Obladi Oblada, Life Goes On...

I carry my purse around like a child; Arms folded over, hugged into my chest. Even so, when a man on the Barcelona metro knocked into me he managed to take me for one of my most valuable posessions.
My first thought was this guy was rude for practically tackling me and not apologizing. It wasn´t until the next morning, trying to buy my ticket for San Sebastian that I realized not only had I been right about this guy being rude, he was also a theif!
I was no longer the owner of a passport.

I never had heard what a problem Spain, and in particular Barcelona has with pick pocketers. Appartently, Tripadvisor.com bestowed upon them the title of Most Talented in the world. Even Visa won´t let their cards be used there without some sort of tracking chip because of the high theft rate.
Guess what kind of card I´m traveling with?
Guess what doesn´t have a tracking chip in it?
Last question on pop-quiz, concentrate... Guess who was stuck for two days with no money?

Despite all the mishaps (because believe you me, there were plenty other than the aforementioned) Barcelona was a lovely place to visit. I had quite a fiesta my second night there--going to a bar and then a nightclub with some Aussies and Canucks from my hostel. But...that´s more of an in-person story.
I also took a walking tour to explore the most famous Gaudi buildings. The guide wasn´t so impressive, but the buildings were quite spectacular!
Also in those few days I learned I am a fan of Octopus. It came in a traditional rice and fish dish called Paella.
Admittedly, when the server first brought it over I almost wouldn´t touch it, let alone eat it because the prawns they put in it (and I´m not a fan of those anyway) came with their eyeballs still attached. Looking at them freaked me out so badly I had the mind to hurl and then cry simulataneously and likely would´ve if not for fear of being rude, so I (what I would like to believe was straight-faced and daintily) removed the offensive items from my plate and dug in! It was so good!

Being without money I became quite creative and figured out ways to entertain myself. I walked the famous La Rambla boulevard one afternoon and watched the street performers, people watched while making up their life stories in my head. I learned how to make Sangria and dare to say (at the risk of sounding self flattering) I´m quite good at it!

  

So, after taking a few days to resolve both the money and passport issue, I decided it was time to head out of Barca. It was a beautiful city, but...I wanted to get onto the next thing where these issues would be a thing of the past.
As soon as I laid my un-manicured hands on my temporary passport I skedaddled to the train station.
"One way to San Sebastian!" I proclaimed.
The cashier smiled at me, shook his head. "No San Sebastian. The train is full..."
I thought quickly and tried to exercise my memory of the map I´d looked at the previous night. What was close to San Sebastian?
"Bueno," I shrugged, "One ticket to Bilbao." 
The cashier chuckled nervously. "That´s full also until tomorrow night."
"Valencia?"
No.
"Granada?"
"I´m sorry. It´s a holiday weekend."
I was pretty sure this guy was messing with me. Here I was in the second biggest city in Spain and none of these trains had space? I glanced at the woman in the cashier window next to him for validation. She nodded at me, "Si. Holiday weekend."
Turns out the only train that had availability was to Madrid. So, already at the train station with all my bags, I booked the expensive but cozy fast rain to Madrid.


And....I love it here! It´s rainy, but the air is so fresh! It´s a really nice relief from the memory of Cairo just a few days ago where the air is so polluted that I found myself looking at cars with moonroofs thinking "why?" I think a better special feature would be an oxygen mask.


Here are a couple pictures of what I´ve seen here so far:

Cairo, Cairo, Cairo...

Everything from the taxi drive, to my first "hostel", and right up to this moment has been madness! (Not excluding my rush to the Athens's airport.)

I got slightly sidetracked, and also had a lapse in memory as to the time of my flight. It would be an understatement to say I rushed to the airport.
I got from Syntagma Square to the metro, to my hostel where I picked up my bags, back to the metro, changed subways twice, and sprinted my way into the airport security all within a 40 minute period.
This had much less to do with the proximity these places have to each other than it does the amount of sweat I presented the earth with in that time frame.
I felt like a contestant on The Amazing Race and, if I had been, I'm positive I would've won.

People say we don't change much from who we are as children, barring some traumatic experience, and I recently proved this to be true by using myself as an example.
I was always the kid who would get questions wrong on exams even when I knew the answers, but because I hated bothering with reading the instructions.
I felt very put upon when people asked me to exercise patience.
This, as an adult, came back to bite me my first night in Cairo.

When researching (and I use that word extremely loosely here) where to stay in Egypt I picked the first place that popped up on Hostelworld.com.
I did this partially because I felt I shouldn't be wasting my time online when I had other things to be doing, and partially because I made my reservations the night before I left for Cairo.

The taxi driver dropped me off at about 10pm in Nasir City (not Cairo) at a "hostel" where I was not just the only woman, but appeared to be the only traveler. The staff showed me to the empty 5th floor, and into my private room.
Before going any further, so as to not give the wrong impression, I want to make clear that this place was actually very nice. Or it would have been had it been what I was looking for. Everything was clean, the private bathroom was a nice feature, there was a T.V with 2 English-language movie channels.
However, reciting the lines with the actors in The Sandlot was the closest I got to an intelligible, two-sided conversation that night or the following morning since not one employee in the day or night staff spoke English.
Here is an example of a conversation I had after realizing that I might be stuck there since no one could tell me where I was, or what to see and do around town, or how to get anywhere:

 

Me: Okay. This isn't working. Can you please tell me where an Internet cafe is?

(blank stare from receptionist, I pantomime typing)

Internet?

 

Her: Coffee?

(she points to the next room)

 

Me: Internet?

 

Her: (smiling in friendliness) No, thank you.

 

Me: Is there anyone here who might speak English?

 

Then the receptionist handed me a rubber band.

 

I really can't blame her. She didn't speak English, okay fine--I mean, I don't speak Arabic, either. And, probably if I'm coming to her country I might have bothered to learn a few words, or at least carry around a dictionary, but-- I thought I would be staying at a hostel like every other one I've ever stayed in.

 

Suffice to say that I did finally figure out where a computer was and made a reservation for another hostel online, which my helpful mom recommended via email. I settled the price of my room and flew out of there as fast as I could.

 

This is the part where I write a love-letter to what became my home base in Egypt, Dina's Hostel.

42 Abd El Khalek Sarwat
5th Floor
Downtown, Cairo, Egypt

 

Dear Dina,

I have been to 4 continents and been traveling on my own internationally since age 17. Your small, well maintained hostel is a diamond in a rough but bustling city. It's my favorite hostel I've ever stayed in and you--darling Dina--are surely the most maternal, but laid back and cool young woman in all of Egypt!

Truly, this place created a better sense of community than any other place I've stayed.

When I got lost trying to find the train station, so couldn't buy my ticket to Alexandria, you found room for me to stay even though it would've been much easier to turn me away.

And, when I got sunstroke from the desert, you concocted an ancient Bedouin remedy and nursed me back to health!

 

You deserve huge success!

xoxo,

Amelia.

 

 

Speaking of the desert, I believe my first words as we bumped along the Sahara sands were, "I'm pretty sure this is what the moon looks like!"

I know it's hard to believe but I've never actually been to the moon. Still, I doubt if Neil Armstrong has seen much I haven't.

To be honest, I started to wonder about 6 hours into the trip if it was going to be worth traveling so long for only one night somewhere.

But about the time we were eating a cooked-over-the-fire dinner while listening to our guide singing tradional Bedouin songs quietly to himself, looking up at the stars I knew that I would've sat through 3 times the travel length to experience that.

We slept under the sky on teh sand and were visited by a desert fox who at first was shy, but curiousity eventually overpowered his cautiousness.

 

It was fantasic to know that the Bedouins (pronounced Bed-Win) lived out here still and knew their way around that part of the desrt the way I know my way to the nearest grocery store in Seattle. Everything out there looks exactly the same! Sand grain upon sand grain. But our guide said he and his Bedoin people, who are nomads by nature, use the rocks and the sun as their map. For all the iphones, and GPS, and satellites it was startling and humbling to find people living essentially the way they've been living for thousands of years. Obviously with the exception of the people who now use tourism as their primary source of income.  

 

On the way back from the desert a girl from Holland I fell asleep on teh bus and awoke to the man in front of us taking our picture.

The men in Egypt are the biggest cultural adjustment for me. They stare, make kissing and hissing noises. There is no attempt at subtelty. One look leaves you feeling violated somehow.

Yesterday I took a walk with a Frenchman and he was in shock. He kept apologizing to me, and half joked that he feared for his own safety when walking beside me.

 

Here I am, no makeup, unkept hair, convered in dirt and sweat, mismatched and dirty clothes and it makes no difference.

In such a sexually repressed society a forearm or elbow of a light skinned woman can cause mayhem.

I almost bought a burka just so as to not have to deal with the picture taking and "accidental" run ins.

 

I'm going to be sad to leave here because parts of Egypt are so great! But there is a part of me that will be glad to return to a place where even a man who finds you very attractive will go out of his way to pretend not to notice you at first.

 

Next, and most important item on the agenda is buying myself a duty free camera at teh airport in Spain. My old one is MIA. My desert pictures are gone and I have no Egypt ones except the following:

 

I hope to post pictures in the near future with the help of new travel friends via facebook.

 

Hello, Goodbye, Hello, Goodbye...

Greece is the country where consistently the words, "I've never seen anything like this before," come tumbling out of my mouth. That is, when I haven't been rendered speechless. The first couple of nights I spent in Athens were subtly hindered by the fact I was battling an atrocious cough/cold that I picked up in Cologne, Germany on one of my last nights in the country.

I found it a better idea to climb the 600-step spiral staircase to the open-air tower of the Dom Cathedral instead of taking the 5 minutes to return to my hostel for a jacket which, yes mom and pop, I should've been wearing the first place since it was pouring torrential-style.

The lookout was really lovely:

But...the result? I got to tumultuously navigate the German medicine isles at a nearby convenience store.

Here is me realizing I haven't a clue how to read the dosage instructions!

When I landed in Greece, I felt an involuntary sigh of relief escape me seeing that the blue sky was clear with the exception of the massive, warm sun.

It only took me a day and a half to get over my ailments and in that time I moseyed my way through Athens's street markets, through the narrow allies crammed with vendors, the smell of sugary pastries, and the buzz of a dozen different languages being exchanged amongst the tourists.

Also, I was fortunate that the day I got to the Acropolis was the one day a month it was free! As I climbed the tall steps to the Parthenon I was rewarded with the sweeping views of the city! I hopped in on a private tour of the grounds, standing especially close to someone who was alone, so that people wouldn't suspect my stealthy thievery of knowledge, and I discovered a lot of fascinating history. Email me at starrymela@yahoo.com for historical info if you aren't finding what you need in an encyclopedia or online, because I am now in possession of a wealth of information--an Acropolis history guru, if you will.

 

 

    

From Athens I boarded a ferry to the island of Santorini. Santorini is a laid back place with amazing views everywhere you turn. I stayed at a family run hotel called Stelio's Place in the small town of Perissa.
The hotel was right on the beach. Every room had it's own balcony, and sitting there unwinding with wine, bread, cheese, and Graham Greene was outstanding after my eventful day of ATV-ing.
I rented an ATV for 15 euros and spent from morning until the sun set getting to know the island it's little towns.

Unfortunately, I had to leave Santorini earlier than I'd anticipated because I had a travel visa to take care of for Egypt.
After I'd been in Athens a couple days I was starting to feel a little homesick. I'd seen the sights, and was in a room full of Germans who had no interest in talking to me for whatever reason. Eh, their loss.
I felt that I should probably see more of Greece since I had a few days left before my departure.
After hearing from every other person I talked to that Meteora was the place to see I hopped on a bus, and headed out of town.
It was about a 5 hour ride, which was good for 2 reasons: I got a chance to see smaller towns and the countryside, and also had the opportunity to catch up on missed Mad Men episodes!

Meteora was a wow. It was a really special place in so many ways and photos will never catch the magnificence of the flat, towering rocks that loom grandiosely over the town.
Hidden just above the bewitching fog, high up on the very tips of the spires, are monasteries precariously placed overlooking the sleepy towns below.

 
The climb to the top was a bit challenging for me, although there were couples in their 60's seeming to do it without a hitch, but the views were beyond worth it.
Cable cars strung like a zip line between the cliffs transported equipment and, I imagine, nuns and others associated with the monasteries from one peak to the next.
I befriended a couple of really fun people there, too, and that never hurts a travel experience.

Getting back to Athens the night before my flight to Cairo was such a pain. I gather that I missed my 6:30 bus from the terminal by mere seconds. This found me hopping another bus back to Meteora because I knew that would be a far more interesting place to hang out until the next bus at 1am.
A young man, about my age (I can still say young here right?) saw me on my way to and coming back from my first departure attempt.
I think he felt bad for me and handed me a whole bunch of free bus tickets so I didn't have to keep wasting money.
His generosity was sincere, sweet, and totally lost on the next driver who was visibly angry when he saw that I had a bunch of tickets poking out of my bag as opposed to just one.
He wouldn't let me use them and interrogated me on where I'd come across the tickets, if I'd taken them or they'd been given, etc.
Essentially, I pleaded the 5th by eventually putting in my ear buds and pointedly diving into my thoughts.

I made it though! I can't wait to see what comes next...

Oktoberfest!

Oh, wow. 

That could pretty much describe my experience in Munich. When people say Oktoberfest is a sight to see, they really mean it's an overwhelming, dizzying, electrifying, hilarious, stupefying, and once in a lifetime sight you can't help but seeing.

My introduction to what the next few days would be like was this:
After getting to my hostel by way of the U-Bahn, which is their underground subway system, and which was more packed than the Boston's B-line before a Red Sox game, I entered my dorm room to find an Australian woman drunkenly passed out on the table.

This was when I met Rob, a retired teacher turned cartoon artist.

He's been coming to Oktoberfest every year for the past eight years, and this time had pinned down a sweet gig as a beer reviewer. This entailed him being sober one hour a day, which was the last one before he woke each morning from sleep.
Although, he did make a great friend-for-a-day. He showed me where three different grocery stores were by actually walking me to them! It didn't do me any good my first day because apparently everything is closed on Sundays with the exception of bakeries and bars.
Sadly, when I asked some Germans where I could find a place to buy food they pointed me to the McDonald's down the street. More sadly, I actually went. I justify this by saying that the standards for Mickey D's are a lot higher in Europe than in America.

Rob also walked me around pointing out the best places in the neighborhood, told me which beer tents to avoid, and showed me a couple important routes in the subway system!
I was a little skeptical of his friendliness but soon realized that it was his deep love for Germany that made him excited to orient people to it. In fact, the last time I saw him he was browsing Munich apartment listings.

The Australian girl, Shakira, later awoke to find that she'd made two beds up with fresh linens but failed to make her way to either of them. She spent the rest of the night having a five year old's dream conversation with two of our roommates from the Isle of Man about vomit, poop, competitions and everything else they'd seen and done since arriving.

Because of this I spent half of the next day sleeping, and the other half hanging out at the Weisn.

Every day I was in Munich I had it in the back of my mind to go to The Clubhouse Bar. For booking my hostel through Oktoberfest Beds, this bar would give you all the free beer (of a certain variety) you could drink from 1-5pm, a free stein, and tee-shirt.
It seemed like something of a hassle because I don't have a knack for easily getting where I'm going, and it was a trip on two different U-bahns away. Not actually all that far from where I was located, just an inconvenience to my lack-of-sleep-laziness.
When I did finally meander my way over I was glad I'd made the minuscule effort. I found myself in pleasant company with two Aussies on break from University and a friendly bar manager, Alex, who was very in the know on the whole Oktoberfest scene.
Not two seconds after he popped the cap on my second beer, in strode my luck of the day.

Hunter.

A ridiculously tall, not just in comparison but in general, handsome and charismatic (though a little egotistical for my taste) ex-pat. He worked at the bike tour company across the street and had ducked into the bar to seek refuge from "the annoying Italian," a co-worker of his.

His irritability (or her obnoxiousness) did me a favor, because by the time my beer was finished I had my very own guide to Munich.
I hopped on the back of his tandem bike and off we went!

This guy is surfing on a river!