Travels, Perspectives, and Hilarious Disasters

Buenos Aires - The Portal to Adventure

2007-08-07T00:24:00.000-07:00

The City
Buenos Aires offered me a taste of what Argentina had to offer me—relaxation, spontaneous fun, excellent new friends to hang out with, memorable football, language challenges, and the kindness and generosity of Argentinean people—and prepared me for the next segment of my trip. A portal to adventure, Buenos Aires opened the door for the next 10 weeks of adventurous, exciting, hilarious travels throughout South America, this great, great land of fun and excitement! In walking through this gateway to travel, you experience a shift in priorities. Your most critical appliance changes from blow-dryer to headlamp, and the coolest thing you own is no longer your laptop, but the twisty elastic travel clothesline (you don’t need clothespins!).

Surprisingly, I didn’t live it up in BA. I arrived around 9am, exhausted from a mix of flying all night and a 5-hour time difference. The first day I walked across the entire city on a 6-hour journey to sightsee. It’s a busy city, but not overwhelming. Bright colors, cute boutiques, and dog walkers exercising 10 dogs of all shapes and sizes at a time. People not just kissing on the street, but seriously making out in public. Cute small corner restaurants and little confiterias/pastelerias. After my day of be-a-rock-star-and-go-all-day-until-2am, I reminded myself that I am on vacation, and my stay in the city proved this point. Each other day I slept in until noonish, getting up to hang around the hostel, watching soccer and drinking coffee in my sweats for a good hour before showering and being "productive."

The People
The travel experience is not only about what you see, but whom you meet. The people in my hostel were great. One of the girls, Kelley, is from the US and had been in the hostel for 3 months. I went out to dinner with her and her friends, all of whom had been staying in the hostel for months, each either doing long-term travel and staying in BA to learn Spanish, teach English, or learn Tango or Salsa. Also in the hostel was a group of 5 British boys, mostly from Bristol. They were all in my dorm, so I felt pretty acquainted with them after they got home from the clubs around 8 or 9 in the morning! Much to my delight, they invited me to go with them to see a Boca game and the experience was nothing short of memorable.

The Experiences
In preparation for my trip to Necochea, I needed to buy a bus ticket. Upon arriving at the main train/bus station, I looked around for the bus ticket booth. Nothing. I lapped a couple times, studying my surroundings in the ever-so-stealth, "I’m clearly not a tourist, so don’t mess with me" way. I soon realized I needed to ask someone for directions. Ok, who? Yes—I’ll go ask that old lady working in the pharmacy. While I asked in Spanish, apparently my accent was so bad that she couldn’t understand what I needed (but give me a break, that was Day One). More and more people crowded around to see what I needed and I kept trying, my face flushed with embarrassment. Estacion de Omnibus! Necessito una boleta para Omnibus! Finally, this nice lady approaches me and asks me in English, "What do you need?" She explained where the bus ticket booth was (actually a completely different building), and walked me halfway there while chatting with me about where I was from and where I was traveling. The unselfish kindness of complete strangers is such a reassuring feeling when so far from home.

The highlight of my experience in BA is without a doubt the Boca game. When I watch soccer and basketball, I get some sort of adrenalin rush. I’m focused, almost as if I am making the decision as to where the next pass will go, and whether or not it’s the right opportunity to take a shot. It’s always been that way for me. Here I am, watching—no, absorbing—something I get to be a part of...once again. It was the perfect warmup, a glorious little taste of what was to come the following week in Necochea.

Boca Juniors vs. Racing, April 29th, 2007

2007-08-07T00:20:00.000-07:00

Accompanied by Ed, Olly, Steve, Mike, and Nathan (5 boys from England), I went to my first Boca Juniors game. Thrilled to have people to spend this experience with, we all piled on a bus to leave our hostel in Palermo and enter La Boca. Upon arriving at the stadium, we milled around looking for tickets and enjoying a day-old slice of pizza that Mike kindly brought along. We approached a man in what looked like a ticket sales box and I asked where I could buy 6 tickets. He replied that there were none. Hmm. After a few more tries, we found some scalpers on the street and after much deliberation, coughed up the cash to pay for tickets. A tour bus (Condor Estrella for those familiar) rolled in with the team and like the Dead Sea parting, everyone got out of the way to cheer the team through. The excitement began to rise as we all looked at each other with wide eyes and sheepish grins like kids in a candy store.

To get in the stadium, you have to line up behind a few specified fences. Think "animal pens". Everyone is awkwardly close; some awkwardly drunk. That said, I gathered that we were at a pretty "civilized" entrance, if you will. We were surrounded by dark hair of all styles—some styles certainly questionable and lots of aspiring mullets—and different shades of blue and yellow, Boca´s colors. I certainly stood out in my red t-shirt and knock-off sunglasses. People were singing and jumping up and down with excitement: You could feel the energy in the air. As soon as the police began letting people through, it became a mad, trampling rush and we were soon all shoved together up against the wall. Once moving forward, we went through about four checkpoints and one with the full frisk (where there was one, lone woman police officer for me).

The last checkpoint was the final frisk. Again, I head toward the one woman police officer. Before I know it, they are guiding me toward a different entrance than the guys. The security was motioning for me to walk forward as I am looking around to see where the guys are. Pretty soon I am 50 meters away and can’t see them at all. Oh crap. I am going through the entrance, still with everyone waving me through like they know who I am. I expected to see them on the other side of the door to the stadium. I didn’t—I had no idea where they were. There I was with rowdy fans everywhere—all men—and I couldn’t find the guys. Did I somehow get a ticket in a different section? They all looked the same. ?? This was NOT a place where I felt I should exercise my independence...

I stood off to the side, calming myself and praying the boys I came with would show up. After a few moments, they did! Thank god! I’d had visions of being in the pit all by myself and finding my way home on my own after being pawed at or spit on by rowdy fans. Upon entering our section, all was well. And the nice man gave me the last program! Sometimes it IS good to be the only girl! Ha! Our seats were at the top of the stadium and had an amazing view.

The game was incredible. People would throw receipt paper rolls from the top of the stadium down to the field, like streamers unraveling through the sky. Confetti was everywhere, flares were going off (doesn’t seem terribly safe to me either). The crowd roared, sang, jumped up and down and the entire stadium swayed with activity. The Racing team sat opposite us with light blue pom poms and balloons, signs, streamers, banners, and umbrellas. They were screaming, jumping, and singing the whole game!

Racing got the first goal, Boca quickly followed with a PK (but they missed the first one). Toward the end of the game Boca started playing like crap (lots of Burros!), and their defense left a lot to be desired the whole time. Racing scored again.

At the end of the game, after devouring a huge bag of chips from a nearby gas station, we made our way home. Once back in Palermo, I went out to dinner with a couple of the guys at a fabulous establishment where they served fantastic cheap white wine. The three of us polished off three bottles. After the first one, the waitress tried to bring us "algo mejor?". "No! No, no. Nada mejor!" We love our cheap wine! Nothing tops a wonderful day like a hilarious, celebratory night.

**I am now most proud to announce that Alex, my little brother from the training school in Necochea, was selected for Racing! A pro at 16....not bad. Remember the name Alex Gutierrez from Nicaragua. He'll be famous very soon.

The Long Road to Argentina

2007-08-07T00:15:00.000-07:00

In Argentina, soccer is a way of life. It is a part of the culture, and with its excellent teams and coaches, makes a great place to get back into shape to play again. In researching my travels, I found a training school in Necochea, Argentina, at which I made arrangements to train for two weeks. For me, however, the opportunity to train alongside pro hopefuls was more than just about the sport itself. It was about a personal battle I fought, and—I am beside myself with joy in being able to say this—ultimately won. In the end, only a small component of this experience was about the sport. It was about having my health back.

The Long Road
After years of struggling with unwelcome, unexplained symptoms and consulting numerous healthcare professionals for help I was given a blanket diagnosis...that really got me no where. All I knew was that when I exercised heavily, I became extremely, painfully ill for days on end. How do you tell an athlete it is over?

I want to say that the solution came swiftly. I want to say that I handled it well, and accepted it like an adult. That this new lifestyle didn’t phase who I was. For a few years, the fallout of this unusual set of circumstances did not paint a pretty picture. And to add to it, the challenges I faced were never something I felt comfortable being public about. It was hard to put into words something you don’t really understand yourself. I knew I wanted my sports back so badly, but I had to pretend I didn’t. I had to be in denial, because facing it was too painful. I tucked away all signs of my athletic past, I refused to watch any soccer and I avoided going to games. I often didn’t tell people that I played because I didn’t want to explain why I couldn’t play now. It wasn’t a time in my life I cherish: the diagnosis, the misdiagnosis, the confusion, the fear, the reality and the denial. The trials, the pills, the procedures...and the tears that flowed on the way home from every pointless, waste-of-time doctor’s appointment. But also, there was the courage I managed to muster to push for an answer—the answer I ultimately found.

And here I am, sharing my experience from training in Argentina. I am in a time in my life I always hoped for, but didn’t think I would get. For me, training was about a lot more than an improved touch on the ball and a cool story to match a stamp in my passport. Just stepping on the field, now, for me, is likely my greatest accomplishment.

Back into Shape
For training, we would either do an indoor session, and outdoor session, a small practice at the park, or scrimmages at either the stadium or indoor facility. The guys would also go to the midday conditioning trainings with the semi-pro team, but my fitness level was not up to par with that level of intensity. And my quads were simply not going to accommodate it. They held in, though. After many pep talks; “C’mon girls. Stay with me.” Yes, I was referring to my quadriceps when saying ‘girls’. Most evenings we would go to the stadium to train with the local boys’ team. Our coach would pick us up early for our small training, and then we would join the group for evening scrimmage.

Welcome to Argentina
The last night in Necochea was the most memorable. It was a cool night, with dark clouds threatening. The air filled only with the stampede of cleats gushing through mud, the varied thumps of the ball, and each of us yelling at each other as we battled. There I was, in the pouring rain with this handful of local boys and my brothers, pushing the ball forward. We’re sprinting, we’re stretching, we’re screaming. Pushing, pulling, lunging; getting that slight tap to your teammate and digging in to get forward and receive the next pass. Demanding, punishing your body to step hard and get there never felt so comfortable, so natural.

The sun has gone down and we’re playing under the buzz of the lights coming on, with the rain sporadically pounding us. The scrimmage gets more and more players as the night goes on, and quickly moves from controlled, working-the-ball down the field to an all-out pinball machine scrap fest. The game has changed and I realize I will either be in it, or out of it. Well? If you bitches want to scrap, then I’ll scrap! Hacks, lunges, slices, dices. Welcome to Argentina. Crashes, slashes, cuts, dodges. The occasional quality pass. Thwacks, thumps, knocks—chasing each other down the field to pick off that ball. A loose ball and three of us go for it. The guy in front of me took a larger step and we collide in a full-frontal smash—and I go flying. I am so wrapped up the adrenalin of it all I hardly notice the nosebleed and the growing bump on my forehead. While these players were exceptional with footskills and strength, they didn’t anticipate as well. In such a game, the strategy of place-yourself-next-to-the-beehive-and-scream-like-hell-for-the-ball proved to be effective and earned me some excellent shot opportunities. I didn’t score that night and I really wanted to, but I was dangerously close to the upper V three times. It’ll happen.

Where’s Your Sports Bra, Hill?!
I learned so much in my two weeks in Necochea. To bring more socks and sports bras than you can shake a stick at. To pay attention all the time and to look tough, play hard, and hit back. To scrap, scrap, scrap! That challenging yourself makes you smarter, faster, stronger, and better. That playing with a small, ghetto ball on turf will demand improvement with your control. That you must never take off your sports bra so that it can dry in between trainings, because you’ll forget to put it back on and have to tell the coach why you shouldn’t scrimmage… That blisters are your friend—be hospitable to them. That Argentinean MTV is hilarious, and it’s even more hilarious to mimic the characters with your little brothers. That dulce de leche is delicious with everything (and I thoroughly tested this theory). That 26-year-olds aren’t as fit as 16-year-olds, but that just means you have to work a little harder to get there. That few things are more gratifying than Abel with a grin on his face, a look that crosses between pride and surprise, shaking both fists as he yells with enthusiasm, “BUENA! BUENA SSSHHHHEEEEE-LA-RRREEEE!! BUENA!!!!!!”

And despite my nonchalant approach to what I thought was doing there, it soon became evident. I came to Argentina because I needed to ask the question. And in Argentina, I found the answer. Indeed, soy futbolista!

Family Life in Necochea

2007-08-06T23:59:00.000-07:00

Aspiring football players come to El Potrero to focus on training for various amounts of time, from several months up to a year. I, however, was a bit of an anomaly in countless ways. I was the backpacker traveler in for a few weeks, having only a vague, undefined idea of where I wanted my football to take me, and of course, I was a girl. I was the first girl to come to El Potrero. The program is set up by Enrique Amarante, and his family opens their home to provide the residential experience of the football school. With an Argentinean couple, their son, their three dogs, 5 boys from Ecuador and Nicaragua, and one girl from the United States, the experience is similar to that of a family.

Arriving and Meeting my New Family
Upon arriving in Necochea, Enrique came to pick me up at the bus station with his son Esteban, who was slightly older than me. Once we arrived at the house, I dropped off my stuff and went to meet the other boys. Graciela, Enrique’s wife (and my new Argentinean mom) came running in to greet me and give me a big hug. It was quite relieving after being in the awkward spotlight of strange-first-girl-to-ever-come-here-and-just-got-off-a-10-hour-bus-ride-they-told-me-would-be-7-hours-oh-my-god-I-am-really-here-and-what-have-I-gotten-myself-into feeling. We all sat down to have dinner together, and after smiling politely to acknowledge the surprised look on their faces that I do indeed have a healthy appetite, I was off to bed to sleep off the long journey and get ready for my experience in Necochea.

Ochenta y Cinco Bis
As students, we live in the Amarante-Graziano home on 85 (ochenta y cinco) Bis. The boys have a separate area, connected via the patio with a separate street entrance. There they live with their sleeping loft upstairs, kitchen, bathroom, and communal area. The communal area was a big room, perfect for these boys: mismatched furniture, regular TV and then one for video games, posters of Maradona on the wall, and of course, dirt smudges on the walls from kicking the ball around indoors. And yes, I did it too. Being the only girl, I got to take residence in the family’s house in their daughter’s old room, complete with private bath. As much as I loved my new little brothers, and as seasoned a traveler I now consider myself to be, cohabitating with 16 and 18-year-olds was not part of what I signed up for so I was thrilled to have my own room and bathroom.

A La Casa
We had training every day at different times (which I either didn’t understand, or they would change at the last moment, so I just tried to be ready for everything and anything). We had breakfast whenever we woke up—and I was usually up first—and then el almuerzo and la cena was usually around our training schedule for the day. In between trainings, we would spend time lounging around in the TV room, watching quality programming such as trashy MTV shows, the Simpsons, and (when I got my way), classic girl movies like My Best Friend’s Wedding and How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. While hanging around at home, I would have my 501 Spanish Verbs out and work on my vocab, verbs, grammar, and correct pronunciation of inappropriate, dirty phrases that my little brothers proudly taught me (and would make me practice, “No! You have to yell! You have to sound mad!”). We would practice my skills at rolling the Rs, which tripped me up every time...but I am getting better! When I would hear a new word, I would try to look it up or write it down (which was a non-stop pursuit).

Como?
Being immersed in the language sped my progress dramatically....and also lent itself to a constant feeling of frustration. One of the boys, Alex from Nicaragua, spoke English well, however, I came to find how much I speak with idiomatic expressions, and how humor and tone simply don’t translate. I have so much respect for people who work hard to learn a language in a foreign country—the level of frustration from not being able to express yourself became too much sometimes.

“A-le-jjjooooo!”
I lived with Enrique and his wife Graciela, their son Esteban, and their dogs Che, Tobey, and Luna. But I spent most of my time with Jesi, our cook and housekeeper—and my helper in beating up on the boys—Alex from Nicaragua, Andres from Ecuador, Cristopher from Ecuador, and Jean from Ecuador (who came for the second week). After only a few days I became clear on what it’s like to have brothers: throwing things at each other, mimicking each other’s voices, doing silly imitations of TV characters, etc. One night we all sat up in the loft, turned off the lights and told ghost stories! I told the famous tale of my scary haunted house-sitting experience, and Andres had a nightmare about it! (no my Spanish isn’t that good...yet. Alex translated).

Bienvenido a Necochea
Necochea is a sleepy little town. During the summer it’s popping because it is right on the beach. During the winter, however, a lot of the cafes are closed and the shops are only open for a few hours. It is very spread out; we would have to get a ride from either Abel, the head coach, or a taxi to training. Our house was located within walking distance to the beach and a handful of amenities such as a cyber cafe, laundromat, shops, and cafes. The center of town was about a 5-minute drive and held a typical main drag of retail fronts and restaurants.

The people seemed even nicer than those in Buenos Aires, and because this place isn’t a hub for tourists, immediately can’t detect my gringa status and would unleash the Castellano propelling out like a machine gun. However, once they realized I wasn’t able to keep up with the language, I felt like everyone made a warm effort to help assist me with whatever I needed. When I told people I was in Necochea for football training after being asked why I was in town, some people actually laughed and I had to continually say, “Si, yo juego. Yo juego con los chicos.” Then I kept getting asked the most absurd question in the world, "why do you like football? I don´t understand." I began to get frustrated.

Novelty or Freak? Five Minutes of Fame
Because women in Argentina do not play soccer, I was a bit of a novelty. Novelty, or freak. I think freak is more precise while novelty is more flattering. Regardless, I awoke one morning to be told that we were going down to have an interview for TV. I was interviewed for a large newspaper article that ran in the Sunday paper, and a TV program about sports in Necochea. It was all very strange; I never felt there was anything that unusual about my being there, training with the boys. However, a few days after the article about me ran in the paper, people would recognize me when we would be out in public, which, actually, made me feel really awkward.

In all, I had an enchanting time in Necochea. To me, it was about as authentically Argentinean as you could get: Soccer, tango, family homestay, and meeting locals in a place that rarely has tourists. Necochea prompted me to learn not only about Argentina, but also my place in terms of what type of athlete I am, what type of traveler I am, and what type of family member I am. The last day in Necochea I was at a grocery store and the woman who worked there approached me and said (Alex was there and translated), "You are the girl in the paper. You get out there to kick ass, and to the kick the asses of those boys. Good for you!" And she was right. In the end, while Necochea impacted me, it seems, I impacted Necochea too.

Pachamama By Bus - North Chile down to Santiago

2007-08-06T23:45:00.000-07:00

What is this ‘Backpacking’ Thing You’re Doing?
On a group bus tour of backpackers, I immediately adopted the roaming, nomadic lifestyle which includes battling to be the first to run in the dorms to snag the best bed, re-discovering the muscle memory employed when taking effective cold showers, the inevitable wearing of dirty-clothes consistently (just use the sniff test), eating petrol-stop ice cream bars (which I am confident had nothing to do with my vacation weight gain), passing out the ear plugs due to the dolby digital surround-sound snoring from multiple culprits, and sleeping in hostel rooms with swarms of bugs. Cheers to that.

On the bus, everyone was on his or her own schedule of napping, spending hours lost in the magic of mp3 players, or scrounging around to find that last package of junk food from the previous petrol stop. Off the bus, if we weren’t in the middle of some adventurous, outdoorsy activity, we would fill our time with a mix of the following: bonding over crazy travel stories, figuring out some new shenanigan, or just hanging out and getting to know one another.

The People
The only thing more fun than being on an amazing, active adventure exploring some of Chile’s great natural wonders, is doing so with fun-loving, ballsy, hilarious, like-minded adventurous people. Our trip consisted of a handful of travelers, all at different points in longer journeys with both radiant energy for fun and fantastic stories from other destinations along the way. About half of our tour group was somewhere in the middle of round-the-world journeys. I was the only American, but there were a few Canadians, Australians, English, Dutch, and a Brazilian outside our tour guide and driver, both Chilean and an absolute blast. Early on, I made a couple strong friends with whom I would hang out with the most. However, the cool thing of being in a group of 15 is that everyone really does everything together and you get to know each individual.

What surprised me most was the balance in activity; typically, tours have the people who want to party every night, and the people who want to stay in every night. With our group, the moods transferred from one to another, and be it a quiet night sharing a communally prepared meal and chatting about education and career prospects, or going out and partying it up until 4am, our respective moods and motivations were on par with one another nearly every night.

We had the usual suspects on any tour group: the fun ones, the annoying ones, the cranky one you stop bothering with, and the cute ones. It was great.

Six Days through Chile
While the group was chill while on the road, we were all ready for the next stop, the next activity, the next fun thing.

Day One: Antofagasta to San Pedro de Atacama

The Adventures
On my first day, we were headed into the Atacama desert to visit the salt flats which was only a few hours away. Once the salt has been mined for all the chemicals and substances, it is discarded in one place, which over time has developed into a salt mountain. We climbed up the side of it, and while it wasn’t too difficult, it certainly got the heart rate going and all the loose chunks quickly slid down leaving any exposed skin thoroughly exfoliated. In the late afternoon we visited the flamingo reserve to watch the desert sunset before rolling into San Pedro de Atacama for two nights. That night we all went out to dinner and enjoyed the lovely, 2-for-1 all-night happy hour on selected drinks. And being partial to sampling cultural delights, I had my fair share of Caipirinhas, a Brazilian drink. As the night went on, we found ourselves at a large, round table all with a 3-drink head start on a fun evening. Before we know it, Ian is explaining the infamous “handslap” game. All with our hands on the table, left hand on top, right on bottom, we went through the rules. Different numbers of handslaps can continue the sequence, skip a hand, or change direction. When you mess up, you drink. And when you keep messing up, you keep drinking, and then…. It can get a little ugly [hilarious]. After we were all sufficiently drunk, we headed back to our hostel, to share beers around the campfire, chat about travels, practice the dirty Spanish phrases I taught everyone, and discuss names for our new-found friend stray dog (we ultimately decided upon Bobby Red).

The Funniest Part
Trying to finagle the extra beers from one of our travel companions who was asleep as he had to get up at 4am to see the geysers. After a few of us tried waking him up to coax more beer, we were all unsuccessful, and such began a bit of a dramatic episode in the group and a unique display of questionable interpersonal skills...alas, there is always excitement in every group travel situation! For some reason he didn’t appreciate each of us waking him up. Still can’t figure out why…it seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Day Two: Day in San Pedro de Atacama
(this was also the day I received the email from Dave letting me know he crashed my car while I was away…)

The Adventures
While the morning was slated for visiting the geysers or doing other activities, a few of us slept in. In the afternoon, we went out to the Salt Caves to do some exploring and a bit of rock-climbing. Here I realized that hanging on to my turf shoes in lieu of trainers was indeed a good idea! Parts of the caves are indeed made of salt and when you put your headlamp up to it, a large area will glow. After the caves we went to climb up a huge sand dune to watch the desert sunset on the mountains. Again, talk about a workout—I felt like I was at St. Helens again (but this time without crawling into the fetal position, thank you!). The top was breezy, but incredible!

That evening, we were all still up for a good party. We started at the fun happy hour restaurant, hit up a local bar, and then left at 1am with everyone to head to a private party. In this case, private party meant a one-room studio with little more than a bedroll on the concrete floor, with all the guests sitting and chatting in a whisper so the landlord wouldn’t hear and bust it up. I had a great time practicing my Spanish and Swedish, as we made friends with a couple Swedish girls who were there. The night went on, meeting new people from all over the world, all passing around one cup where I had mixed pisco and Pepsi. I am cringing just thinking about it—I had a bit of a rough night. It was one of those “who’s puking now?” nights. More like, “who’s dry-heaving out of the bus window the following morning?” nights. I am not proud of that one, and it is a fact that I stayed away from alcohol for the next few weeks.

The Funniest Part

Laughing as Darcie shared with a local the bad Spanish word I taught her. And it was a really, really bad word.

Day Three: Travel day from San Pedro de Atacama to Pan de Azucar

The Adventures
After having Lucy wake me up, I packed my things as fast as I could and boarded the bus. I overdid it the previous night and was feeling like 1.) I got hit with a freight train 2.) my body was ready to refute any substance I opted to ingest, as well as refute in general, without substance 3.) I was way too old and responsible to be this hungover. After a tasty sandwich, some water, and potato chips, the hangover cleared and I was feeling rockstarish once again. That day we drove south to Pan de Azucar where we camped on the beach. While I am a fan of camping, freezing cold weather does not a fun camping trip make, but I toughed it out without a problem. Our Australians Kym and Chris cooked up a FABULOUS curry that night for everyone to share. We left early in the morning, all feeling a little less-than-rested but me (thank you Thermarest! I knew I was carting it around for a reason!!!).

The Funniest Part

Embarrassing and unflattering as it is, feeling so sick from the bumpiness of the bus ride I had to shove open the bus window and (after dry-heaving a bit) leave my head hanging out like a golden retriever. I’m sure the commuters on their way to work found it amusing. Classy, Hill. Classy.

Day Four: Pan de Azucar to Vicuna

The Adventures

The fourth day was also a travel day—I think I was going through a set of AAAs on my mp3 player each day. We were headed south again, toward the Elqui Valley. We arrived in the evening, just in time for me to get a—gasp—hot shower and leave for the Planetarium. I fully admit to being an astronomy dork, so I had been looking forward to this the whole trip. It was great, but also soooooo cold. What is with this country? Oh right, it’s winter… We first went up to the main telescope to view Saturn and Jupiter, the only planets viewable this time in the season. After that, we went downstairs to receive a rather odd presentation, and then outside to see more stars and parts of the galaxy from the smaller telescope. Two thumbs up, but go during a warmer season.

The Funniest Part

One by one dropping out of the planetarium tour to wait it out in the bus because we were dying of frostbite.

Day Five: Day in Vicuna

The Adventures

While there were some local tours planned for the day, our tour guide was so sick she needed to go to the doctor. In the end, we had a chill day writing emails, backing up photos, going out for meals, and taking naps. There was a nasty flu bug going around that was taking people down one-by-one, so we were all hitting the vitamins hard and trying to have as much juice as we could get our hands on. That evening we went out for a nice healthy dinner together and a few of us came back to our dorm to watch a movie on TV.

The Funniest Part

“This looks like shit. Smells of shit!” James enunciated loudly to the lady who washed his clothes. They came out covered in mud and dirt—way worse than when they put them in. Liz had to come and explain in Spanish.

Day Six: Travel into Santiago

The Adventures
The last day of the tour was a travel day. We made a stop in the Fray Jorge National Park, which featured a small rainforest climate up on the top of the mountain, overlooking the water. The bus twisted and climbed to the top (not without me getting a little nervous from problems in previous mini-bus trips), and we all piled out for a little nature walk to enjoy the scenery. The last day in the bus was full of passing around journals to get each others’ email addresses, chatting about upcoming destinations, and relaxing to the varied music mix on Lucy’s iPod. I seem to recall a heart-felt sing-along to Elton’s Tiny Dancer. We said our goodbyes, and such ended yet another segment of my trip.

The Funniest Part

After Dave went on and on about his “famous” hat—the one he explained was so famous because it made itself on the news (while on his head?) and was one of his most important possessions—he managed to leave it behind on the bus.

I was in Santiago for 4 nights with a couple awesome people I met on my tour. I didn’t do a lot of sight-seeing while I was there, but the little I did, I realized I didn’t miss anything! We did enjoy the Champion’s League finals with nearly everyone else in our hostel....and a package of cookies! Bummer for Liverpool.

Off to Mendoza…

Wine, Great Friends, and Accidental Adventures in Mendoza

2007-08-06T23:41:00.000-07:00

I met Kelley in my hostel in Buenos Aires. She was in my hostel room and had been living at the hostel for a few months, along with a handful of other long-termers. After a few conversations we realized that we had a lot of similarities and I quickly suspected that she and I would be good friends for a long time. She left Buenos Aires to take up residence in Mendoza, Argentina, doing a marketing internship and taking Spanish classes. While I was traveling, she invited me to come for a visit, and I was excited to fly by the seat of my pants and take her up on it (and miss the frostbite that would surely ensue from the non-heated hostels in southern Chile).

Meeting my Twin
Meeting friends while traveling is always one of the greatest rewards of the open road. However, Kelley and I soon realized that we were so similar, it was uncanny. I have never met anyone with such a close personality, humor, taste, sense of adventure, outlook on life, etc. And paired with that, it came down to unusual parallels. For example, I had some of the exact same articles of clothing –right down to the brand—and various household items, such as a little brown notebook with blue flowers (Target, baby!). She too was a travel-obsessed, left-handed, vegetarian, all-things-Swedish-loving, middle-child-in-the-family-of-three-girls, American chick. And daaaaaaaaaamn cool!

One of our first evenings we met up with Jeri, an English teacher from Kelley’s language school, to taste wine flights at the Vines of Mendoza and go out for dinner. We had a delicious and amazing 4-course vegetarian meal complete with wine and tales of travels and various boludos. A very Bridget Jones evening.

New Friends Like Old Friends
We found this quiet little tucked-away restaurant in an old, unique building. Each room had only one or two tables, and there were different bright, autumn-toned colors in each room. Each table and set of chairs were different, and outside our little dining room was a patio where they were holding a birthday party with guests of all ages and a small quartet playing in the corner. While the patio seemed a little chilly on this brisk, late-autumn evening, the indoors was a perfect location for our dinner. Listening to Jeri’s stories, the three of us were laughing, eating, drinking, commiserating, empathizing, and having an overall blast. She had a special energy about her, which we soon determined led to her amazing luck and positioned her for some incredible experiences. How many people get bumped to first class in order to avoid sitting with an ex-boyfriend on a trans-Atlantic flight? How many people charm the attendant into an invitation for a very memorable gaseosa in the back of the bus on an overnight journey?

It was one of those amazing moments you share with your friends. One when you realize you completely identify with one another, and nothing is more interesting or more fun than hanging out and chatting together. It all of a sudden became evident that the theme of friendship was presenting itself to me on this trip once again. Here I was with people who were—almost in a freakish way—exactly like me. It was like we had grown up together and were having yet another Saturday night together. Yet, the three of us had each met only a few weeks prior.

Old Friends Meeting the New Friends
While Kelley and I were at Bonafide mapping out our wine-tasting strategy over a couple cappuccinos (a decision in which we once again read each others’ minds), we ran into Kym and Chris from Australia, the married couple from the Pachamama bus! After chatting a bit, they hopped on the bus with us and joined in an afternoon of trying to find some bodegas open on a Monday. As we all trekked down a local country road in the outskirts of Mendoza, fall colors everywhere and locals passing and laughing at our ignorance (and foreign status), I admired their sense of adventure and laid-back, fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants mentality. Kym and Chris were on yet another international adventure. They were travelling Latin America for a year; beginning in Chile, making their way through Argentina and then heading north before going to Central America, Mexico, and Cuba. Not only do I respect people that can travel for an entire year, I really respect people that can travel together for an entire year—and I don’t think I’d ever run into more kind, laid-back, adventurous people who can make a mean curry. They provided an excellent example of a solid relationship, right down to their salsa skills (they took lessons back at home in preparation for their trip). Kym and Chris joined Kelley and I in a few of our adventures, and the three of them continued to see each other after I had left town.

The Vines of Mendoza
The themes and subtle lessons of Mendoza circled around relationships: both with friendship and romantic. In Mendoza I enjoyed time with girlfriends with whom I strongly identify, enjoying each others’ company, humor, and unabashed zest for life. I also got to get to know Kym and Chris better, and was able to observe the way their vibrant thirst for seeing the world mixes—and perfectly coexists—with their traditional “home life”, with having the house, the professional jobs, and the incredible marriage. The interests, personalities, and goals of these people were so aligned with mine that I couldn’t help but realize it was no coincidence we were all in the same city at the same time.

And with this experience, I flew to Peru revitalized with the reminder that without question, the universe puts the right people in the right places at the right time—sit back, trust, and enjoy.

The Wisdom of the Inkas - Lessons from the Inka Trail

2007-08-06T23:33:00.000-07:00

With the highest point of the trail reaching 13,775 feet, the Inka Trail trek leads to Machu Picchu, the ancient city of the Inkas. Forget the soccer tournaments with three games a day: We hiked 45 kilometers in 4 days, and with the elevation and the heavy pack on my back it was surely the most intense physical conquest I have ever completed. The scenery is incredible—snow-capped peaks, enormous, jagged mountains, deep valleys, scattered wildflowers.

Las Chicas Poderosas
The Inka trail is heavily regulated, so there are only around 200-300 tourists on it per day, outside the 200-300 porters and guides. Group sizes vary, but I lucked out and got the best group imaginable: two other girls my age! The three of us were all from the states and all had a ton in common, and a great time together. We were perfectly suited fitness-wise; no one held anyone back or pushed anyone too hard. Jose was our guide, and he spoke excellent English. Each time we reached a ruin we stopped, took off our packs, and sat down for a “story time” of him telling us more interesting facts about the Inkas and the Inka culture.

We had 5 porters who all had great personalities, encouraging smiles, unbelievable strength and stamina, not to mention were amazing cooks! Our group was unusual in that we didn’t have additional porters to carry our personal stuff. A combination of our tour company not letting us know it wasn’t included paired with our inherent toughness, we carried our own things, increasing the intensity of the hike tremendously. The second day, this idiot looked at us and said, "You guys are crazy to be carrying your own stuff." Annoyed with such a ridiculous comment, I immediately snapped, "Nah, we’re just strong." Hahahaaa. Nicole and Kristin smirked. How do you like us now? Needless to say, he didn’t speak to us anymore after that. At the end of the second day we arrived at camp and three boys looked delighted to be camping next to three girls. But as we walked in they said "You are carrying your stuff? You know there are porters for that. Harharharhaaarrr" Needless to say, we didn’t take them up on the offer to share a cigar and a drink that night. Noooooooo, gracias. Jose, our guide, enjoyed the attention enormously. He said all the other guides were coming to talk to him about his group of three girls that carry their own packs! The "Chicas Poderosas."

El Camino
I had been in Cuzco for about 5 days getting acclimated to the altitude before beginning the trek. The tour company picked me up at 6am and we drove an hour to the porter village where we had desayuno with the other two girls on my trip. The first day we only hiked about 4 hours, which was the easiest day. Our lunch and dinner was always ready when we arrived to the camps. Our porters are some of the most amazing people I have ever seen: they would leave the rest stops after us and arrive to the next place long before us, carrying three times the weight, wearing nothing on their feet but sandals. The second day was the toughest. We did 3.5 hours of tough uphill to lunch, where we ate everything we could get our hands on and then took a quick siesta. After lunch it was another 2.5 hours of extremely intense uphill to the highest pass, "Dead Woman’s Pass" which sits at 13,775 feet. Dead Woman? I’ll say.

Following our uphill, we had about 2 hours of steep downhill until we got to our camp for the night. It was FREEZING that night, and I was so tired I went to bed around 8pm wearing every layer of clothing I had. The next morning, after being woken up by our porters with tea—which they kindly did every morning—we started our 2 hours of tough uphill to the second pass. It was about another 2 hours of steep downhill to lunch, and then after lunch we had about 4.5 more hours of moderate up and steep down (we are talking steep staircases you should climb down backwards like a ladder). Upon reaching our evening camp, my knees were DONE, and my group kept making me eat along the way because my blood sugar was so low I kept making stupid jokes (oh wait, that’s all the time! I was a little out of it, though).

The last evening, our cook baked us a cake and wrote on it, “We Made the Inka Trail.” That will make me smile for years to come, and I am still impressed he was able to bake a cake on a camp stove! We crashed that night early due to fatigue, and the fact that we were getting up the next morning at.....4am.

Reaching Machu Picchu
The morning came early, but we were chipper and awake because we were to arrive at Machu Picchu in only a few hours! We waited with everyone at the checkpoint. It didn’t open until 5:30am, but you want to be close to the front of the line because the trail is packed as we all had the goal to reach the Sun Gate before the sun rises fully around 7am.

Getting through the checkpoint, it was a tough, adrenalin-filled, race-like haul, but we, the "Chicas Poderosas" pushed through despite fatigue, sweat, and irritating disrespectful people stopping to take pictures. Come on! Toughen up or get out of the way!!!!! We climbed the last set of insane steps and burst through the Sun Gate, and, hearts pounding with anticipation and excitement from the view unfolded before us, immediately looked at Jose. Did we make it?! He smiled, "we are too early." Yes!!! We hauled past the Sun Gate to get away from everyone and hustled to the main lookout place as fast as our beat-up, sore legs could take us. Nicole actually ran a bit, and I almost fell over in laughter because it reminded me of the movie "Troop Beverly Hills" as her pack jumped back and forth with each step. Yes, the Chicas Poderosas made it in time for all the great photos of the sun light breaking through the jagged mountains and highlighting the buildings and structures of Machu Picchu.

The Wisdom of the Inkas
With hours of focus and time to reflect and process, a few key metaphors became evident that I realized were applicable to more than just the trail.

I will get there. It’s just a matter of when. When faced with a difficult challenge, a successful outcome occurs from embracing the notion that you really can do anything—it’s just that the tougher things take longer.

Always be looking forward, but every once in a while, turn around and enjoy the view of how far you have come. It is important to always look forward, but there are clear rewards in glancing back, even if it is just to view your progress.

Make every step solid. Give a strong, deliberate focus to the task at hand; a careless step can be painful and costly.

Less weight grants flexibility. And flexibility is often directly related to strength. Always, always, always travel light—even if that means leaving the soap behind!

Fuel your body for the challenges it faces. Health comes first. Take responsibility for making sure you are prepared and positioned for the tasks you undertake.

Experiencing—The Way I Wanted to Experience It
Taking on the challenge of the Inka trail was not only about making me better embrace what I was learning about the Inkas and ultimately appreciate Machu Picchu more, it was a personal feat. Not too long ago, intense physical activity was completely off limits for me. I was forced to sideline my affinity for active, adventurous pursuits, and opt for safer, tamer choices—which simply wasn’t me. I remember having moments on the trail, catching myself thinking, “for the love of god, why are there more stairs? When does it end?” and realizing where I was, and what I was doing. If you were to tell me a year ago that I would be here, doing this for 4 days in a row without any problem, nothing in the world could have made me happier. And so, with those painful steps, the burn in my quads, the ache of my knees, the weight of my pack, the slime of my sweat, I was grateful. So, so grateful to be here, on the Inka trail, experiencing it—breathing in the thin, Peruvian air and seeing all the mountains before me—the way I wanted to experience it and not hiding behind the threat of becoming painfully sick afterwards.

What Life is About
The Inka Trail was without question the most rewarding experience of my life. The scenery, the sites, the history, the friendships, the food, and the stairs…but most importantly, the opportunity to step out and truly absorb an incredible experience on my own terms, the way I like to experience it will all surely stay with me for a lifetime. This is what’s out there—this is what is in the world that you’re missing if you stay home. This is what life is about: Find your challenge, go sign up, then show up to kick its ass while coming away with amazing friends and a renewed sense of well-being and new-found knowledge of what it is that you are: una chica poderosa.

Closing Out the Journey in the Mighty Jungle

2007-08-06T23:25:00.000-07:00

Being a native of the Pacific Northwest, I have a certain level of connection to nature. Humans are connected to nature in the sense that it provides recalibration of the equilibrium, a source for refreshing one’s self, and an opportunity to learn and be challenged. Travel and new places also offer the ability to recharge, so when new surroundings are paired with nature, the result is an environment of unparalleled clarity. The outcome is an incredible revival, revisiting who you are and why it is you’re doing what you’re doing.

With that, it was only appropriate that the jungle of Ecuador was my last stop on this journey, providing clarity to review all I learned and experienced in South America, and an excellent reminder of some key themes this journey held for me.

Our Surroundings
Our Spanish School in the Jungle tour included the first two nights in one location, and the last three in another. Kim and I arrived at the Quito bus station early on Sunday morning to meet our respective teachers, Ivan and Edwin. Edwin was older, and while kind, exceptionally tightly wound. Ivan was our age, goofy, and…on the prowl (aren’t all Ecuadorian men?!).

I’m used to forests, ocean, and the ubiquitous green we enjoy here in the Northwest, but the jungle boasts a whole new array of natural treasures—and there were new surprises I had to constantly be aware of. Kim, being from Australia, the land of poisonous everything, taught me a lot. When walking we’d often stomp our feet to scare away snakes. We would store our boots upside-down when possible and keep them inside. Never did we slip them on before checking to see what was hidden in there. All bags were closed tightly and all clothes were thoroughly shaken prior to putting them on. Additionally, the beds got a thorough check before climbing in. I would carry my Deet everywhere, but I learned the hard way not to let it touch anything plastic as I soon learned it would melt all substances (and I put this on my skin? Right.).

Our first location was very primitive. When I say primitive, I mean that the toilet was basically on top of the dining area, and the sink would phase in and out of function. Soap? What’s soap? And don’t even think about hot water. But yet, it was still quite nice. Kim and I shared a spacious cabana with mosquito nets over our beds. The river roared next to us, which became a comforting sound within a few hours. There were hammocks on the deck of every cabana, and were used frequently. And while primitive might have less-than-ideal moments, it certainly offers the opportunity to illustrate your resilience and flexibility, both skills honed in the previous few months.

In the evening on the third day, we switched accommodation. Upon arriving to Shangri La, we were amazed! This place was just like the Swiss Family Robinson tree house, but perched up on a cliff overlooking the winding river and canopy below. Our room had actual walls and screens, and we even had a proper bathroom with hot water in our room! Kim and I were ecstatic. The shower was amazing, and much needed. The ice cold, low-pressure drip at the other camp was no match for the slime of sunscreen mixed in with deet residue. I was reminded that resiliency in primitive situations makes you more appreciative of more developed accommodations.

Testing your Strength (or Saving your Ass)—Adrenalin-filled Adventures
Each day held a different adventure and the second day we went on a waterfall hike. Instead of walking next to them and taking pictures, we climbed up the waterfall bed itself! Pulling myself up rocks in awkward positions was only possible in my unconditioned state with a surge of adrenalin. The cold water is thundering down, the rope is thin in my hand and those rocks down there looking painful—“buck up and do this!” I thought to myself!

There were three cascadas, and at the last one, we waited in waist-deep water while Eduardo (who is now Kimmy’s very own Tarzan!) secured the line. I was making a snide remark to Ivan just as I felt something thin slide past and graze my leg. Just then it hit me: I am in the jungle of Ecuador where there are countless creepy, crawly, slimy, poisonous amphibian beings! I had a hot flash of fear, jerking my head to see what it was while spastically jumping away. I then saw the culprit: the rope. Eduardo and Ivan were bent over laughing at me. Sigh.

Another hike culminated in yet more rock-climbing. In a narrow part of the river, we had to hoist ourselves up the rock faces with one leg and arm on one side, and the others on the other rock face, shimmying up while bats flew in and out, smacking us all over! It was another adrenalin rush derived from the incentive to NOT fall down the crevice and brake bones. The bats were a little odd and distracting, but didn’t bother me with my focus on climbing myself to safety. That said I was sure to make fun of Ivan, whimpering about having to go the route with the bats. I turned around, put two fists up to each eye, and twisting them back and forth emulating a crying baby, said, “oohhh, booo-hoooo! Estas cansada? Tienes miedo? Boo-freakin’-hoo”. I’m not sure he appreciated it, but I was getting a little annoyed of his whining. The jungle is for the adventurous!

Spanish Language
I’m always a fan of getting the most of every experience, so I was thrilled for this week of Spanish school in the jungle. Each morning we would have lessons from 8:30 until 1pm. I found them really helpful: While I was highly functional in Spanish, and could get around, I really learned from immersion in Argentina, so I struggled with grammar. Additionally, I had very sporadic vocabulary. For example, thanks to my little brothers in Argentina, I knew how to say, “F off, you son of a bit$h” in Spanish, but I didn’t know the word for “desk”. I’m still working on being a little more well-rounded in my approach to the language.

Cultural Insight
Food in the jungle was one of my favorite aspects of the trip: Everything is fresh, wholesome, filling, and tasty. With their inherent versatility, plantains were a component of nearly all the meals we had, and I quickly added them to the list of favorite foods. We had a lot of rice, beans, vegetables, as well as yucca, a type of root plant that grows in the jungle. The local people make chicha, a drink that comes from fermented yucca. The drink is common in all homes nowadays, but was historically meant for special occasions to encourage community, solidarity and equality. I tried chicha a couple times; drinking it from a big bowl passed around among friends, it’s tangy, thick, a little sour, and—my speculation is—a little tough on the digestion. But I’m all for absorbing the culture and sampling in the name of equality.

One Fine Afternoon in the Jungle
At Shangri La, our first after school special was rafting down the river in a vessel constructed of four inner tubes tied together. Myself, Kim, Ivan and our guide Bayron were all in for a wild ride.

It was a perfect afternoon and represented all the experiences I enjoyed on this trip. We floated down the river, enjoying the nature, the sights, the sounds, the company. We laughed at each other, splashing around, flirting, and telling stories. Everyone was relaxed: Our only task for the afternoon was to sit on the raft and take it all in. The air smelled sweet and fresh—a mix of flowers, damp trees, and incoming afternoon rain. The dark clouds loomed toward us, but we were in such a happy place that it didn’t matter, and after all, it’s the rainforest! We made a quick stop in a jungle community where we met some adorable children, visited a family home and sampled chicha. The afternoon rain thundered down just as we were leaving the small communidad, and we ran to the boat through the thick, gushing mud, the rain drops splattering and bouncing off the big leaves, laughing as we got soaked even more so than before, mud streaking our legs and covering our sandals.

Back in the raft we pushed off quickly to get back to Shangri La and out of the rain, but I didn’t mind the weather. I lay back, letting the rain drench me more, stretching and reaching to touch the water with both my hands and feet. I jumped when the boys splashed me and got up quickly to retaliate. And there, in the jungle, floating down the river, getting rained on I realized that like this whole, 10-week journey, I was experiencing something new with these other people, but knowing that in the end, the experience I take with me will be entirely my own.

Viva La Mexico!

2007-04-19T22:54:00.000-07:00

After two agonizing years without traveling, I am brushing off the Passport and reaching deep into the back of my sock drawer for that adventurous spirit. I know it’s in there somewhere…?! The glories of my beautiful contracting job at Microsoft require me to take a 100-day break. Boo-freakin-hoo. So what to do? Any guesses? Travel, of course. As soon as I submitted my timecard on my last day at MS (while having a couple office-made margaritas), I hopped on a bus to the airport where I departed for Baja, Mexico on a Green Tortoise bus trip. Now home for a few days, I am preparing for my 10-week backpacking adventure through Argentina, Chile, Peru, and Ecuador. Further details on that trip to come…

The Green Tortoise is, for lack of a better term, a hippie bus. Green Tortoise operates a handful of hostels, but also hosts a delightful slew of bus trips throughout North America. (To give credit where it’s due, http://www.greentortoise.com/) Predominately geared toward the budget [ghetto] traveler, Green Tortoise appeals to all poised for a good time—and all who don’t mind going without a shower. Hygiene? Who needs it?! I heard about this phenomenon through my dear friend Crystal, who has been on the Green Tortoise before. This particular adventure included me, Crystal, and Chad on a bus ride from San Francisco, all the way down the Baja Peninsula in Mexico for some beach camping, and back. I boarded and disembarked in LA. It was a 9-day trip, with the two days at the beginning and end on the bus.

With my huge, 10-weeks-in-South-America-and-I-have-so-much-planning-to-do trip looming forth, I admit I didn’t hold high expectations for this trip. To me, it was a great way to kick off my 100-day break from work, and a wonderful chance to hang out with Crystal and Chad. Hell, our final destination could have been Detroit and I would have signed up. But the glorious memories, experiences, lessons, and the… sand surfaced throughout the whole week. On Baja, the sand gets everywhere.

On the outside, the bus resembled a fairly standard coach. On the inside, however, was a machine for living. The front of the bus featured bench seats on either side, the middle of the bus had a couple tables, and the back of the bus was one large, cushy platform for the lounging, the living, and the laughing. All the overhead compartments were bunks. “All I need is a miracle! All I neeeeee-eeeed is you!!!” At night, the so-called “miracle” happened. And miraculous it was (and yes, that cheesy 80’s song was sung with much enthusiasm). The front seats became another large cushy platform, and the tables transformed to bunks on the top and bottom (a.k.a. the bat cave).

It took a split-second to get used to spooning with people on either side, but the odd looks from the Militar at each checkpoint made it all worthwhile. I can only imagine their speculations of 20 people all lying down together in the middle of the night…

After a couple days on the road we arrived at the beach at the crack of dawn, and not soon enough, as I opted for one of the overhead bunks on the night we had over an hour of bumpy dirt road. It was like someone took jackhammers to all four corners of your bed. And after a few too many drinks the night before (insert Crystal snort here—don’t make fun of my friend!), bad news.

Following a picnic breakfast, we made the 6-mile hike down the mountains to the camp. The camp itself featured a tented area with tables for cooking and food preparation, as well as a cantina serving chilled cerveza and delicious soda. There’s something about orange soda at the beach… There was an area with a circle of camp chairs for hanging out, as well as a shaded area on the beach to get out of the sun. We all set up our tents on various parts of the beach. Charming, yet breezy. Where is my lilo?! There were no showers, but there was one big, salty ocean. As for “facilities”, we had two options. If you had to do a Number 1, there was the “Pee Tree.” It wasn’t as private as Miguel described it to be (and I stood there, frozen in disbelief at my first visit right before I started laughing out loud), but featured designated areas for each gender as well as hand washing buckets. If you had to do a Number 2, “or you weren’t sure”, then you had to take one glorious walk down Lagoon Drive to the outhouse. Friends, they call it “out”-house for a reason. Boy, were you out there—it was completely open on the side and back. But hey, when camping you are one with nature, right? Right.

The days were filled with beach lounging, frolicking in the water on our Lilos (British term for blow-up air mattresses for floating in the water), perfecting the tan, and varied activities such as fishing, kayaking, and mule-riding. The evenings were filled with trying to be the first in line for dinner, singing at the campfires, and enjoying many drinks. Too many drinks, for some! On this particular trip, food was not a-plenty. I am told, however, that such is a Green Tortoise anomaly. If you were at the end of the line, your portions were smaller than normal—we all warmly referred to Playa Escondida as Fat Camp—and if you had an appetite like mine, you were destined to eat the leftovers off your friends’ plates. And I certainly did. But after my day of kayaking and needing at least a few grams of carbohydrates (sometimes fat camp had Atkins-themed meals), Bob—always the hero—went and got me some tortilla chips from the food storage. These weren’t your typical tortilla chips. Nah. These were infested with ants. But a girl’s gotta eat. They’re really fine once you blow them off and I figured any leftover debris likely added nutritional value.

Yes, life at Playa Escondida was pure joy. Relaxation and sunshine. No phones, emails, or watches; just inside jokes, nicknames, rituals. The flow of positive energies was everywhere, and we were laughing harder than we’d laughed in a long time. I loved the friendships I developed with everyone; I learned so many interesting, amazing things about each person that 9 days simply wasn’t enough. We were blessed with an amazing group of people—we could have camped in a WalMart parking lot and had a blast. Our group included people of all ages, backgrounds, and countries of origin. Aside from a few pervy predators, I’d jump at the chance to travel with this group in a heartbeat. My only outstanding question was whether or not the boy I thought was cute had figured it out yet…and was he going to do something about it?

The one real challenge at the beach was managing what I began to refer to as “the funk”. For those who have never had the pleasure, allow me to explain what happens after a few days of not showering at a saltwater beach. Your total surface area is quickly covered with the dustiness and roughness associated with delicious mix sea water, sweat, and dried sunscreen. Said “build-up” leaves your skin dulled, salty, and even slightly sticky. And consequently, this dullness bonds well to other particles, so you’re picking up and carrying around more dust than you normally would. Your clothes have white blotchy marks shaped like jellyfish from the dried salt, and your hair feels like decades-old yarn you pulled from your grandmother’s basement. Every time you try touching it you perform a combination of scowl/cringe/laugh, while peering at the faces of others to see if they were equally grossed out (but realizing their hair feels that way too, and at this point, it’s funny). You embrace that there will always be a dusting of dirt and sand on your feet. It will never go away no matter how hard you try. Even with socks and shoes—the sand is everywhere.

Yes, the days were glorious, and the nights enchanting. Someone, please. Please send me back to Baja. It’s been a long time since I rocked out as much as I did on Margarita night. It’s been a long time since I laughed as hard as I did when we had a visitation from Crystal’s alter-ego. And it’s been a long time since I felt like a ninth-grader with a silly crush … “You can’t kiss me for the first time in front of the Pee Tree!”

I spent 9 days driving in a bus and camping alongside a handful of perfect strangers—who soon became like family—and found myself near tears once it all began to wind down. Getting on the bus was surreal. Getting off was even more. The two people who disembarked with me also felt a little lost once the umbilical cord was cut (or maybe it was sleeping on a concrete floor for two hours?). I kept waiting for the bus to be outside ready for us to hop back on.

Baja was most certainly about breaking rules and exceeding expectations. I have a strong tendency to write myself a list of regulations and assumptions about people and experiences, and this trip reminded me to stop. To evaluate people, ideas, and experiences for what and who they are, letting pre-conceived notions fall away. To grab hold of what you’re doing, and be where you are….and for chrissake’s, just eat the ant-covered chips! And now, back at home, absorbing all the memories and experiences I realize that thankfully, the sand gets everywhere.

Viva la Mexico!

'Que Pasa?' - Madrid and Granada, 2005 Trip Conclusion

2007-04-19T22:16:00.000-07:00

Written September 9, 2005

Madrid? Awesome. I have to smile a bit when I say that: even though I say it all the time, my European friends seem to find that word ridiculously amusing.

I stayed in a huge apartment on the top of a 6-story building. It was actually the quintessential Spanish apartment—precisely what I pictured in my mind. There were around 10 of us total. Two apartments on either side of the building, but with doors always open. The students all attended Enforex Madrid, each with a different background and itinerary. We had people from the US, Poland, Italy, Korea, Taiwan, the Czech Republic, Russia, France, Brazil, and the UK. All girls, except for lucky, lucky Joe, our token boy from London! We had a great time that week. I spent a few of the afternoons wandering the streets of Madrid, checking out museums, or just chilling in the apartment.

I went to the Reina Sofia which had Pablo Picasso, Salvador Dali, Joan Miro and even a little Alexander Calder, a Mark Rothko. The Thyssen-Bornemiso also had an incredible collection. I got to see Edward Hopper, Jackson Pollack, Georgia O'Keefe, Henri Matisse. My first attempt at the Reina Sofia wasn't quite successful. Let's put it this way: That day I learned what Martes Cerrado meant. So Ananda (super-cool chick from the States) and I decided we had better sit at the nearby outdoor café and down a pitcher of Sangria. Me gusta sangria! The Spanish classes were enjoyable, but it was rather intense to have 5 hours a day as an absolute beginner.

On Thursday night after my Reina Sofia visit (I had learned to read Spanish schedules by then) I met up with Ananda and Joe for some dinner and drinks. Sitting on the very cobblestones of the Plaza Mayor is trendy, but come on: Six euros for fries—the equivalent of two potatoes, maybe—was ridiculous. They weren't even that good! Friday night in Madrid was a blast. After a long nap (so that we could try to go out late like the Spanish), we downed some more sangria and headed for the club of choice. We found a really cool club and danced the night away…

I caught my bus to Granada the following night. I arrived in Granada quite late, and as expected, getting to my apartment was an adventure. After this trip, these things really don't faze me. I got there eventually. The first day in Granada was devoted to exploration. Granada is an amazing and beautiful city. It is large enough to have tons to do, but small enough to be able to walk everywhere. With their collection of old monuments, churches, and plazas they have a mix of fantastic clothes stores and cute cafes. From the city, you can look up at the magnificence of the Alhambra. It sits up on a hill overlooking the town below, and as you get closer and closer, the surroundings seem to lose traces of the modern, bustling city. You walk along a winding, cobblestone street that parallels a tiny stream. Up to the left are narrow, crooked pathways leading to small apartments.

Enforex in Granada was a blast. I had the coolest roommates ever—Kristin was from Germany, Thalia was from Switzerland and Martina was from the Czech Republic. My class was great and I loved getting to know people from our class over a daily café con leche at the nearby café during our 20-minute break (which we observed in 30-minute increments). The two Danielas from Prague, Helena from Denmark, Kristin (one of my roommates), and I would chill out with our coffees in preparation of another 2 hours of espanol.

Tuesday morning at 7am I was standing in line outside the Alhambra in hope of getting a ticket for the afternoon. The Alhambra is the most visited monument in Europe, and getting a ticket is difficult. After two-and-a-half hours, I got my ticket (and missed my first hour of Spanish)! The visit to the Alhambra was definitely a highlight of the summer. The place is massive and only similar in spectacle to Mont Sant Michel in France. Granada is rich in unique history. Centuries of a Muslim-Christian clash have contributed to mix of styles and décor, resulting in a site worth the investment of time, money and hours of guidebook-reading. The top of the fortress had phenomenal views of the city and the gardens were so complex it was easy to get lost in them. I took tons of pictures.

On Wednesday, the school took a field trip! We went up in the Sierra Nevada and had class at an outdoor restaurant sitting next to a little river. On Thursday night I went with Daniela up to the Sacramonte caves to see a flamenco show. Flamenco is incredible to watch. I have never seen such force and intensity in dance. Actually, Daniela and I were convinced they would injure themselves! The setting was a small, painted-white cut-out cave room with chairs around the outside. Each member of the group would take turns dancing for us.

On Friday night, the school held the weekly tapas outing. In Granada, you buy a beer, and get to decide from a menu of tasty appetizers. I am still trying to figure out how they make any money—the food portions are quite substantial, and a small cerveza was only 1.50 euro. We had a great time hanging out with the drinks and the snacks, and then off to a couple clubs for some dancing.

I got up far too early for a Saturday, but it was worth it. I went on a sight-seeing trip to Ronda. Ronda is located a couple hours southwest of Granada. The city is built up on rocks. A small river cuts through the middle of it, and the depth must easily be a few hundred meters. Imagine a city up on the top of the Grand Canyon, and then a huge plateau overlooking the expansive farmlands below leading off to the mountains in the distance. The city had ruins from Arab baths, and we actually got to go inside and see them. We walked on the walls of the city's fortress, visited museums, saw the cathedral and went to the Plaza de Toros. The Toro ring was a highlight of the day. It was ornately decorated and all painted in yellow and red, which looked amazing against the brightness of the blue sky.

The last week in Granada was the final component of my TEFL Certification. After taking the mock exam and not doing well (even though all my notes were in front of me), I realized that this would not be a week of fun. I studied day and night. It felt like finals week from hell. After being a relatively successful student in college, I dramatically underestimated the intensity of this course. I worked my ass off that week, and thus, I am quite proud to say that I did very well on the exam and my final teaching practice. I am now certified to teach English as a foreign language!

Needless to say, Friday was a fun day and night. During the day I graduated from the TEFL program, did a little shopping and took a long, well-deserved siesta. At night I ran around out with my chicas d'escuala espanol. We went to some really cool bars and did the tapas thing. Kristin and I went to a rock club and danced until I dragged her home at 5am because I seriously think I was asleep on the dance floor….!

Saturday we slept in, did some shopping, met our friend Daniela for some "special errands", and then went to our favorite restaurant for a tasty lunch before we caught our transport out of Granada. I spent Saturday night with Joe (whom I met at the Madrid school) in London. It was awesome to actually have fun on an overnight layover, and it is always so cool to be in a real "home", as compared to a dirty hostel or campsite…

So here I am, in Seattle. Relieved? Profoundly. Sad? Quite a bit. It a strange mix of feelings. I came home from both the most amazing and most nightmarish experience of my life. I have seen a lot in three months—I have learned even more. But stolen suitcases, psycho bus drivers, car accidents and stolen money aside, traveling always restores my awareness for just how big this world really is. The act of grasping this (because no matter how far we have been, we never fully can) helps define the way I want to live, and articulates my priorities and values.
I haven't decided what I am going to do next. But I do know that I don't want to lose sight of what I have come to learn on this little expedition of mine.

I don't want to forget what it feels like to ignore the fact that your hair looks awful, because you are exploring one of the most amazing monuments in the world. I don't want to forget that while walking through the barracks of Auschwitz, any complaint or irritation I have ever had is really quite trivial. I don't want to forget my newly-developed techniques for showering in cold water. I don't want to forget that despite the irritations, making your own way is usually a more rewarding way to travel. I don't want to forget all that I have learned from hanging out with people who grew up in a completely different region than me. I don't want to forget that the experience gained from a situation is far more important than the circumstances.

Now that I have been home a few days and have had the chance to sleep on a supportive mattress, wear clean clothes, style my hair, and read menus with complete comprehension, I am anxious to see everyone. Please email me your phone number. That information was in the stolen suitcase, so I can't get a hold of any of you!

Looking forward to seeing you soon,

Hillary

'Surprise! I am in Spain' - Turkey through Madrid

2007-04-19T22:13:00.000-07:00

Written August 13, 2005

Hello from Madrid! Yup, Madrid.
I left you all in Istanbul, getting ready for my third week in school. That week wasn't as bad as Budapest, but challenging nonetheless. The fact that Ismail, the director of studies, was deliciously hot made us all enjoy going to class that much more....While Turkey is certainly full of treasures, the hot men are definitely a large component. I kid you not: the men are delicious and we were constantly amused with what we called the infestation. (I cant find the quotation marks on this keyboard) During the week we crossed the sea to the european side to checkout the tourist sights and hit the grand bazaar. The grand bazaar was cool, but I don't really care for people in my face trying to push product on to me. No thanks.

On Friday night we went out in our little neighborhood and met up with some of the cool teachers from our school. The next day I was graced with one winner of a hangover, and almost lost it on our hot, stuffed taxi ride over to the tourist district (we moved hostels as we wanted to be more centrally located for the weekend). Once we arrived we went out for a much needed greasy meal and met a cool waiter at a nearby restaurant, who my friend actually ended up getting to know quite well!!!!

The day was spent making travel arrangements because at that moment I had made the decision to leave the tour. While I met some awesome friends and was mostly enjoying myself, I wasnt completely explicit with you guys about all that was going on. Put frankly, our tour guide was psycho and oddly emotionally unstable. I don't choose to ride around in a car driven by a crazy man. After the accident, his strange blowups, his drinking until 4am before a 20 hour ride and overall lack of professionalism in countless ways; I realized my safety would be better preserved if I traveled on my own. The bus, by the way, was so old that if the battery died we would need to get a new bus because they didnt make replacements for it. Also, the bus leaked in the rain, and was so full of mildew and nastiness that people would get sore throats after long car trips and I actually got a rash on my arm from laying in the bus all day. Foul! Not to mention the lack of air conditioning when it was 100 degrees outside.

So there you have it. The bus tour was quite misrepresented on the web site and I fell for it.....Myself and another girl decided to do our own thing and meet them in Crete for the last week of the course. Good plan, but unfortunately, it gets a little nasty from here. Psycho tour guide screwed me over again with a refund so I was left flat broke. Because I had planned on coming to Spain to look for a job, he said I could finish up my course at their center in Granada. While it is a bummer to not finish the course with my friends, it is too expensive to fly to Crete and back in peak season. So....the plan at that point was to spend a week touring Turkey with Kim, head up to Berlin to get my laptop cord (long story, please do not ask), and then to Spain for a two-week intensive Spanish course before my last TEFL week. Crazy? Yup! Disappointing? Definitely. Oh well. Overall, I am thrilled with my Plan B, so hopefully all goes well from here.

Okay, back to more fun travel stories....
Kim and I booked a Turkish version of an all-inclusive tour through the west coast of Turkey. Our first stop was Gallipoli, the famous site of the battle between the Turks and the Australian and New Zealand armies during World War 1. This place is similar to the D-day beaches for Americans. We had a fabulous lunch and boarded the air-conditioned bus for our 4-hour tour. We saw the beaches, commemorative cemetaries, museums and bunkers. It was really interesting and the views were phenomenal.

That night we caught our1am bus to Kusadasi, a beach town where we slept off the all-night bus ride and chilled on a dock soaking up the sun and swimming in the turquiose Aegean sea.
The next morning we got our coach to Pamukkale, the site of famous thermal baths and an ancient city. I got to go in the amphitheater, which was far more impressive than the one at the Acropolis in Athens, especially since they allow you to climb around inside it. It was incredible to sit in there and imagine how many people had sat in that very same seat before me. After Pamukkale, we got another coach to the famous Oludeniz beach where we chilled out for two days getting some sunburns.

On our last day, we went to the Turkish baths. Although I liked it, I do not recommend doing this after a day in the sun. You begin in the sauna. After that they bring you in to a big, circular, marble room. You lie on a bench in the middle of the room and they begin with an all-over exfoliation scrub. Next, they pour hot water all over you and follow it with a mixture of super foamy, sudsy hot soap. They give you a brief massage and then pour more hot rinsing water over you before you head in to the jacuzzi. Later that night we flew into Istanbul for another couple days in the city.

The next day Kim's friends came into town. We went with them as special, backstage guests at a huge concert! One of her firends is directing their music video, so we got to 'hang with the band'. The concert was super hard heavy metal. Not kidding. I wasn't a huge fan before, and I am not really now, but it was fun to meet them and watch them perform from backstage. The free food and beer was fun as well.

My last few days in Istanbul were spent relaxing, seeing the Blue Mosque and checking out the Archeology museum. I saw a real Egyptian mummy! So cool! I was more than ready to leave when my flight toBerlin rolled around.

Berlin? Amazing! It is weird to me that I didn't find Berlin that impressive initially. I found my hostel and had a great time chatting it up with my roommates. The first day I went to the Sachenhausen Concentration Camp just outside the city limits with a girl from my hostel. It was very interesting to see another camp after Auschwitz. The tour guide was great and it was a very moving, educational experience.

The second day I did a walking tour that discussed Berlin's history related to the Cold War. I found it nothing short of fascinating and can't wait to learn more about it. Berlin is such a mecca of controversial history, and it is amazing to think that you are sharing the streets with people who experienced some of the city's most pivotal moments. The last day Holly and I went to the Jewish Museum, which I feel is an absolute must for anyone going to Berlin. The architecture itself is fantastic and perfect for the mood, the memories, and the purpose surrounding the place. Last night we went on the city tour pub crawl. Heeeheehe. What a night. Whoa. It was a lot of fun; we did 3 bars and 1 club and met tons of people from all over the world. We had a great time, but stumbled home early---around 3:30,early for Berliners, that is.

So right now I am in a small pension in Madrid enjoying a quiet evening to just chill the hell out, because I will be in classes for the next three weeks. After that? Hmmm. First and foremost, I need to put some money back in that account, and won't be able to do that quickly as a first-time teacher. Also, I am not ready to commit to one year abroad right now.....for a variety of reasons :-) What does that all mean? I think the arrows are pointing to Seattle, WA for a little while to dig myself out of travel debt and figure out the next step, meanwhile spend some time with all you important people.

See you sometime in September!

Love,

Hillary

'Finally in Istanbul' - Krakow through Istanbul

2007-04-19T22:11:00.000-07:00

Hello frıends...

I am wrıtıng from an ınternet cafe ın Istanbul! As I walked through the streets today, I realızed I had better send an update because classes begın agaın tomorrow and the school weeks get a bıt out of control. You wıll all have to be patıent wıth my punctuatıon--Turkish keyboards are tremendously challenging.

I belıeve I left you all ın Krakow, and my, how many thıngs you have mıssed!
The vısıt to Auschwıtz was nothıng short of emotıonal and movıng. We actually dıdn't get to see both of the camps because we ran out of tıme. However, I thınk I saw what I needed to see. It was a raıny, freezıng day. Approprıate. I remember tellıng myself over and over not to be bothered by beıng cold and wet, not ın a place like thıs. I managed rıght up untıl the exhıbıt wıth all the human hair. I nearly vomited. Followıng Auschwitz we were headed toward the Polish border, but not so fast. Unfortunately, we were ın a car accıdent. Everyone was ok, thank god, but it could have been much worse, which shook us all up. The next couple nights were spent ın Wadowice, Poland, the hometown of Pope John Paul the 2nd. Really. Lori--I was crackiıng up the whole time, thinking about you. I have never heard so many alter boy jokes ın my life!

Once the bus was deemed safe to drive (ha), we headed for Slovakıa for our one nıght ın the Tatra mountaıns. The bus ınched up the mountaın pass, but we made it! The Hıgh Tatras was a ski locatıon wıth hıkıng and other mountaınous actıvıties ın the summertime. That night we found ourselves a bar (what a surprıse)....we found one that was completely empty, but the DJ was thrılled to get us out on the dance floor. hmm, let's thınk, um SURE! We had all sampled Slıvovıc, the natıonal drınk. Want to know what ıt ıs lıke? Take a shot of Clorox bleach. I am sure ıt wıll have nearly the same effect! Ick. But ıt certainly warms you up. So about 10 of us danced the nıght away a tthıs random bar, samplıng all kınds of thıngs the bar had to offer.

Around 3 am we eventually headed back to our mountain lodge, all three sheets to the wınd (more lıke 10 sheets to the wınd). Don't laugh--I was actually sore the next day from the ıntense rockout. Sısters--they keep playıng this dance mıx to the Flashdance song over here, and I can't help but laugh and remember the good ol' days wıth the record player.....Yes, the Flashdance song got us all out there on the dance floor. We had a lıttle after-party ın our room untıl 5am. The sun cam eout, so we decıded we had better get to bed!

Dıd I go hıkıng the next day? Well, I dıdn't feel so well. None of us dıd. Sılly gırl. After a long nap and some greasy food, we went shoppıng and I bought a backpack to carry around the rest of the ıtems I stıll owned after the theft. That night we stayed away from the booz and a couple girls and I chilled out ın the room telling ghost stories. We scared each other so much that we refused to go down the hall to the bathroom.

The followıng day we drove ınto Budapest!!! What a place; I absolutely loved Budapest. The cıty ıs so amazıng--there ıs a castle, tons of cool squares and shoppıng areas, awesome archıtecture, great bars and restaurants.....I loved ıt! The school week was a kıck-ın-the-pants, I must say. We were up untıl 11pm working on lessons plans or homework each night. I taught twıce to the same group, and twıce to the same one-on-one student. The evaluators were so helpful, and I am pumped to teach this week to learn even more. We had a blast once we were all done wıth our teaching assignments.

After class on Thursday I wentinto the cıty wıth a few people. We explored the castle area, and stumbled upon this wıne-tasting venue. Needless to say.....serıously, though, ıt was a lot of fun. We sampled tons of wıne, took some crazy pıctures, etc. Then we walked down the wındıng cobblestone path from the castle dıstrıct to the Danube, crossed the rıver and had afabulous dınner on a rıverboat restaurant. Friday nıght ın Budapest was probably my favorıte nights thus far. All the girls got primped out for a nıght on the town, and boy, dıd we fınd one! In the center of the Danube there ıs an ısland whıch ıs devoted to parks, recreational activıties and clubs. The club we went to was like somethıng you would only find in a movie. Thınk whıte: Lots of whıte.Whıte floors, huge whıte drapes, whıte candles everywhere, a whıte marble bar, whıte couches, whıte tables. It was amazıng. Overprıced, but amazıng. Across a little footbridge was another dance floor. We all found a table and hung out until the music started. What a night. Let me just say, I loved Hungarian men when I was 17 and I still feel the same way! Rar. Such a blast.

The next day a couple of us got up too early for a guıded tour of the cıty. İt was great. We went all through the castle dıstrıct, learned about all the statues and monuments of Buda, then clımbed down the hıll and across the bridge to explore a gıant Basılica ın Pest. Pest had fabulous shoppıng and cafes, so we wandered the streets before our bıg adventure to the famous baths. Rıght. The baths? I was thinking somethıng posh wıth stone and marble everywhere, whıte terry clothrobes, massages, etc. Not so much. The baths we went to were lıke WıldWaves on a summer Saturday afternoon. Too many people, dırty locker rooms, questıonable hygıene everywhere. I trıed not to thınk about ıt.The baths themselves were fıne: one pool had normal water, one was for lap swımmıng and the other was lıke a gıant hot tub.

So where did we go after Budapest? Well, the itinerary saıd Romania, but the tour guide forgot to look into the visa situatıon, and they would not allow the Australians in. So where dıd we go? We drove to Belgrade, Serbia to get the visas. Yup, Serbia. Actually, it was quite a peaceful, pleasant place. As we drove in to Belgrade, thınking everything was cool, a huge abandoned buılding ruined by bombs came into view. We drove past the Amerıcan Embassy and there was a guard outside with an automatic weapon. Holy shit, everyone said to themselves as they slumped lower ın their un-air-conditiıoned seats. Not to sweat, though, that was about as bad as it got. We found a 'secure' car park and left the bus. Actually, our driver left the bus and most of us stuck around to make sure it was ok because all of our bags were strapped to the top, begging to be stolen.

Talk about a bad, bad day. I have a serıes of photos of everyone looking irrıtated and pissed off. Did they get the visas? Riiiight. We ended up staying ın Serbıa for two more days before they had them ın hand. Belgrade was actually a cool place to visit, although I am not sure I need to go back. We ended up goıng to an outdoor concert by the Brubeck Brothers, for those of you jazz fans. It was cool! After the concert, we went and had drınks. The Brıts were teaching countless slang terms that all must learn, such as 'muffin-top', 'bıngo wings', 'gurning', etc. All quıte useful.

The trip to Bran, Romania was longer than any human should have to endure. We left at 11am and dıd not arrıve untıl 5:30am. Not kidding. Romania, however, was awesome. As soon as we crossed the border, it was lıke we entered another tıme zone. It was farmland as far as the eye could see, and we had to watch out for horse-drawn carrıages on the road! 'No, they're not Amısh, they're Romanıan!!!' There were kıd splaying ın their yards wıth chıckens and ducks, under the watchful eyes of grandmothers ın headscarves and bare feet. It was really cool to see.

As another bonus, everythıng in Romania is painfully cheap, and I love a bargain!!!!
After an 8-hour nap at our hotel, we got up to wander the streets of Bran. Bran ıs home to Dracula's castle. Thıs exploration took about 10 mınutes.....ıt was a cute lıttle town. After trying to find somethıng to do in town, we eventually gave up and settled on playings Kıngs ın our hotel. I thınk the highlight of the night was when we got Nıck, one of the Brits, to howl at the moon at the top of his lungs. (My idea!!! heeheehee) He had to, he pulled an even-numbered card. The following morning I headed up to the castle. So cool! I expected something dark and creepy for Dracula's castle. This was more something lıke a french chateau. Not creepy at all. In fact, I would lıve there!

From Romania to Bulgaria. To be faır, I dıdn't see much of Bulgaria.That being said, what I did see was an absolute shit hole. We stayed at the most wretched place I have ever been in my lıfe: a traılerpark. Apparently this place ıs used for camping and vacations, and when you make a reservation for a trailer, you specify whether or not you want a whore with it. I really, really wish I was kidding. I am not. The trailers smelled of urıne and were ınfested wıth bugs. Half of the girls slept on the bus. I toughed ıt out, but I would never do it again. My tour guide ıs a freak and thinks these things are funny.Yup.

From there, we made our way to Istanbul on another ridiculously long rıde. I want to tell you all more about Istanbul, but all you get to know rıght now ıs that I LOVE IT!!!!! The people are amazıng, the shoppıng ıs great, Love ıt! Thıs ınternet cafe ıs closıng and I have to send thıs wıthout proofreadıng ıt! Hope ıt ıs not too bad.

Take care all and I wıll send more updates soon. Wısh me luck teachıng thıs week. Hope all ıs well, much love, HH

'I Have Arrived' - London through Krakow

2007-04-19T22:07:00.000-07:00

Written July 5, 2005

Did you know that the meaning of 'I have arrived' is completely different from 'I arrived'? I never thought about it either, but now I am learning the ins and outs of this language we are quite lucky to know so well. It does not surprise me one bit that there is such a need for English teachers in the world, it is such a difficult language to master.

I'm sitting here in Krakow, Poland on a lovely Tuesday night. What a trip it has been. I arrived in London in one piece and met up with the gang at a pub outside Victoria Station. We all piled onto the Tube to meet up with Rufus (group tour leader, and quite a unique individual, I might add) and the bus. The bus? The bus. Well, you know how I told you all that I envisioned something like one of those plush rock star coaches? HA. We all instantly bonded when we saw this thing that we paid to travel across Europe in. All we could do was laugh, and still, all we do is laugh. It's not the nicest bus ever, and don't even dream of air conditioning....the ceiling leaks when it rains (and it did!), and now it is full of backpacks, books, snacks, drinks, and the oh-so-pleasant smell of nomadic travelers. It is great. It is hilarious. There are fifteen of us on there, and it gets a little cozy quickly. It took us 10 hours to get from the German border to Krakow the other day.

After the requisite get-to-know-you dinner in London, we all got into the bus and drove to the ferry docks. We took the ferry to France, and instead of heading toward Heidelberg, Germany, it was unanimous to go to Amsterdam instead! So off we went!!!!! Seven hours later we arrived at the Amsterdam campsite. After a much-needed shower (I think it had been nearly 50 hours!), we ate breakfast and hit the town. Amsterdam was great--extremely hot--but great. I was still recovering from jetlag so I didn't make it as crazy as I could have. We went on a cana ltour, walked around, ate dinner in the redlight district, visited the Anne Frank house, got lost, went dancing, ate late-night kabobs (ahh, I'm really in Europe!) etc.

From Amsterdam we went to Berlin. That was one long ride (or so I thought). We stayed in a hostel in the middle of one of Berlin's largest parks--complete with wild boar. I'm not kidding, we actually saw some. Sunday was the first day to explore before we had to hunker down in classes for the week. I went with a few of the girls to a flea market and then a bike tour all over the city. It was great. We saw the Wall, Checkpoint Charlie, the Holocaust Memorial, and countless great sites. Berlin is very much unlike traditional European cities. It doesn't have the charm that I love, but there was so much to learn and see that I enjoyed myself.

Class was Mon-Fri from about 9:30 until 5:30 each day, with a lunch break. I think I am really going to enjoy teaching, and learning all about the language facsinates me. I know, I'm a nerd. We taught our first lesson last week, which was incredibly nerve-wracking, but a lot of fun once we got into it. The planning took forever, and we realized that we flew through most of the stuff 30 minutes into the 90 minute lesson. Live and learn. It was a lot of fun, though. As an English teacher, you have to act things out and be very animated and goofy. Clearly, this may be a solid career choice for me :-)

From Berlin, we left for Poland. Unfortunately, we didn't get very far because there was a little issue with the passports. We didn't stop at a border going from the Netherlands to Germany, so I figured I didn't need my passport going from Germany to Poland, right? Wrong. Myself and the Irish guy packed away our passports in our luggage on top of the bus. Guess who had to climb up there and fish it out. Although I felt like a tard, one of the guys found that his backpack was not on the bus. It had been left in Berlin on accident. Tha tcreated a bit of a turmoil, but we eventually got it, and headed on our way.

That night we stayed in what I called the 'refugee camp'. This campground was in Germany near the eastern border. There were no set campsites, but there were tents everywhere among the trees. As we got off the bus (and laughed at everyone gawking at us as we rolled in), I heard bass. What is that? Is that someone's stereo? Oh no. We walked toward the lake and there stood beer stands, food booths, and an outdoor stage/dance floor. Seriously!!! That was one of the most fun nights thus far. We ate cheap asian food, drank cheap beer, and myself with a couple of the other American girls tore up the dance floor. We didn't really have a choice; what were we supposed to do when they played "Like a Prayer" and "Girls Just Want to Have Fun"?

Now we're here in Krakow. I think this town is beautiful. It reminds me a lot of Prague. However, I had a little challenge while here. We were only staying for a few days, so I pulled out all the important things I'd need from my suitcase. Someone broke in to the bus and stole my suitcase. It is a total drag and really ticks me off. A couple of other things were stolen, but I was the only one with half of my belongings jacked. Lucky, lucky me. Everyone has been really nice and supportive, which I appreciate. I'm really irritated, bu tluckily I had all my important valuables and everything I absolutely needed with me. Yesterday I got to file a Polish police report. Quite a nice souvenir, huh? Today I walked around trying to find some items to replace what was taken. Not a whole lot of luck, but I really do have everything I need. I was lucky, really.

Tomorrow we are going to Auschwitz. It will be the most moving thing I have ever done. I am sort of looking forward to it, and I really hope that I can make it through the whole thing. I think the whole group is going, so I'll be with my friends. Afterward, we are driving to Slovakia where we'll stay in a hotel for a couple days. I'm just hoping for a hot shower. They're quite the novelty these days. I like traveling. I like traveling a lot. I like hot showers and hygiene a bit more. This trip has been great, and I expect it to only get better. That being said, (like anything) it's not without its challenges and tests.

At the end of it I'm sure I will love this lifestyle, or will never travel like this again!!! Who knows. That's part of the reason I'm here: To figure it out.

I hope all is well with everyone at home and that you all had a nice 4th. I will be in Budapest next week, and thereafter we head into Romania and Bulgaria. I would like to have included more detail, but I'm a tard and left my laptop cord at home, so my computer is dead. No hours of writing in the evenings for me :-) Hand writing in a journal just isn't the same.

More later. Take care!!!
Hillary

Through Sweden, Scotland and the Czech Republic

2007-04-19T21:47:00.000-07:00

Written Sunday, January 23, 2005

From December 29 through January 17, I had yet another lovely voyage through Europe. Although January is not an ideal time for a vacation, I still managed to get through two and a half weeks away from the office with a smile on my face, stories to tell and, of course, a few choice pieces of clothing from H&M. A trip to Europe is never complete without my pilgrmmage to H&M....

The following paragraphs detail my experiences [misadventures] in Sweden, Scotland and the Czech Republic, highlighting the key lessons learned so all don't make the silly mistakes I did (darn Americans!). For all of you burning to know, if you make it to the end of the letter (and trust me, it's a long one as always) you will get the official update on Anders and I (as an 'us,' that is) as well as my rather daring, surprising and proudly irresponsible plans for the upcoming future. Enjoy!

I arrived in Stockholm on New Year's Eve, and because the entertainment industry is plagued with unwarranted inflation, Anders and I decided to boycott and spend the night in. We watched movies, made dinner and drank a bottle of well-travelled champagne. The following day, we drove around town and took a long walk through the city before settling on a place for dinner. As the first real night out, I had to watch all the passers-by to get the scoop on current European fashion. Warm coats. Lots of them. Downcoats with the fake-fur hoods, to be precise, and I realized that weather like January in Stockholm does not lend itself to a wide variety of fashion creativity.

The following morning, I awoke early (jet-lag) and decided to go to the grocery store a few blocks away from Anders's apartment. I took my time, found the few things I wanted and placed them in my basket. As I approached the check-out stand, I placed my basket on the conveyor belt for the girl to ring in my items. Whether or not you realize what is about to happen will indicate where you are from. If you are American, you won't think anything of placing the basket on the belt, because the stack of baskets are collected by the cashier. Not so in Sweden. No,when I explained the following situation, they gasped in shock that I did not realize the baskets are collected BEFORE the belt, and placing the basket on it is, quite frankly, a no-no.

Well, this I realized as the cashier barked at me in Swedish, picked up my basket in irritation and flipped it over with such angst that items actually bounced off the conveyer belt onto the floor. She glares at me as she points to the stack of baskets positioned before the conveyor belt. As a result of her rudeness, I flare my nostrils, raise an eyebrow and jut out my jaw --but I say nothing. When she tersely orders me to enter my pin number in the thing and again points to it out of appalling irritation, I snap my debit card out of her hand, finish the transaction and mutter explatives under my breath as I bag my groceries. Again, I say nothing. I wasn't in the mood to get any comments about 'stupid Americans' after I gave her a piece of my mind. I was so bewildered after I left and my mind was going a million miles an hour thinking of ways I should have shot back at her that I got lost going back to the apartment.....pay attention, Hill.

The rude chick at the grocery store was clearly out of line despite my cultural faux pas. However, whenever I retold this story for Swedes, they all realized the error I made instantly. Point being, when purchasing groceries, empty the basket and look for the stack of empty baskets placed befre the conveyer belt.

The next few days in Stockholm, Anders went to work every day, so Ienjoyed myself taking in the sights. I went to the Modern Art Museum, the Scandinavian Architecure Museun and wandered through the old town--Gamla Stan, my favorite part of Stockholm--window shopping. Anders and I also went to the Vasa Museum. In the 1600s the Swedish government built a ship to go fight in battles. It was to be the grandest, most beautiful ship of its time. While it was beautiful, enormous and uniquely ornate, it wasn't engineered with such care. On its maiden voyage through the bay, with hundreds of people watching, it sank. Yes indeed, the darn thing sailed for maybe 15 minutes. Quite a tragedy, really. However, a few decades ago they raised it from the bottom of the sea and built a museum to go see it. It's quite amazing.

One of the nights we took the subway out to Manne and Ann's place fordinner. We had a great time eating, chatting and drinking wine. Lots and lots of wine. They also had me try some kind of soft drink that is only available around Christmas time. I believe they called it, "ChristmasCola." It tasted like cherry coke, but in a good way of course. We took a taxi on the way home and the radio was playing, "sugar-pie, honey-bunch. Youknow that I love you! I can't help myself.." "I love this song!" I exclaimed, and the taxi driver turned it up. So there we were, in the back of a taxi in Sweden rocking out to the oldies. We weren't drunk, of course :-)

The following night we were going with Manne and Ann on a 22-hour cruise to Aland (pronounced oh-lahnd), Finland. Essentially, a booz cruise. We packed up our stuff, picked up Manne and Ann and headed to the dock. As you get on the boat, they snap souvenir photos of you. As we walked down the gangway, this drunk guy was saying something to Anders. Of course, I had no idea what was going on. He kept talking to him and Anders had an awkward, "you're weird, leave me alone" tone in his voice. Manne and Ann kept turning around, and I kept hissing at Anders,"what's going on? What's going on?!" "He wants to take a picture with me." Sure enough, we approached the archway, they snapped a picture and random drunk-dude's head is straining to be in it. Quite funny, so I bought it! The cruise was a great time. We had a snack, bought our duty-free beverages and hung out in our cabin drinking and chatting. We played a rather interesting game of "truth." When it was my turn to ask Manne, I asked, "what has Anders done that he doesn't want me to know about?" He and Ann started laughing---apparently there was a rather humorous event at a midsommerparty that I'm too embarrassed to share. It is funny, I assure you. The rest of the night we danced away at "Club Seven." They played a mix of stuff, but mostly music I recognized. I remember Anders and I rocking out and doing a rather un-skilled attempt at a salsa dance to Gloria Estefan's "Come, shake-your-body, baby, do-that-Conga!!!" Hopefully that clues you in to how crazy a night it was. Manne and Ann headed in early, so when we were done dancing the night away we went on the search for food. Back in the room we had a bag of tasty potato chips, which we devoured in the bathroom because they were asleep. I sat in the shower and he sat on the toilet and we inhaled 70% of the bag's contents.

The following night we hopped on our Ryanair flight to Glasgow. It was pouring rain when we arrived and sadly, remained that way until I left a few days later. I had to do most of the communicating with the Scots; their accent is SO odd that I could hardly understand them. The Scots tend to mesh all the syllables into one strange, unintelligible sound. Honestly, I understand Swedish more than I understand Scottish English. I've never experienced anything like that. The following morning we caught a train up to Montrose, a tiny town about three hours away where Anders supposedly had ancestors. Yes, this voyage to Scotland was for Anders to get in touch with his roots. Do read on....:-) On the train we bought Anders a sandwich--don't ever buy train food. The sandwich had a big mold growth on it, it was so foul. Little did I know, the inedible food was foreshadowing events to come. We arrived in Montrose. As I waited to get off the train, I was optimistic. The second I stepped off the train I wanted to get back on: The weather was on full attack! The wind was blowing cupfuls and ice chunks HORIZONTALLY. It was awful!! After we bundled up we caught a taxi to our little bed and breakfast. It was mediocre, but I'm not terribly picky about accomodations unless they have foul food and cold showers (which they did).

We went back into the nasty weather to walk around the town. It was safe to say that I was slightly cranky at this point. The weather was literally painful and the town was a complete dump. Seriously, it was a shithole, there was nothing there. But I was there to humor Anders, so that's what I did. We found a little history museum where he searched for stuff about his great-great-whomever (who, by the way, was supposedly the Mayor in the 1600s). Then we went in search of dinner, where we settled at the one-and-only 'restaurant.' I use punctuation there because restaurant implies the serving of food. What we were given was not food. I had the foulest fish and chips I'd ever ingested, all to the lovely sound of crackling deep-fryer. I used to work in a cafe and had to use a deep-fryer. I would complain that after a few hours, it feels like the grease has seeped into your pores. Well, at that place, in only took about 10 minutes and we left after we'd eaten all our stomachs could handle. After finding a grocery store, we went back to our room to watch documentaries and eat cookies.

The following day we hopped on a train back to Glasgow and spent the day wandering in the city. The weather wasn't super, but we enjoyed ourselves. The next morning I got up at the crack of dawn (actually, it was earlier than that) to catch my flight to Prague!!! I hung out with these two Scottish ladies who were taking a brief trip to Prague. They said,"Montrose? Why on earth did you go to that place?"

Prague was amazing. When I got off the plane, I figured out how to take the bus into town, took the subway to the stop for my hostel and began the adventure. I'd randomly picked a hostel out of a book in hopes that they had room for me. After all it was a Monday night in January. After wandering in circles getting lost, I finally found the hostel and checked in. I was sharing a room with two girls from Vancouver, BC who were travelling through Eastern Europe on a school break. They were really nice. That day, I walked for hours. I walked through the city, across the Charles Bridge and up the slope to the castle.

Prague was so beautiful and the weather was so fabulous (I only needed a sweater), that I seriously wanted to skip around like a little kid madly waving my arms back and forth with each hopping step yellling, "yay, yay, yay." Cheesy, but that's seriously how excited I was to be in such a beautiful place. There were tons of tourists (and I hear it's worse in thesummer), so I became yet another member of the Prague-paparazzi. Seriously though, everything was so pretty I had to snap pictures. I worked my way up to the castle, walked though it, checked out the cute Czech guards :-) and went into the cathedral. The castle is built with an enormous courtyard, and in it sits the cathedral. It was all so breathtaking.

That evening, I decided to go on a walking tour through Prague discussing all the ghosts and legends. It sounded a little more interesting than the typical historical toiur. Although the tour was interesting, It wasn't earth-shattering. However, we all went to a pub afterward and I met some really cool people. I met a really nice old couple from England, and a couple young women who were also from England. We had a great time sharing travel stories--they heavily recommend Budapest and Borneo--recommending Prague sites and of course, discussing why I was in Prague by myself. They found my trans-continental relationship rather interesting. "So, is he cute??!" they all wanted to know.

The following day I went to the Jewish Museum which was a very sobering, moving experience. I entered in the synagogue dedicated to the people who died the holocaust. I'm sitting here trying to describe it in a way that will do it the justice and respect it deserves....The inside walls of the synagogue are covered in the names of the victims. I read the brief english explanation of how they were listed, prepared to see names on a wall. But as I stepped in the first room I was choked with awe. Yes, the walls are covered in names. The names stretch from ceiling to floor, edge to edge and written in about font-size sixteen. The last names are written in red, and followed by the first names and years born and died of each member of the family. The first initial is written in red. All of them are in alphabetical order. It was so overwhelming, I remember feeling conflicted about what to do. Glance at them and walk to the next room? Read every single one? I took my time in each room. I looked at year died, noting that many families were seperated and members would be killed at different times. Upstairs they had an exhibit of the artwork created by the children at Terezin, the concentration camp close to Prague. They showed pictures of the children who drew them. It included artwork of all types as well as poems they wrote. It was horrible to read how optimistic they were, and know what really happened to these children.

Outside was the Jewish cemetary. In Prague, the Jewish people all lived in a specific area. From 1200-1700 they were given one small plot of land to bury their dead. They stopped burying them there in 1700s because it was so full that they had to stop. The Jewish cemetary is filled with headstones of all shapes and sizes. It is packed: They say that the bodies are buried 12 deep because they were so low in space.

My third day in Prague I spent at TEFL schools, because I plan to get certified to teach English as a foreign language. I had great visits and met some really cool people. That night, I decided to go on a pub tour because I wanted to try some of the local food and beer but didn't exactly want to go drink alone! The tour was probably the highlight of the trip. We went to three different famous pubs and learned about their history, tried three different types of local beers, tasted local food and got to know everyone. It was great, I met some very friendly people from all over England and Scotland. I was the only American, and it only took two beers until I was asked about Bush. Hmm. The guide of my tour was my age and was teaching English at a school in Prague and really enjoyed it. He was quite cute actually :-)

The following morning I caught my flight to Glasgow. Actually, it wasn't that simple. I took the subway to the end of the line, then the bus to the ariport (there was a sign, so it WAS the right bus). The bus schedule was written completely in Czech, so I looked to see if any ofthe stops resembled anything relating to an airport. Indeed, there was one stop called 'Terminale Zyn.' Ah, that must be the terminal, I thought. I got in the bus and thought to myself, "strange, there aren't any other people with suitcases like when I came into town. I won't really know where to get off if it's not obvious....." The bus stops weren't titled, so you needed to listen to the driver (can YOU understand spoken Czech and compare it with the written word?). We reached a stop and the muffled driver forced out a sound resembling,"Terminale." I didn't move; it sure didn't look like an airport to me. As the bus pulled away, people looked at me with concerned, concentrated wide eyes and gave that ever-so-slight lean forward indicating, "aren'tyou going to do something?!" I saw this from at least three people and I realized--oh my god I missed the stop!!! Deep breath, don't panic, just get off at the next stop. So that is what I did. I was seriously out in the middle of no where; the airport was relatively close by, but I was among the hangars and the maintenance shops.

I found a small hotel and decided to ask for help because the bus stop in the opposing direction was NOT directly across the street. Super, way to go. Now I get to go in there and act like a complete idiot. Tail between my legs, I approached the front desk and explained that I missed the stop for the airport, was there anyway they could help me get there? Thankfully, they loaded me into their shuttle and took me! How nice! However, we didn't turn around to go back to the airport. Nope. Apparently the airport was much farther down. I got off the bus too early!!! What a retard!! It was so weird, it was so clear from the people on the bus that I'd missed the stop--so much so that I didn't bother to even ask for fear of people laughing at me. Yeah, well, now I know to ignore what the bus stops are titled and what kind of looks you get from the bus riders, the airport terminal is indeed OBVIOUS.

From Glasgow I needed to catch a flight up to Stockholm and in order to do so, I needed to switch airports. Well, again I had myself a little bus adventure. The man in the station told me to pay the driver when boarding the bus. As I waited at the stop I asked a nice couple if this was the bus to Preswick airport. Yes, it is. "Would you like me to help you with that young lady?" The nice man carried my heavy bag onto the bus for me. (read this next part carefully)

"Where are you heading,Miss?"

"Preswick Airport please."

"That'll be four pounds." The fact that he asked me where I was going indicated that the bus stops other places in addition to Preswick Airport, but it DOES in fact stop at the Preswick Airport. Also, I was the only one with luggage yet again. Hmm. So no falling asleep! The bus takes about an hour and I enjoyed the countryside of Scotland.

Apparently the stop was getting close because the nice old couple leaned over and said, "the stop is getting close." Cool, great, note-to-self. We pull into the airport, I'm ready to get off and we don't seem to be stopping. Weird. Hmm. I guess the stop is father down. "Wait, Miss, didn't you want to get off, he's leaving!!!" The couple says frantically as we pull away from the airport. "What?!" I say as they, as well as a few people behind (who figure outwhat was going on) yelll, "SSTTOOOOOPPPP!! She needs to get off! Stopsir! STOP!" My facial expression is a mixture of panic, embarrassment and laughter as I heave my luggage out of the rack and pile off the bus.

Oh my god. I seriously did that TWICE IN ONE DAY!!! It's moments like those where I actually miss a travelling companion, because people think you are plain looney if you are by yourself laughing. Evidently, you need to TELL the bus driver to stop. It's not like he yelled, "Anyone for Preswick?" No. It's a bit more challenging than that, but I made it to my flight just fine.

Anders picked me up with roses and the new U2 CD! How sweet, I know. The next couple days in Stockholm were great. I relaxed, shopped, went to drinks with Anders's friends, met up with his parents to tell them all about my adventures and say goodbye. One of the last nights we went to dinner in a fantastic restaurant in Gamla Stan, the old town. Fem Sma Hus was situated below ground level, and the ceiling was made of brick archways. Leaving Anders was sad, but it was inevitable. Although cold, Sweden was great.

Now that my hands ache, that concludes my little vacation. Currently, Anders and I are still together. We are applying for a residency/workvisa for me to be in Sweden for up to a year. Once that is granted (cross your fingers), I'm heading off to Prague to get the month-long certification to teach English. With that certification I'm heading up to Sweden to look for either a teaching job or a "real" job (though I'm not holding my breath). If I can't find one, then it's off to the rest of the world! Having the TEFL lets you teach nearly anywhere, so I'm thinking I'll start with France first (if not Prague, I loved it there), then Spain. Maybe Greece or Italy. After awhile I'd like to go to South America, then up to Asia.

So in a nut shell, I'm quitting my job and getting ready to travel around the world. I have no itinerary and no idea how long I'll be anywhere. I plan to leave in the beginning of May. Up until then, I'm just going to be saving every last penny, working hard and practicing my Swedish. Also, figuring out how to sell off everything I own, so if anyone has any good ebay tips, or knows anyone who needs to furnish an apartment, let me know!! That is the latest and greatest with me. I'm sorry that this email was so long, but no one said you had to read the whole thing...! Actually, some people actually like the detail believe it or not.

I hope everyone is doing well. I'd love to hear from you, let me know ifyou want to come over for some PB&J or some Top Ramen. Just kidding! Not really....

Take care!

Hillary

Greece and Italy, Summer 2004

2007-04-19T11:37:00.000-07:00

Written Tuesday, July 13th, 2004

After three wonderful weeks of touring through Europe, I am back atwork. For those of you with whom I have not recently spoken, I have taken a new job in Bellevue and began this week. I'm sorry that I didn't have a chance to email you all earlier with the highlights of our adventure in the wild blue yonder..... It's quite long, I admit.

I arrived in London on Monday morning, June 20th. I met Anders at Victoria Station, so I had a little time to "freshen up" from the hours on the plane which only grant one crumbled clothing and misbehaved hair. As I walked down the steps with my suitcase, an airport worker came over to help me,"would ya like 'elp wi that, love?" Ah. English accents. Cute men with English accents. It was then I realized I was indeed back in Europe once again! I navigated through Victoria Station and found Anders. We stopped by a market on the way to Katrine's (Anders's sister's apartment, oh excuse me FLAT) so I could find some "safe" food to feed my hunger. For those of you who remember, I have my reservations about London food.

That night we cooked dinner together and watched that night's game of the European championship. Katrine had a fabulous place. Her three bedroom flat is divided on two floors (right, so we'll just call it an apartment from now on) and the second floor houses the kitchen, an expansive space with vaulted ceilings and skylights looking out on to other London rooftops...I just loved it. The next day was our London sight-seeing day. Anders and I walked from Katrine's place (near Victoria for those of you who have yourLondon bearings down) up through Hyde Park and across over to Notting Hill,where we spend a most splendid few hours. Yes, Notting Hill is incredibly enchanting! That evening we met up with Katrine and her friends at a pub to watch the Sweden vs. Denmark game. It was awesome watching soccer with others who are equally enthusiastic. Although they tied, Sweden still moved forward. We hustled home as we had a 6:30am flight to Athens to catch!!

Tired, cranky, and half-asleep, we stumbled to the train for Gatwick around 4:30 in the morning. After a few hours we landed in Athens! As we got off the plane, I was immediately reminded of what greek writing looks like---um are those letters? Thankfully, the english translation was right underneath it. Anders was hilarious, "You see Hillary, Greek is simple. Everything ends with 'anopolous'. Anders-anopolous, Hillary-anopolous. Go over there and
give them your passport-anopolous." He was quite the travel companion with his jokes... We took a long hot bus ride into Athens, hopped on the subway and got off at the stop which was located near our hotel. It was a hot, dusty trek. Yes folks, we're talking 100 degrees outside while tugging luggage through the city. And once we arrived at the hotel, Anders thought he would so kindly inform me that apparently a hint of perspiration had been absorbed by my pants and was visible. Oh super. I was then referred to as the oh-so-loving "sweaty-ass". Isn't he so charming? It's really only funnybecause that's what he was the entire trip. For those of you who may get to meet him, ask him what he'd do if he could change the world.... HAAHAHAHA!!!!!

Despite the heat, my overall impression of Athens was very positive. People were incredibly kind and helpful, and most people knew enough English for us to communicate easily. It was so hot during the day that we would go out early in the morning and do our sight-seeing bit, come back and nap for the hottest hours, then go back in the evening for dinner and more adventures. I really enjoyed the food in Greece--I don't think I've eaten so much pork in a long time, but it was quite good nonetheless. The Acropolis? Amazing.Wonderful. Powerful. Huge. Awesome. We went relatively early in the day so it wasn't horrifically crowded (it was horrifically hot!). It was an amazing feeling to stand in front of the Parthenon and know that I was experiencing one of the most amazing things on this planet. While it's size and perfection were enough to shock anyone, the fact that it was so old and built without our modern capabilities was truly the most amazing feat. I took a ridiculous amount of pictures of all the structures at theAcpropolis, it was all so incredible.

One of my favorite nights of the trip was the dinner we had in Monastiraki, a neighborhood close to our hotel. It was an area lined with sidewalk cafes on cobblestone streets, kebab skewers twirling in the windows. We finally sat down to eat about 1am, but the streets were still busy with people and the restaurants were still populated. We selected a table close to a live band where a family was dancing. It was awesome to watch: The family danced around to the music side-by-side in a line with their hands clasped together and held above their heads as they scooted back and forth. The nice waiter taught us to say "Yah-Mahs!" (greek for cheers) and how to say thank you. He asked us where we were from and after a disgusted look when he mentioned Bush (it happened a lot throughout the trip), he brought us two glasses of ouzo to try. Uh, it's strong guys, trust me! Kinda tastes like Jager. A young vender came by selling roses, and Anders was quite the gentlemen. This is where you all go, "aawwwwww" and I blush. Just an FYI to you all: Girls love flowers :-)

We hopped a ferry to the greek island of choice, Kithnos. I'm actually laughing to myself as I type that word. Kithnos was great. Once we found a small little room to rent, we walked through the town to contemplate our dinner options. Dinner options were slim as there were only a couple restaurants in this tiny little harborside village. The views were what we all see pictures of: Bright white stucco-like structures with crisp blue trim. Boats of varying sizes in the harbor, and miles of Mediterranean sea in the distance. I am so lucky! We settled on the Yialos restaurant after the waiter (Costos, our soon-to-be friend) came out to convince us to eat there, throwing up his hands and exclaiming, "food very good! My mama make it!" I was convinced. He sat us at our table--our table and chairs were so close to the water's edge they were on the sand! He said to Anders, "her smile is very beautiful. She is your wife?" I laughed and waited to hear how Anders would handle this awkward situation. And he responded, "oh, YEAH". Oh really? Oh great, so now the guy thinks we're married.....this gets funnier later on"wine night".

We spent the days on Kithnos cruising around on the scooterand going to the beaches. Anders was a pretty safe driver, thankfully. But even if he wasn't, I was officially the ONLY person on the island to wear a helmet! Nerd? Hey, it's cool to be safe. A couple nights later we found ourselves back at the Yialos restaurant. By the end of the meal, Costos kept bringing us more and more carafes of the house wine. So we kept drinking more and more. Funny how that works. It was a most enchanting night, Anders and I were chatting aand Costos joined us and chatted too. Eventually the conversation turned to what we did for a living and where we lived, and of course Anders and I had different responses for a home (do remember he thinks we married still). "What? You see, that would not work for me. Me? I like a lot of woman!" Yup, classic quote for the trip, classic quote. We enjoyed ourselves, walking around town and dancing in the streets. It was a fun night.

I myself didn't feel particularly super the following day.Too much sun and a ridiculous amount of wine were too much for the system. We took the ferry back up to Athens, spent one night before heading to the port to take the ship to Italy. That night in Athens was wonderful. We ate dinner in Plaka, a neighborhood right underneath the Acropolis with streets lined with unique buildings with upstairs window balconies overlooking candlelit sidewalk cafes on cobblstone streets, all lit up by white lights in thetrees. To me, this is Europe and symbolizes everything I love about it. We selected a restaurant outside which looked in on a live band and people dancing. Amidst tatziki, greek salad, souvlaki and wine, we watched an amazing display of greek culture. One person would dance in a circle of friends who would all be kneeling on the ground and clapping to the beat (a slow beat). Each person would take turns dancing all by him or herself.

Getting to Patras was.......adventurous. Silly me, I wanted to do some quality shopping so we got a bit of a late start to the train station. Yeah, we missed the train by 20 minutes--the only train that afternoon that could get us there in time to make the 6pm boat to Italy. Oooooops. So we grabbed the magic book (and when I say Magic...seriously though, when travelling buy
the "Let's Go" series. They are incredible) and discovered that somehow there was a bus that could get us there quicker. Odd? I think so too, but whatever works. We hauled ass out of the train station because we knew we had to catch a bus within the hour. Unfortunately there were many people in front of us in the taxi line. Two of whom were Swedish backpacker chicks who
kept glaring at me. Either they knew that 1.) we were in a crunch and were about to jack a taxi out from in front of them (we HAD an emergency here!) or 2.) they knew I was stealing one of their own.....HHAAHHAAHAHAA. Either way I was annoyed, so Anders and I took off down the street to see if we could grab a taxi BEFORE it reached the train station taxi line. What do the drivers care anyway? Well, apparently they did, because none of them would stop for us! We finally got one and were whisked off to the bus station.

The bus station was a cultural experience to say the least. It was pretty dirty, crowded and the luxury of English signs were gone. Do you know what Patras looks like in Greek?Yeah, neither did we. Once we bought our tickets, they were all printed in Greek, so we couldn't even figure out where to go to find the correct bus stall. True, we could look at the destination signs on the buses......uh, they were all in greek. It was like comparing drawings or on Sesame Street 'one of these things is not like the other, which one is it?' We finally found our bus, got on, and rode three hours to Patras whereI hauled ass to the ticket office to buy our way to Italy with only a few minutes to spare. So there I was in my tank top, skirt and Old Navy flip-flops sprinting to the office because we only had a few minutes to get it all done. I flung open the door and jogged up to the desk panting, "can I get two tickets to Bari on the 6pm boat." "Sure. Passports?" Oh shit! So out I ran to find Anders safely with the bags laughing at me running down the street.

Anyhow, we got on the boat and made the 15.5 hour journey toBari. The boat was like a cruise ship and quite comfortable. We both slept a lot, read a lot, and were in Italy by the morning!
Bari. Yep, laughing as I write this one too. The thing I like about travelling in Europe is that everything is very logical in terms of transportation. The subways go to all the train and bus stations. Thebus stations are right by the ports. It's very obvious where to go and maps are always posted. Okay, not in Bari. In fact the dock was so large that I wasn't quite sure which way the town was. As we got off the boat,everyone piled right on to tour buses. Anders and I just looked at each other, confused; do we need to get on the buses too? So we tried, but they were full! We just laughed at how stupid we felt because everyone else seemed to have a place to go and we were there just standing around with our luggage(me the drunk driver and him with the lard ass--yep you develop petnames for your suitcases when you haul them around for three weeks!).

After walking back and forth a few times and eventually asking someone, we found a bus to take us to the train station. Of course we had no idea where it was because my Italy book was not-so-magic (Italy in under $70 a day fromFrommer's SUCKS!!! Don't buy it). After a sweaty bus ride, we got to the train station. We decided to go to Reggio, a town just across from Sicily so
we could do some day trips to the Eolian Islands. A six-hour train ride it was, however, you could almost think of it as a day spa (with dirty bathrooms)--and we were in the sauna the whole damn time! I busted out my little wetwipes to freshen up....It was a fun ride, I did my nails, Anders slept. Then we did Swedish 101 and I practiced singing the Bamse song.

Although we didn't really reach our touring ambitions in Reggio, I really enjoyed it. It was a genuine Italian town in the truest sense. No one spoke English at all. However, they were all very kind and willing to try. One waiter realized we didn't speak Italian and brought us to the deli with the menu and pointed things out. I had the most amazing pasta I've ever had at this cute little restaurant which overlooked the street.They squeezed a table in the window balcony and Anders and I sat there to take it all in. The best part of Reggio was discovering one of earth's greatest gifts: Gelatto. Wow. I'm not sure it really qualifies as ice cream.
It's like a cross between soft serve and mousse but flavored as well as Ben and Jerry's. The gelatto was amazing in Reggio and I think we got some two or three times a day. We spent our afternoons on the beach and swimming in the Med. If I have one complaint? TOO MANY SPEEDOS!!!!! I'm sorry, it's just wrong. We'd be laying there in the sun all relaxed and I would start snickering like a six-grader. "What are you laughing at now?" Anders would ask. Eeewwwwww.

After a few days in Reggio, we went to the most beautiful place I have ever been in my life, Positano, Italy. We stumbled on it accidentally, and it'squite ironic that Anders had the audacity to pretend to be annoyed that I just went ahead and "decided" we would be going there. He loved it. Positano is on the Amalfi coast, and while I like to think I'm letting you all in on a big secret--I'm not. America has discovered Positano. That town had flocks of Americans. Loud ones too. It was actually a bit embarrassing. The Amalfi coast is comprised of huge, jagged mountains and cliffs overlooking gorgeous beaches. All the buildings are embedded into the rock--or so it seems. It was charming and enchanting---so much that I think my definitions of those words changed as I walked through the streets. We stayed at a really cute bed and breakfast a little walk outside of town with a beach just 250 steps below (ooooh, guess who realized she needs to work out more!). On our last night in Positano we bought pastries and champagne and took a water taxi to the beach for a little "picnic unders the stars." I know, I know, cheesy as hell, but we had a great time.

From Positano we took a ferry to Napoli so we could hop on the eurostar to Roma. Napoli is where we had a near death experience in the taxi--a taxi driven by a guy with a bedazzled shirt saying HORNY. Really. I'm not kidding. You see, in Napoli there is the left lane, the right lane, and the center lane is a free-for-all, so people dodge in and out of each other going both directions. Seriously, their head-on collision rates must be sky-high. It was the scariest thing ever.

We arrived in Roma relatively late, and took the subway close to our hotel which brought us right out onto the piazza with the Spanish Steps. It was impressive......and it was covered with people. Our hotel was up a million steps. Anders was a trooper for carrying both our bags, oh he is just so, so, so strong that Swede. :-) The next morning was the big sight-seeing day.
Off we went to the Vatican. Roma was a close contender for the SweatCity2004 Award, however I think Athens won. St. Peters was incredible. I was in awe at the size, the sculptures, the paintings, everything. There was so much to see in every single nook and cranny of that place. Amazing. We also went to see the Capella Sistina. That itself was mind-blowing, and nothing short of it. However, we had to go through a little over-populated maze of unairconditioned hallways stocked with (ahem) American tourists. The amount of people really took away from the experience, which was a bit of a shame because the artwork was simply phenomenal the entire way through. That evening we went to see the ancient Roman ruins, including the Roman Forum and the Coloseum. It was so amazing to see such historic places, and their age was something I have never even tried to fathom.

Our last day in Roma was devoted to shopping (at least it was for me). Although there was still so much to see, it was just too hot to continue trekking up and down the streets. Anders and I did our own thing that day,then met up later for the evening. We had the most amazing meals, and I think that night was one of my favorites of the trip. The restaurant we found was tucked in a cobblestone piazza underneath a large cathedral, and hidden from the tourists. Only the locals were dining there. We had some fabulous food and a couple bottles of wine. It was a great night.

We flew back to London the next morning for my final night in Europe:-(. Going home was certainly the last thing I wanted to do. Anders--a most talented chef--made dinner and we hurried out the door to go meet up with Katrine to hit the pubs. We found a bar and had a great time sharing stories from our trip and ganging up on Anders.......they were playing great music,I was quite impressed. Anders and I stumbled home to conclude our wonderful adventure. He left about 5am to catch his flight to Stockholm. I got on a flight to Chicago for my cousin's wedding, which was wonderful.

So here I am in the new job, which is great so far! It always sucks when you have to learn the ropes of everything, but that's the way it goes. Everyone is SO nice and very helpful. No more "throw her to the wolves on day one and see if she survives" like certain unmentionable experiences.....I'm completely overwhelmed with getting my arms around a whole new life. New
job, getting ready to move, etc. I'm still a bit jet-lagged, but somehowI doubt any of you feel sorry for me! There was a bit of a mishap with my camera in Chicago, but I hope to get printouts of this trip (ok, and last trip too--ooops) soon in additon to getting them on shutterfly or something.

I hope that everyone is doing well and having a great summer, and I look forward to getting in touch with all of you soon!

England and France, Winter 2003

2007-02-22T17:27:00.000-08:00

Written Tuesday, December 9th, 2003

Hi all!

I am writing from a small, yet pricy internet cafe in Clermont Ferrand, France. I'm taking a day to chill, stay off my feet, and read before catching my plane to Stockholm, Sweden!The trip began with a long, boring layover in Minneapolis, only to find that my redeye to London was cancelled. Oh great. Chip away at my vacation, thank you so much. Luckily I was granted a spot on the same flight the following day, along with a night in the Best Western and $200 worth of northwest ticket vouchers. Vouchers with a ticket to Boston written all over it, so great ready Steve! I didn't need to be at the airport until 6 the following day. What was I to do with my time, you ask? The hotel assured me all would be well; although check out was at 10, they would take me to the mall. Yes folks, I had to spend my day at the Mall of America, the biggest mall in the USA on the biggest shopping day of the year, the day after thanksgiving. It wasn't terrible, and I honestly spent an hour or two reading in the Nordstrom ladies lounge. Yes, I was quite tired after effectively hunting down the cheapest watch in the mall. I found the cheapest one indeed, shit I had 6 hours on my hands!

I arrived in London a day late, which didn't seem like the greatest of tragedies-until you hear what happened next. I met up with Loni, another cool PLU girl who I sadly did not know while I was there. Loni was great, she is incredibly cool, and after my experience in London, I am truly grateful she was there. Meeting up with her was adventurous, to say the least. After slithering my way through the tube, dodging all the glares from the locals due to my appearance as a flaming american tourist (khaki cargo pants,black fleece, running shoes-which are very much UNLIKE european shoes, mind you-a backpack larger than life, and the essential London tube guide in hand),I found my way to Russell Square. I managed to triangulate my way through the area after many-a-rude bellmen told me contradicting directions to the hostel in the pouring rain (bare foot, in the snow, uphill bothways.....!!). Once I arrived, things were great. Loni and I walked all over the place, checked out some shops, got travel info we needed, etc. Stopped to e-mail, the usual afternoon on the town. I realized I liked London immediately; they play old school Michael Jackson, and you all know how much of a fan I am (yes, I agree he is a weirdo, but the man's a musical genius, and there's simply no arguing that!).

We returned to the hostel to meet up with friends and get ready for a Saturday night on the town. We all had a great time. We wound up at a bar somewhere, and I ran into this cool guy that I met at the airport (Nick, I'm so sorry we couldn\'t meet up in London--things got a little challenging for me, read on). The following morning was not pleasant. I realized that I wasn't feeling super, and hadn't quite slept off my jetlag. After observing my friends eating breakfast, I excused myself; I needed water and a little more rest,and my stomach was telling me that food was simply out of the question. There I was, in my dirty hostel room and like a crack of lighting-I had to get to the bathroom pronto. It is here that I have great appreciation for my foresight; I brought along a water bottle and antibacterial Wetones wipes things. Yes all, pardon the clarity here-I puked. I puked like I cannot remember puking before. All apologies to the poor girl in the bathroom doing her makeup.....you want some lip gloss now, sweety (I'm terrible, I know)? Now many of you are assuming that this incident must be directly affiliated with the amount of alcohol I consumed the previous night. And although I did not go crazy enough to warrant such, I thought so too. But after the next FOUR TIMES throughout the day, it occured to me that I must have eaten something, holy shit. Here's to Loni, my favorite souvenir of London,who still hung out with me as the contents of my stomach erupted, projectiled all over the hostel room door (I was running to the bathroom, and it's safe to say I didn't quite make it). Grossing you out?? Try expriencing it. She was still a trooper as I propelled the minimal liquid I tried to ingest all over the corner of Southhampton Row and Bloomsbury. Again, sorry to the people innocently walking by. Talk about sight-seeing in London!

The following day I felt like pretty beat up, my muscles hated me, and i was wary of trying to eat. Loni and I did the hop-on, hop-off tour of London,which was very cool, even though it was pouring rain. We saw the Tate Modern as well, I am such an art nerd. Monday morning I caught my eurostar train to Paris, travelling through the chunnell!!

The narrative brightens a bit here, guys, I promise!

I managed to switch train stations via taxi, and find my way to the train in Rennes. It's safe to say I was pretty overwhelmed at this point; um, the\'re allspeakingfrench!! AAHHHHHH! Luckily I spoke enough to get by. I remember getting on my train and finding my seat, a french couple looking at me, whispering in a snide way. Again, acknowledging my appearance as a tourist, and probably one of those damn americans at best. I ignored it, that's their own deal. I'm on vacation! Oh, that's weird. There is someone else with their same ticket. How strange. Or maybe, they have the wrong seats....no, not the french people.....oh yes they do. They have the wrong seats. How strange; the dumb touring american somehow managed to find the right seat in the correct car by translating a foreign language, and you guys couldn't understand voit 20. HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW!!!! hhahaahaaahaaahaaaa. They sheepishly glanced over at me as they exited.

Courtney met me at the train station in Rennes. I was really excited to see her, and feeling good because the cute french guy sitting across from me in the train (with whom I had exchanged a few glances) finally spoke to me at the end of the trip. Now, I have no idea what he said, but I'm sure that I don't really care, he was cute! I explained I don't speak very much french, so he spoke to me in english........rarrrrrrr! That night, Courtney and I met up with some of her friends who are in town doing the same program. We walked through her nothing-short of-picturesque-and-gorgeous-town and met them for les galettes and cidre. Yummy!! I have actually done nothing but eat my way through France, the food here is unmatched. And I'm here to say, I really need to cut myself off from the chocolat pastries in les patissieres on every corner! I took a bus out to see Mont Saint Michel in northwest france. I have to say it was almost better that I was alone, it was so breathtaking I could hardly speak. I can't wait to show everyone my pictures. Mont Saint Michel is a cathedral that was built out on the coast on a rock. I believe it was built in the 13th century, and any attempt at a written explanation would be an insult to how truly spectacular it really is. Courtney and I had a great dinner of bread, wine (of course), salad, and beacoup des fromages. Yes folks, it's like death by dairy out here; the cheese is amazing. It's all I eat. Okay, that and chocolate pastries. I spent the following day bumming around Rennes, shopping, trying to speak french. People are actually very kind and helpful, and are very nice to humor my broken attempts at communication.

That night was an absolute blast!I did laundry and had a very long conversation with the man who worked there. He was very nice and politely corrected my verb tenses. It was fun to actually be able to communicate in another language. Courtney took me to a french kick-boxing class, which was hilarious!! I had so much fun, I think they all thought I was rude because I was laughing the whole time. Picture a man in painfully small shorts screaming, "ALLEZ, ALLEZ, un-DEUX,DEUX-un, et ENCORE!!!!!!!!!" absolutely hilarious! For the evening, we went out to the bars. I came to Rennes during their big music festival, so it was great to see some live music....and a lot of crazy drunk people in the streets.

I caught the train to Paris in the morning, embracing a bit more confidence in my ability to find my way with the french culture. I bought a metro pass and dropped off my stuff in the hostel. This hostel was considerably nicer than that of London.....and I don't think anyone puked on the bedroom door........! I grabbed my map and I was out the door. I picked a stop and just walked around Paris for hours! I definitely got lost, but that was part of the fun of it. When I'd had enough, I went to the Champs-elysees, and snapped a few pics of l'arc de triomphe. That night I was put in a trip of a room. Yes folks, I had some unusual roommates. One was this weird lady who was french; she was trying to get out of the city because the pollution-and I quote-was burning her teeth. Is it really? That sounds terrible madame, but I dont think staying in this hostel is really promoting your exit......I'm sure you could find places to stqy out side the city? But who am I to judge? Then; the other guy was from Afganistan. This guy, I kid you not, was in Paris studying artillery. Yup, artillery, like BLOWING THINGS UP!!! Now, these two did not think I spoke any french, so they began to discuss the US, thinking I didn''t know what was going on. I definitely was a little chilled when I heard the intro to the topic,"etats-unis chercher Osama". Um, I want to make it clear that I myself, personally, am not trying to chercher anything. I'm here on vacation minding my own business. Seriously though, it wasn't that bad. They were both incredibly nice, but the intense description is more evocative for your reading amusement.

I was a hardcore sight-seeing superstar the following day. I went to the palace of Versailles, museum of modern art (closed for renovation,buster), Notre Dame, the Champs-elysees again, and to a french movie! It was verycool, I could understand a fair amount, and it was fantastic to get off my feet. When I was sitting on the C-E ( the ONE city bench; I think), some guy came up to talk to me, he thought I was cold or something. I tried some of his gateux, little almond maccaroons. Quite yummy. He invited me to his house pour la Noel. French
guys are humorous!

On Sunday, Belinda and I (girl in my new hostel room) and I went to bear the cold-we're tqlking frostbite cold here people-at the march� aux puces (fleamarket). I made a killing, great bargains, and I talked my way into some good deals (en francais). We went to le Lourve, which was nothing short of overwhelming. After one floor (there are 4), I had had enough. But yes, the floor did include the Mona Lisa. What was she like??? Not telling! heehee. I found the building itself quite amazing. The highlight of the visit to the louvre was seeing the cliche frenchman. Not kidding, there was a guy dressed in a black beret, loose sweater with thick black and white stripes, and a marroon scarf. The second we saw him, we both just cracked up. It was like he was straight out of a cartoon!

That night I met up with my Dad's cousin Dave, who was in town on business.We had a great time catching up; I haven't seen him in years. We went to the bar at the top of the hotel which overlooked the city. We had a spectcular view of the tour d'eiffel! Every hour, the whole thing would light up and sparkle for a few minutes. Now, we're not talking cheesy, hokey flashing christmas lights here. Think: fourth of July sparklers on every inch of the structure going off. I wish I had my camera, I could have taken video. Itwas unbelievable. Dave and I went to chez Georges for an authentic and delicious french dinner. Dave, thank you again, the dinner was wonderful (that and for steering me away from the herring!). At chez Georges, the meat of the night was sauerkraut....yeah, we didn't think that was meat either! In the morning, I went to the infamous tour d'eiffel. Although it was amazing, there were WAY too many damn people, it really dilluted the experience. I got some fantastic picutres; I went all the way to the top!! I even took a little video too.

Later, I caught my train here, to Clermont Ferrand. I stayed in this great little budget hotel last night. This cute old grandma-lady helped me to my room. She didn't speak a word of english,but thankfully I speak enough french to get by. In the morning, her son (with whom I spoke on the phone for my reservation) took me to my other hotel (they were booked so I couldnt stay), and then to the train station to figure out transportation to the airport. We went across the street and had les croissants et du cafe for breakfast. He was a very nice man; he asked me all about where I lived (they actually opened the atlas at the hotel last night!!!!), we talked about Seattle, volcanos (we're in a volcanic range here in France), my job, etc. He helped me find the direction of the internet cafe, and I accidentally stumbled upon this fantastic little fashion boutique. I grind my teeth as I admit, the credit card emerged on this one......I am cut off from shopping until that next paycheck comes through (hey Michelle, any word on my expense checks?).

I will spend about four days in Stockholm, then I train to Oslo to catch that infamous flight which includes the 14 hour overnight layover in Amsterdam. See you all when I get back! Have fun working..........heeheeheeheeeeee--Iknow I\'ll get my share as soon as I get back!

love, Hillary