwich poorer all because Andrew thought I was hungry, when in fact, I had quite the upset stomach, was yelled at in Vietnamese, and thought we were going to miss our bus to Sapa.

We kerfuffle-ed.

And then in his opinion, we “agreed to disagree” while I rolled my eyes and said “I said CRACKERS! I already had WATER!” as I held up my full Nalgene bottle like he should have known better.

And then we shared the sandwich, because my hunger overpowered my anxiety over my upset stomach and a 12 hour bus ride without a bathroom, and Andrew refused to eat without me eating something as well. (See Mom, I told you Andrew was taking care of me.)