Tales of a Travelin' Consultant

Civilized Matters

2013-03-25T16:47:00.004-03:00

It has been a while since I have posted a blog, as I’m settling into this experience in Brazil as more of my life and less as a giant adventure. My first months in São Paulo was a blur – paperwork, government protocols, trips to the notary public, scrambling to find an apartment, make friends, squeeze in some exercise and combat hangovers. Oh yeah, and getting acclimated to a new job. All in Portuguese.

During this time, I always had “blog” listed as a little box to be checked off of my To-Do list. After 3.5 months, I only managed to draft a few which never got rounded out enough to be published. Here is a summary of what hit the recycle bin:

Business meeting etiquette: Seriously, it is apparently perfectly acceptable that the speaker making a profound point lets his/her phone ring a few times (I am pretty sure Brazilian iphones do indeed have a silence feature), and pauses midsentence to answer his/her phone, tell the caller that he/she is in a meeting, and then proceed to talk for 30 more seconds. Depending on the hierarchy of the speaker, the meeting with either patiently wait, or someone will speak up and make their own point, thus derailing the conversation. Of course, the person on the phone stays seated and talks with a normal phone voice. On the upside, coffee is always served during meetings, and this includes the coffee literally being served to you in little espresso cups by the coffee lady. Better yet, if it is a fancy meeting, there will be little baskets of dry snacks served by the coffee lady, like peculiar salty flavored puffy balls or tiny cookies.
Public Transport: I drafted up this blog, but needed to get an accurate escalator count to make a point so tried for 3 straight days to count how many escalators I took on my commute, and I kept losing count after 12. So this entry dead-ended.
Dating: This one was getting really juicy, but then I realized that most (yet not all) of my dating partners indeed speak English, and are connected to me on facebook, so publishing this one might not be wise for my future Saturday nights
Banking technology: While banking technologies are really advance here, this one got too complicated and techie, so I just decided to schedule a Skype session my one friend, Panzarella, who would actually care.

Back to the lecture at hand – Civilized Matters. I am really soaking up everything about the culture and behaviors here, and there are a couple norms that have just charmed my pants off. Today one of these truly made my day and I felt incline to type up now, in hopes that it will encourage you to follow suit. But before I explain these two notable civilized matters to you, I will first share two of the most uncivilized things I have heard or witnessed here in São Paulo to illustrate the contrast.

Uncivilized Point #1: The first uncivilized thing is the time that I was walking the two blocks from the train to my office with a colleague. A blind colleague got off of the train in front of us (we only knew this because he was wearing a backpack with our companies name on it. Well, that is how we knew he was an employee of our company. We knew he was blind because of the stick). In a very civilized fashion, he was escorted the first block crossing a busy intersection by an employee of the public transport system. The next block was a straight shot to our office. Or so we thought.

We were walking directly behind him, deep in conversation talking strategy of an upcoming proposal, when suddenly we see a car backing up directly in his path. Onto his foot. Not over his foot. But onto his foot. The tire was basically stuck on top of his foot. Since the car was up on the blind guys foot, the driver needed to accelerate a bit in either direction for enough momentum to roll off of his foot. But he couldn’t accelerate forward or he would hit a wall, and he couldn’t accelerate backwards because the constant stream of people walking behind him didn’t stop. My colleague ran over to the driver, screaming at him as I grabbed hold of the blind guy where I learned a whole new vocabulary of curse words in Portuguese. After a good 10-15 seconds, the stream of people stopped and the driver was able to accelerate backwards and roll off of his foot. The blind guy stopped cursing, said he was ok, walked away and presumably clocked in and got to work.

Uncivilized Point #2: When I did my Portuguese lessons in Denver, I had a teacher from São Paulo. We spent one entire lesson talking about cars and terms involved with cars. He was adamant I learn the word “atropelado” or “to hit/run over.” Kind of an obscure word to learn when I was still trying to conjugate verb tenses of “to request” and “to lose.” Reluctantly, I wrote the word down and did not realize how useful this word would be until I got here. It seems every day there is an article about someone being hit by a car, or worse, run over. This is the most disturbing one that happened just a couple weeks ago. I will summarize for those of you too lazy to click on the link, and unwilling to use Google Translate. On second thought, I wont even put a link because no one will click on it, and if you are really that darn curious , you are all resourceful enough to just google it yourself.

Basically, this young 22 year old playboy was leaving some nightclub at 6am. Most likely he was using the “Lei Seca” app to avoid the checkpoints that try to catch drunk drivers under São Paulos zero tolerance, drunk driving laws. He ran over a bicyclist. The bicyclist was a window washer on his way to work. To make matters worse, when he ran over the bicyclist, the guys arm FELL INTO THE CAR. Yes, fell into the car. What would any civilized 22 year old do in this situation? Leave the scene, drop his friend off at home, ditch the arm into the river, and THEN sober up enough to turn himself in. The bicyclist lived, and the doctors were confident they could reattach his arm, but it was somewhere in the river.

Now, onto more civilized matters.

Civilized Point #1: The first is queuing in line for elevators at office buildings. If you have ever taken the Metro during Rush Hour here, you would never believe that those businessmen pushing and shoving their way ON to the Metro before anyone even gets OFF were capable of such manners. But once they leave the Metro, they apparently transform from Caveman to Debonair. At the elevator banks in office buildings in large cities like Sao Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, I have seen this with frequency. The office workers queue in a single file line, one behind the other, and patiently wait their turn to board the elevator. Once an elevator car is free, they file their way inside until it is full, and then politely wait for the next one. I was flabbergasted the first time I saw this in Rio de Janeiro, and really think that the rest of the world should adopt this custom.

Civilized Point #2: This second one is the most heartwarming pieces of public transport etiquette I have ever seen in my life. Besides the global, consistent rule of offering your seat to the elderly, pregnant, disabled, etc, those lucky enough to get a seat actually ask if they can hold your bags. It can be quite crowded and sometimes holding onto a plastic bag amidst sweaty bodies is uncomfortable while also gripping the sweaty metal handles. The first few times I witnessed a standing person hand over their bag(s) to a seated person, I assumed they were friends or acquaintances.

Then I started paying attention. When the person getting off the train took back their bag, there was only a brief thank you when the bag handed over. And we all know that Brazilians take 5 minutes to say good-bye with lavish departing kisses, so clearly they did not know each other. I was still a bit skeptical though. Why would anyone actually hand over their personal belongings to a stranger on a train? Then today, I was on the train, and it wasn’t very crowded, but crowded enough that not everyone got a seat. I didnt get a seat. A seated woman asked a standing woman next to me if she could hold her small plastic bag. The standing woman gladly handed it over. Then the same seated woman asked me if she could hold my backpack. I was so flattered, but of course I declined the offer. Mainly because I was kind of in shock that she was offering this, and also that I actually understood her Portuguese. I watched the ritual with interest, feeling inspired to finally have a reason to return to my blog.

In closing, I hope these little acts of kindness encourage you to make a little effort to ease someone’s day, even if it is a miniscule way. However, if you are reading this in NYC, I highly encourage you NOT to try take someone’s bag on the subway.

First Impressions of Sao Paulo

2012-10-26T09:21:00.001-02:00

Sao Paulo is a big city. There is no doubting that. Everyone warned me, "Sao Paulo is nothing like Rio." and "In Brazil, Rio is like LA and Sao Paulo is like NYC."

After landing, I realized that anyone who has said "Sao Paulo is like NYC" has clearly never been to NYC. Or maybe they just havent been to Saigon. Or maybe they were referring to the Bronx. Either way, it is unlike any place I've ever been to. A massive city, population approx 20 million, with skyscrapers as far as the eye can see, and traffic jams even further. According to the BBC, on average, Fridays have traffic jams backed up 112 miles, and sometimes exceed 183 miles. http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0%2C8599%2C1733872%2C00.html

As a good traveling consultant, I had done my research and was expecting the mess of people, buildings and cars.

These following items, however, are my first impressions that were totally unexpected:

1. The finger wave. In American culture this would be offensive, basically holding your finger in someones face and wagging it back and forth, with your lips downturned, to indicate that something isnt true, or isnt going to happen.

2. Friend-of-a-friend. Three days into my Sao Paulo adventure, I realized I now know more people in Sao Paulo than I do Denver, which is the city I have lived in for 6 years, own property and exhausted eligible dating pool on match.com. Everyone knows someone that you would like or has an interesting connection, or can help you in some way. For example, the apartment I am hoping to rent was discovered through my friend Joana’s half-brothers wife’s friend’s (who we ran into on the Requiejao run, see #5 below) friend who knew someone looking to rent out his flat. All of this was accomplished in less than 2 hours due to iphones and the general willingness to help out a friend-of-a-friend.

3. The cheek kiss. Sure, when a Carioca shows up into town, it throws things into disarray with the age-old single cheek vs double cheek conundrum, but I love the intimacy of meeting someone, whether at work, a grocery store, or a club and giving a simple, “Oi, tudo bem” and a cheek peck.

4. Flakiness. For lack of a better word, the behavior I am about to discess can only be described in the least offensive way as flakiness. I have finally found a culture where I fit in. I love that you can double and triple book yourself, and then either show up hours late, or not show up at all, with nary a hard feeling. It is a breath of fresh air that if I have dinner plans, I can claim traffic, or sleep, as a valid excuse for not showing up, or showing up two hours late. I do have some Brazilian friends who value punctuality in social sitautions (one is also consistently EARLY and that disturbs me considerably). I used to love hanging out with my “flaky” friends most when I was living in Rio. I got so comfortable in this culture, that I used to text my friends “in cab - traffic” or “leaving house now, looking for cab” as I would be just getting ready to start my shower. Side note: As I'm typing this, it is Friday morning at 9:25am. I am in the office. I was the first one here at 8:30. Right now, people are beginning to trickle in, but I am basically alone. We were supposed to have a 9am team meeting but no one is here yet. I could get used to this...

5. Requeijao. I have been to Brazil 5 times now and consider going to foreign (well domestic too) grocery stores a hobby, so I’m disappointed in myself that I had not discovered this on my own. This is a highly processed, white cheese which is apparently made from the lowest quality ingredients that arent good enough to be made into milk. Yum. The day I arrived in Sao Paulo, my work lunch got canceled at the last minute (see item #4) so I made plans with my friend Joana’s brother’s wife (see item #2). My new friend Rachel and I met for lunch and since it was a beautiful day on Oscar Freire, and we didn’t have to work, we ordered the whole bottle of wine. As she was jonesing for sobremesa, I kept insisting she could have it, but I’m more of a cheese person myself. Earlier in the conversation, as she was listing items that are had or impossible to get in Brazil, I told her her how I’d probably miss Tostitos Cheese Sauce a lot, She said, “We must go get you some requeijao.” Once she introduced me, I knew I had made two new friends immediately: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Requeij%C3%A3o

The Secret

2012-10-25T17:54:00.000-02:00

A bit before I embarked on my Big Trip last year, I finally read The Secret, a book that had been sitting on my bookstand for quite a while. It was given to me by a really positive, inspiring friend named Jimmy "Wangness" Wang. At first, it seems like a bunch of new-age mumbo jumbo, but after you look past this, it has some really interesting content.

The Secret describes the law of attraction as a natural law that determines the complete order of the universe and of our personal lives through the process of "like attracts like." That is, as we think and feel, a corresponding frequency is sent out into the universe that attracts back to us events and circumstances on that same frequency. For example, if you think angry thoughts and feel angry, you will attract back events and circumstances that cause you to feel more anger. Conversely, if you think and feel positively, you will attract back positive events and circumstances. The law claims that desirable outcomes such as health, wealth, and happiness can be attracted simply by changing one’s thoughts and feelings. It says that our thoughts are magnetic and they attract thoughts of similar frequency.Whatever thoughts we dwell upon,we attract similar thoughts in our life.

The Secret highlights gratitude and visualization as the two most powerful processes to help manifest one's desires. It asserts that being grateful both lifts your frequency higher and affirms that you believe you will receive your desire. Visualization is said to help focus the mind to send out the clearest message to the universe. Several techniques are given for the visualization process, as well as examples of people claimed to have used it successfully to manifest their dreams. (Source: Wikipedia)

I tried playing around with this concept, and small things like visualizing a parking spot would appear just as expected. It became a bit uncanny, but became a secret way of living my life. Because I knew if I told anyone about this, they would surely laugh and mock. I guess my friends, naturally, tend to be laughers and mockers. But then again, like does attract like. ;)

During my Big Trip, I was in Bali and stumbled upon a (surely pirated) DVD of The Secret. I ended up watching it again and again everytime I got near a DVD player for the remainder of the trip. Again, it is full of new-age mumbo jumbo, including an opening dream-like sequence that probably puts off most mainstream audiences. But there are some good tidbits, like:

Whatever we think about and thank about we bring about
You can have, do or be anything you want

Continuing to live The Secret even after the trip, I knew that if I had a goal in mind, and kept it present in my thoughts, words, actions and continued to live with gratitude, the universe would eventually sort itself out and my goal would be attained.

My goal? Live in Rio. The Secret says that you dont need to worry about the details of HOW you will attain the goal, but just know that the goal will happen.

Sure enough, within 2 months of being back in the US and back at work, the stars aligned and I had discovered a contact with my similar background living and working in Brazil for my company.

He worked his magic and here I am, 8 months later, living in Sao Paulo, Brazil.

But the story isnt over, kids. I'm living and working in Sao Paulo. If it is still what I want, I know that I'll get to Rio eventually. But in the meantime, follow my journey as I live out the first part of my individual manisfestation of The Secret.

Brasil with K

2012-01-19T17:52:00.001-02:00

K and I became friends the long way round. She was friends with one of my best friends, and although we had occasionally met at Penn State and in NY, we were never actually friends.

Right before our mutual friends destination wedding in Mexico, we realized a shared love for travel over myspace. We bonded at the wedding and over the course of the next couple years - and countless BBM chats - we started coordinating business trips so that we could get together and talk about travel, exercise and boys (shamelessly my 3 favorite topics).

I always had a hunch, but finally confirmed that K and I both can be incredibly efficient and effective in getting what we want. We organized a complete trip to Rio and Florianopolis in record time - less than a week without the use of BBM!

She arrived in Rio and we settled into the Sheraton Leblon as comfortably as two Platinum spg members can. When the sun would peek out, we’d race to get some sun. She signed up for the free outdoor gym on Ipanema and we did an exercise class in the midst of palm trees and ocean breezes. My Carioca friends embraced her and we enjoyed a few days of Rio nightlife before jetting off to the chic resort town of Florianopolis, otherwise known as Floripa.

We literally had to peel ourselves off of the sun chairs to make our flight but we made it. Upon landing in Floripa, we were greeted with rain. Lots and lots of rain. Nonstop rain.

We checked into the cozy Pousada dos Chas (House of Teas) and asked what there was to do when there was rain. No one could give us any good advice, so we defaulted to our other favorite subjects – exercise and boys.

First up: Exercise. Exploring the town of Jurere, dodging the rain, we stumbled upon a yoga class. Sure, it was conducted entirely in Portuguese so we didn’t understand much, but we did understand enough to get comfortable hanging upside down in makeshift harnesses. It was a great start to our trip. Next up: Boys.

The first night out in Floripa, we were quickly apprehended by two local Brazilian guys. K has been to Brazil before, but always with other guys, so she was protected from advances from the locals. I, however, have faced Brazil as a single lady and knew what to expect.

I warned that within 7 minutes, she’s have a tongue shoved down her throat. Although K is well traveled and no one would dare call her naïve, she didn’t quite believe me. However, she believed me enough to stay sitting on the sofa next to me, so I had a front seat view of her being caught unawares by the move that an ex-pat friend has described as “Momma bird feeding baby bird.” I laughed and laughed about that as Kara dragged me out of the bar.

Apparently all we needed for sunshine was for K to be indoctrinated to the Brazilian courting, because we had glorious sunshine for the rest of the trip. I was so sad to say good bye to K, but glad that she had been part of my Big Trip, and we got to incorporate all of our favorite subjects.

After I said goodbye to K, I boarded a 17 hour bus ride from Florianapolis to Iguazu Falls.

I never claimed to be a sensible shopper

2011-11-17T17:11:00.001-02:00

I never claimed to be a sensible shopper. So far, my most riduculous purchases have been a bulky turtleneck sweater dress in Rome and a floor length, chiffon and lace dress in Rio. (The dress is so fancy, it reminds me of the prom dress that I loved so much I wore to 2 different Proms. In fact, this dress is so nice that I am making my friend Adriana hang it in her closet - I dont trust the hostel or Juju and her gangstas.)



Neither dress purchase was needed, or very practical when you recall that I am traveling with only a backpack. But I do think I should have been looking for some more versatile clothing...

I dont have many clothes. I've never been a trendy dresser, but my lack of style right now is laughable. And my friend Joana did laugh. 



Joana works in fashion here in Rio and while I've never claimed to my stylish, I tried to get creative with my outfit this night. I was wearing the one shirt I have that is not a tshirt or fleece, and did not want to carry my frumpy black travel purse. So, I grabbed a small brown "clutch" from my limited wardrobe (which can fit on less than 10 hangers, see previous blog entry...)


Joana and I were out getting sushi in Leblon, and we get out of the cab and Joana looks at my clutch and groans, "I have that same overnight kit bag from Air France. We need to get you shopping in my closet." 



I didnt take her seriously until last weekend. 



A cute brazilian guy on my volleyball group mentioned he was going to a wedding in Buzios that weekend. He also was insistent on exchanging contact info but kept on forgetting his phone. So I took his email on Friday morning and figured there was no hurry to email him, as he was going to Buzios for his friends wedding.


I should clarify that I didn't see any hurry to email him until I met Adriana for lunch. Adriana is this otherwise very sweet Brazilian girl I have been friends with since June. 



But she eggs me onto doing ridiculous things - like buying that over the top lace and chiffom gown. I mentioned this cute volleyball guy I met and she suddenly got it into her head that I must get myself invited to the wedding in Buzios, so that I could wear this ridiculous dress she made me purchase.
 

Well, by late Friday afternoon the cute volleyball player quickly accepted the offer (of, you know, me inviting myself to the wedding so I could wear the dress). To my relief, he later told me he had wanted to invite me to the wedding but didnt want to seem too aggressive. (note: he is both cute and high maintenance, so there will be no photos posted of the cute volleyball player as my wedding date).

Now that I was going to the wedding, I started racing all over town to pick up the dress from Adriana, and then I realized that my extremely limited wardrobe of fleeces and running shorts are not appropriate for a wedding weekend in Buzios. 


So I went finally shopping in Joana's closet(s). I felt a bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman (for the poor girl on a high end shopping spree, not for feeling like a prostitute, jackasses).

One hour later, I left Joana's with party dresses, casual dresses, brunch dresses, handbags, accessories, and even an overnight bag (so that I didnt need to turn up in Buzzes carrying my clothes in my huge backback or plastic grocery store bags.

Once appropriately outfitted, the trip was great. A beautiful wedding on the beach, exploring Buzios with a charming host, and a house that felt like The Real World:Buzios.

The house:
aluguetemporada.com.br/imovel/p515264958

Settling into Rio

2011-11-16T10:13:00.001-02:00

I knew it was going to be a good day when a bird pooped on me.

I always thought it was an old wives tale to make people feel better after a bird poops on them, but now I know that it's true. I was on the hunt for an apartment in Ipanema.

Being a beggar who is a chooser, I wanted something within walking distance to both my portuguese and volleyball lessons that wasnt in a favela. I already had a nice offer to rent a room with my very generous and thoughtful friend Mariana in a newly renovated apartment with views of Christ the Redeemer and the Lagoa.

But it was located in the Botanical Gardens part of the Zona Sul region of Rio. And that would mean having to get a bike and I was traumatized from riding bikes when i flipped over the handlebars, puked up my breakfast and Bill Moeller came out and offered me a bandaid. When my mom drove me home, I remember laying on my family room couch, staribg at my bloody arms desperately hoping that I didnt have AIDS (I had just watched the Ryan White Story - you remember, with Angela from Who's The Boss? - and while it served it's purpose of scaring me, it didnt really do a good job of explaining how AIDS was contracted to a 6th grade suburban audience.) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0098237/

Point being, I was terrified of having to rely on a bike as means if transportation, even though the apartment is amazing and it would be fun to live with Mariana. I had lots of leads, but the bird poop confirmed that this one would work out.

I arrived at Jussara's place, praying that it wasnt a setup to steal my organs (I found the listing on www.easycuarto.com). Juju was nice, and speaks little english. She is 38, works at a bakery a few days a week and designs clothes too. The place has sewing machines and mannequins everywhere!

The place is a bit dated, but serves the purpose for a month, has an excellent location and the price is right. After much deliberation with my English friends from the hostel, Jade, Louisa and Alice, I decided to do it! I said good bye to the folks at the hostel- creepy Fabricio forced me into an extended hug, and gave me a t-shirt which is apparently some sort of ritual when he says good-bye to girls he has creeped out (see June 2011 blog entry for backstory).

I moved in the next day. Ahhhh. A big, bright room all to myself! A kitchen where I dont have to worry about anyone knicking my food! A shower where I dont need to wear flip-flops! And a bedroom where I can sit around in my underwear and get a whole night of sleep without drunk 19 year olds raising hell at 3am! I was so estatic to unpack. Then I realized I dont really have much to unpack. An entire wall is lined with built in wardrobes. I set to hanging up all my clothes. My excitement got the better of me, because soon I was hanging up t-shirts and tank tops, and even my dirty laundry!

I have 2 nightstands, a desk, a full length mirror, and even a hamper! There is a tv, washing machine, even wifi. Although it did alarm me a touch when I realized the wifi passcode translates to "I love gangstas." Life here in Rio isnt bad, well as long as Juju and her gangsta boyfriends dont steal my organs in the middle of the night.

Day to Day Life in Rio

2011-11-04T06:20:00.000-02:00

I've said this time and time again to anyone that will listen - but Rio is a marvelous city.

In the spirit of "the third's time's a charm," I headed back to Rio to see if this is the kind of lifestyle that would appeal to me, as a resident and not a tourist. See if I can learn the language and see if I'd be able to build a support network nearly as half as good as my amazingly generous family and friends.

For the past week, I've fallen into a bit of routine that is more "life of leisure" rather than full on living. But it's closer than being a tourist sightseeing and partying all the time.

My routine is to wake up early for exercise. Sometimes, if I am feeling ambitous, I will try to make a 7:30 yoga class at Rio Academy, which everyone calls the Free Gym. It's an outdoor gym on Ipanema Beach that is like a temporary Muscle Beach in Venice. It's free, because there are corporate sponsors, and it's a fun way to work out and learn some portuguese (1,2,3...)

I don't go to Rio Academy as much as I do volleyball lessons with Pele. I had met him late into my trip last time (see previous blog about Rio).
I prefer to go to the 8am on Ipanema Beach. There are all levels in his classes and the format is to do drills for about 45 minutes and then play a game at the end. It's a fun way to get a good workout and also learn some skills too.

Another thing that I recently tried is slacklining. Slacklining is not, contrary to Doug Preston's popular belief, ziplining for lazy people. Rather it's something that derived from
It looks really easy when you watch stuff like these jokers... Http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uXIaMj3tYn8&feature=youtube_gdata_player

It's a piece of we. I cant explain why it's fun for me, but seeing teeny tiny improvements is so motivating. The folks on the beach are pretty welcoming too.

Once the fun and games are over, I head to my portuguese lessons. I knew I wanted to learn or improve a language on this trip, and was deciding between german, spanish or portuguese. German made the best sense because I majored in it in college, and Michaellyn was welcoming, but private tuturing was just too expensive. So it was a toss-up between spanish and portuguese. Again, I have a stronger base in spanish, but I ultimately chose portuguese mainly because of Rio.

I researched a bit online but didnt solidify anything until I got here. Luckily the best school with the best prices is a ten minute walk from my hostel. It's called Casa Do Caminho and the proceeds go to a local orphanage I was able to walk in and start private classes the next day. My teacher right now is Marcos. He is super "legal" and teaches me slang so I wont sound like such a toolbag if people ever do actually understand me.

Then if I dont have a blind "friend" date with a friend of a friend who lives in Rio, I come back to the hostel and sit around with 2 of my roommates in the girls dorm who are also on a bit of a routine. We drink chilled white wine, play with our blackberries or iphones and complain about how loud all of the younger backpackers are. As I'm typing this, another girl that's been here for a few days came in, booted up and made a "granny" comment too.

Oh well, it's 10pm, lights out for us grannies...

Atlanta with Kannan

2011-11-01T12:08:00.005-02:00

Kannan Ramakrishnan and I are unlikely friends.

But friends we are.

We worked together at the now defunct BearingPoint as PeopleSoft consultants. Kannan is technical and I am functional. So we had to work together on the designs of software systems often. After working together very passively in Stamford, CT, I knew he was the go-to man for most questions. But we werent yet friends.

But after 2 stints working as a very small team in Minneapolis in an oversize broom closet, we finally became friends.

As coworkers, we were very confrontational with each other. Hashing through designs, oftentimes our colleague would have to shut the broom closet door because we'd be shouting at each other so loudly and aggressively in front of a whiteboard.

After um, very heated discussions, we'd have no problem looking at each other and speaking in civilized manner, "Do you want to myburger or taco john's for lunch?"

We really bonded over our compatible work styles, and new teammates were amazed that we actually liked and respected each other after witnessing us interact in these design sessions.

But that's just how we roll.

I got to know Kannan's wife Usha and brilliant son Rohith also. They always extended a very sincere invite to visit them in Atlanta but there never was a good time. Until now.

Trying to get to Rio de Janeiro for my next adventure, I used Grasso Charm and somehow managed a business class flight from Belgrade with a 26 hour stopover in Atlanta for an obscenely low amount of points. I knew the agent had to transfer me to the manual ticketing departmnt bc my itinerary was breaking every soft warning an hard stop in their software system (clearly NOT designed by me and Kannan).

I arrived in Atlanta and was warmly welcomed to the home of Usha, Kannan and Rohith. Warm welcome is an understatement - I have never ever in my whole life felt so welcomed into someone's home before. Not to not be grateful to anyone that has ever invited me to their house, but these guys really turned on the southern hospitality. Although since they are from the south of India, maybe it is really southern Indian hospitality.

We had a great time catching up on work gossip and really just hanging out. Usha and I went to a pilates class, and then gossiped about Kannan. Apparently she had never really heard the stories about the workstyle of me and Kannan (until I read her the draft of this blog posting) but she really got a kick out of it.

One of the highlights was taking Rohith to Chick-Fil-A (although for some reason he associated visits with me to Mexican food and expected Mexican.). As most people know, I am on this boycott of American fast food chains during my big trip. I love fast food, but hate the idea of America destroying other cultures, so I made this "noble" promise to myself that I wouldnt support it during my trip. However, I found a loop hole in my promise - I was in the US, and Chick-Fil is actually from Georgia, so technically I was getting local culture and indulging in yummy greasy fast food too.

Belgrade, Serbia

2011-11-01T12:08:00.004-02:00

I never really imagined ending up in Serbia as part of this trip. To be honest, I never even really knew much about Serbia until I started spending time in the former yugoslavia republics. And when I learned more, esecially from the perspective of Slovenians, Croats and Bosnians, I definitely didnt look upon Serbian and Serbs fondly. Serbia has a very aggressive stereotype in mind, like a land of bullies, even though younger Slovenians, Croats and Bosnians dont seem to hold a grudge against Serbs. Still I held a grudge and thinking of being in Serbia surrounded by mean Serbs kind of freaked me out.

On the near empty train from Sarajevo, I noticed the landscape get more and more desolate. As day turned into night, I noticed small fires in the fields to renew the soil. The smell of fire, the chill in the air. It made me feel strong to be all alone in this rickety old train, heading to Serbia with such a sullen landscape. In fact,I was writing in my journal how strange it was, yet how independent I felt. Mid-sentence, I look up to see a group of mean looking men, some in military costumes walk by, sort of leer at me, and continue on laughing.

I was freaked out, and immediately closed my journal and knocked on the compartment door of the only other tourists on the train. For the rest of the journey, I felt safe with three Australian boys.

Based on the train experience, and my earlier prejudices, I was pretty nervous about my time in Belgrade.

As always, having low expectations is the bestway to have a memorable trip.

I settled into my quiet hostel (strange because Belgrade is claimed to be the "party capital of Europe"). Sure Ghadaffi had just been killed, but still, I was expecting to be greeted with a party atmosphere.

The next day, I went on a free walking tour in which I learned two valuable lessons:

First, Belgrade has a lot of history that they are willing to share, but not the history anyone is interested in. We are interested in the whole breaking up of Yugoslavia and Kosovo mess, which unfortunately no tour or tour book really acknowledges.

Second, don't correctly answer the tour guides question of "What is the name of the national drink of Serbia?" unless you are ready to drink a big serving of Rokia a 9am tour. Rokia is an often homemade liquor, normally made from plum. Also, it is considered an insult to the family if it is homemade and you dont drink it. Thus, I spent the rest of the tour slightly drunk. And, for the record, I got the pronounciation of Rakia very wrong but I was the closest, thus peer pressured to drink at 9am.

I went out a couple nights with the boring people from the boring hostel, eagerly looking for the crazy wild nightlife, but only found some NYC-like bars and a latin music place. On Saturday night, I was hell bent on seeing some of this Belgrade nightlife. My future wasnt looking very good - even the boring backpackers had left and I was sleeping alone in my dorm. Then my party angels arrived.

At 11:30, my two new Australian party angels and I dressed up in short skirts and high heels, did some shots of Rakia and headed out. We arrived at 11:45 to Plastik and the club hadnt even opened yet.

Always cool, we were the first to enter the club. But within 45 minutes, the place was filled with really drunk and obnoxious people. The music was good, and we quickly made buddies with some Croatian and Serbian volleyball players who were in town for some tournament. Most notable were Ivan (Croat) and Nenad (Serb) who are friends and coworkers. I enjoyed talking to Nenad, and danced and danced with Ivan until at least 4am. Not only did I meet two new friends, but I also finally got to experience some of this acclaimed nightlife.

The Croatian volleyball guys had a game at 11am the next day, and even though Ivan promised to give me directions to the game, I knew that he would NOT make the game, let alone email me directions.

I did end up sightseeing the next day with Nenad. First stop, Tito's mausoleum. Nenad also shared with me a lot of history, as well as his personal take on all of the recent history. Tito was a very interesting guy - quite a charmer on the international circuit, and (my opinion) people loved him because there wasnt much other choice. When he died in 1980, the funeral processions were unprecedented. In retrospect, a lot of people believe it was a brainwashing, but it was still interesting to visit his mausoleum.

During this time, Ivan did call. Surprisingly, he made the 11am volleyball game. The whole team was pretty much in the same shape they were in when we left them at 4am, and Ivan hysterically informed me that he almost threw up on the floor during the game.

After Nenad and I stopped laughing, we drove up to Mt Avala, a very picturesque mountain overlooking Belgrade and saw the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

We also rode up a TV tower that has been destroyed (and rebuilt) two times. It is the symbol of Belgrade, and I have a snowglobe to prove it!

All in all, Belgrade is a very cool city. The Serbs I interacted with seemed educated, cosmopolitan, and definitely not mean at all. Unless you count the souvenir Nenad gave me, which is a 1,000,000,000 dinar bill from the good ole days of inflation. Serbia still uses the dinar, but this bill is just a tease and has no monetary value. Those mean Serbs!

Postscript - not only was Nenad not a mean guy, neither was Nikolai Telsa. Highly interactive museum in Belgrade that would have been cool if I spoke Serbian. On second thought, I dont think I would have understood it in English either.

Sarajevo, Part II

2011-10-30T17:08:00.001-02:00

In past posts, I have attempted to describe the history and current dynamics in the former Yugoslavic republics. Now that I have ventured further into Bosnia and Herzegovina and learned more about Sarajevo's history, I'll shell shock you with more recent history.

Sarajevo is just a fascinating city. From the start of WWI, to the Serbian "aggression" of 1992-1995, this city just has been very turbulent. But it is filled with the warmest people I have ever met. They can be tough, as I had heard stories and did actually witness once, but their sincerity is overwhelming. You can be at a restaurant, and your neighbor will enter your conversation because they overheard something they can help with. Or they will walk you to your destination. In most big cities, women can be bitches to other women. But here, they have this sincerity that was totally unexpected, after the bipolar hospitality in Croatia.

So the situations in 1992-1995. First, Bosnia calls it an "aggression" by Serbia. Serbia calls it "civil war" and everyone else on the outside just called it "war." There was ethnic cleansing, genocide and the culmination was Serb forces (including some, but not all, Bosnian Serbs fully surrounding the capital city of Sarajevo. It was a city under siege from Apr 5, 1992 — Feb 29, 1996. /that is something like over 1400 days (I am on holiday...too lazy to do the math.) The longest siege in world history. Because the Serbs were mainly on hills, they were able to hold the city pretty much on lock down and attack from above whenever they felt like it. This definitely wasnt a civilized war - Serb forces attacked civilians, children, schools, markets, even the maternity hospital. Over 11,000 people were killed, 1400 of whom were children, and over 15,000 children wounded.

Sarajevo was left without water, electricity, fuel, food, weapons. Then the tunnel was dug.

It really all began with elections to break away from Yugoslavia (following Slovenia and Croatia) and the first two real victims of this "aggression" were shot from Serb snipes while protesting in Sarajevo. Thus because the siege.

The remnants of the mortar (excuse me, I dont really know the right words for war weapons and stuff) that hit the ground have been filled in with red paint or rubber all around the city and are known as Sarajevo Roses. Look at this one, just feet from the Catholic church.

There is so much fascinating history in Sarajevo, too much to type out and expect my blog readers to pay attention to on a Monday at work, when everyone is in costume and eating snack sized Snickers. So I will leave you with this funny sign I saw outside of a Mosque, that apparently is not drag-queen friendly. NO TRANNIES IN THE MOSQUE!

Sarajevo, part I

2011-10-16T12:12:00.001-02:00

After a sleepy goodbye to my sister, I boarded a long 9 hour bus ride from Zagreb to Sarajevo. I added Sarajevo onto the itinerary for no real reason other than a strong feeling. And perhaps seeing the bridge where Archduke Franz Ferdinand was shot, thus beginning WWI. Quick recap, in case you dont remember your 6th grade history lesson on this: On June 28, 1914, a group of Serbian nationalists were planning on assassinating Austro-Hungarian Archduke Franz Ferdinand while on a motorcade through Sarajevo. But their bomb missed his car and instead injured a bunch of people on the parade route. Franz Ferdinand quickly finished up his meeting at City Hall and insisted on being taken to see "his people" at the hospital. But before days of cell phones and GPS, his driver thought that he was still being taken to lunch. So his route was a bit confused, and just so happened that Gavrilo Princip was eating a sandwich on the corner when the car stopped and reversed to get back on course. Quickly, he pulled out his revolvers with 3 bullets - one for Sofie, one for Franz Ferdinand, and one for himself. He succeeded with the first two bullets but jammed on the third. So he was tried and ended up dying in jail shortly thereafter.

Approaching Sarajevo, you see tons of homes and buildings still damaged during the Bosnia-Serbia conflict. I mean houses with roofs gone, buildings bombed out, and home after home just full of bullet holes. Other than the remnants of the war, Sarajevo strikes me as a very alive. It has a soul and history that rivals even Berlin. At a fraction of the cost. I immediately met so many friendly Bosnians and expats whose warmness made me feel welcome, even in the brisk fall weather. The only thing missing was a winter coat. Alas, I quckly got offers to help me coat shop too.

I was surprised by the friendliness of the hostel workers - they gave me tangerines, great recommendations on a nearby gym with exercise classes, and overall easygoing pesonalities. After the hot and cold attitudes of Croatians, where sometimes you were afraid to ask them questions, the smiles and sincerity of Bosnians go a long way. For gods sake, the currency exchange man even offered to help find me a job after I told him how impressed I was by Sarajevo!

I went out to grab a bit to eat, and soon learned that Bosnia isnt as touristy as Croatia (read: the menus are in Bosnian and only Bosnian). Luckily I got by enough with English and German to determine that the only food most places served was Ćevapčići, which are these weird little meat fingers that look like sausages. It was cold out and I was losing hope. I walked into a place that appeared to have pizza (although am so sick of pizza but my odd fear of meats makes pizza the only option most places). No pizza. But the super nice Bosnian guy spoke good English and walked me to a cozy local place and ordered me some yummy chicken stew-ish dish. When the meal came, my neighbors ordered me water and soon became my first friends in Sarajevo and we made plans to meet up the next day for coat shopping and dinner.

I hustled back to the hostel and sat down to see if Fabian had written and found myself in a long conversation with Christian, an intelligent young Colombian from Cali with perfect english. Another Latin man. Shocker. But then again, maybe I should just start referring to my quirky, unspecified personality traits as Latin Magnetism instead of Grasso Charm.

Anyhow, I had just eaten, but agreed to go out to get a drink with Christian. It was going to be an early night, because Christian has a 7am train the next day, and I had vowed a self-imposed detox after way too much drinking in Croatia with Fabian and my sister. Christian was sick of the weird meat fingers too, so we went to a Mexican place called Hacienda just to grab a snack and found ourselves knee deep in absinthe. After a while, it was a full on club full of fashionable young Bosnians (no, we werent hallucinating from the absinthe).

On the way back to the hostel, we stopped at the unfortunately named Cheers Bar for one final drink and immediately got absorbed into a group of locals lead by Selma and Verdad (sp?). We were carted off to various crowded bars and clubs until we finally arrived at the kind of club I like. The one you need to either know someone or sweet-talk your way into. Luckily we had both on our side. We got pulled inside Sloga and Christian and I just kept looking at each other as the live Bosnian music blared and all of these beautiful young Bosnians were singing along, dancing like no tomorrow. Well, when we looked at our watches we realized it WAS tomorrow and after 3am so we decided to be responsible adults and call it a night.

I am really excited about the energy in Sarajevo, so plan on staying here for a little bit with all of my new Bosnian friends. Well, as long as I can find a coat...

Euro rewind

2011-10-16T12:11:00.001-02:00

A lot of the next portion of my trip was planned on the fly, and it involved going back to places I had already visited. But the reason for these trips wasnt necessarily to explore new places, but rather spend time with friends and family. Here is the Cliff Notes summary:

Visited MLL again in Zurich, and had some good days where I was able to communicate fully in German without reverting to English.

Scratched Oktoberfest off of my bucketlist. MLL has great connections and managed to get a table reserved at the Lowenbrau tent, so I donned a dirndl and grabbed my beer to dance on the tables and sing German songs.

Fabian, a guy I met in Slovenia earlier and struggled to keep in touch with in Africa (for no other reason than terrible Wifi) was just finishing up the Adidas Sickline extreme white water world championships in Austria and met me in Munich where we had a more sober Day 2 of Oktoberfest which was really an excuse to wear my dirndl again and ride the scariest rides I have ever seen.

Fabian and I then went to the 13th centure, 5 star Hotel Danieli right on the Grand Canal in Venice, which was like a fairy tale. I used my starwood points, and we got an upgraded room that overlooked the Grand Canal. We ended up just staring out the window, sipping wine for most of our stay.

Then we drove to Bovec, Slovenia where I ran into 4 people that rememembered me from earlier in the summer. Most notably was running into Rolli at the Doner Kebab shop (and yes of course the Doner man remembered me). So Rolli is a good story, but requires you to pay attention to the back story.

One of my best friends in the US, Kimberly Burdorf, had been to Slovenia a few years ago and had an unfortunate accident canyoning where she broke her leg or something similarily drastic. It was odd because Kimberly is probably the fittest person I know. So she was out of commission for awhile. At the time, I didnt know the difference between Slovakia, Slovenia, or Slavenia. But when I went to Slovenia, I asked her if Slovenia was, in fact, the land she had been to. She sent me a long detailed email with a recap of where she went with herprivate guide for the 2 week long trip. I admittedly didnt read it that closely.
Fast forward a few weeks, when Kimberly is in Arusha, Tanzania with me. I skype with Fabian for a bit and she gets to meet him over skype quickly. Later that night, at dinner, I mention that it would be funny if she had met Fabian during her time in Slovenia but she responded that she had only one guide the entire time, and she thinks his name was Rolli. I gasp, because that was the name of MY guide when I was in Slovenia. I immediately skype Fabian (I am clearly up for the Miss Manners title, skyping at the dinner table and all). I explain to Fabian that Rolli was her guide, and he gets a bit excited too. When I mention that she broke her leg, Fabian gasps. He remembered Kimberly!! So here we are, at some African lodge with sketchy internet, video skyping with Fabian in Slovenia, watching him pick up his cell phone to Rolli. We hear him on speakerphone telling Rolli that me and Kimberly are together right now, and he guided both of us, and we only discovered it really because of Fabian. CRAZY SMALL world.
So when I went back to Bovec a couple months later, naturally Rolli was the first person I ran into.

Then Fabian and I drove to Omiš (about 25k outside of Split, pronounced Amish) where he was teaching some kayaking courses. Omiš is a spectacular town, where the Cetina river flows into the ocean. It has huge limestone walls a short distance back from the water, allowing for a tiny old town with narrow alleys. It is a breathtaking and (thankfully) underrated town on the backpacker circuit.
A couple days later my sister Liz arrived into Split to be part of my adventure. While Fabian worked, my sister and I made day trips to Split and a bit of kayaking and hiking around Omiš . We hiked up to this old Pirate fort at the top of a very steep mountain. It only took 40 minutes to climb, but was so impressive from the ground and the views at the top were spectacular (and windy!)

In Omiš one afternoon, we went aboard Fabian's friend Luca's boat for some fishing. We had 4 fishing lines in the water hoping for a big tuna catch. The only thing we caught was Luca himself who got a ginormous fishhook stuck in his hand (useful advice if this ever happens to you: cut the hook in order to push the hook through your skin then order a tequila shot, half as anestetic for your hand and the othet half for your liver.) Luca is this really tough Croat who didnt even cry or act like it was a big deal. And I definitely want to plug Luca´s restaurant, Bisto Babilo in Omiš http://www.gastronaut.hr/restoran.asp?id=4446. If you ever find yourself in Split or Makarska Riviera, I highly recommend a drive out to his restuarant. It is right on the water, and the Chicken Babilo was probably the best meal I have had on this whole entire trip. Possibly even the best meal I have had this year.

Liz and I did a two night trip to Dubrovnik, where we packed while intoxicated so forgot a lot of necessities, like towels, flip flops for showers, toothpaste. BUT we did bring the hairdryer! In the beautiful town of Dubrovnik, we putzed around the old walled city, including walking around the walls.
Liz and I visiting the island of Korcula, claimed to be Marco Polo's birthplace. We had a lazy day enjoying the sunshine.

My sister and I visiting the vibrant city of Zagreb, including unintentionally completing a trifecta of Irish Pubs in Croatia. We had a very hard time finding the hotel, but learned that Zagreb is full of very helpful, yet highly uninformed Croatians. We had a laid back but very lovely time in Zagreb. It was a nice bonding experience and a great way to end our trip together!)

Last Minute Italy

2011-09-20T07:58:00.000-03:00

While on safari, I decided to shorten my stay in Africa and instead change my flight to Europe earlier. Picture me using the international data plans of my friends while deep in the Serengeti, with my head popping out the top of the Land Rover to get better reception. I think one quote to the United agent was, "Sorry for the background noise, I am on safari and a hippo just yawned real big"

It all worked out in the end, and my mother was finally able to deceive United by pretending she was me and changing both my date AND destination for a mere $66.

My good friend Scott was in Rome. Scott and I met a long time ago on an online dating site, and while dating wasnt in our cards, we became good friends over a shared love of the Steelers, old school hip hop concerts (Scott can sing both the male and female parts of Positive K's "I Got a Man"), and rock-climbing.

He had been practically begging his employer to lay him off so that he could either travel or move to a warmer climate. After probably 3 years, they finally agreed to lay him off.

After 3 years and 5 flights, Scott and I finally were able to do part of our long-awaited Big Trips together. I finally arrived in Rome after my ridiculous connections (again, points whores cant be choosers...) It took me roughly 26 hours of travel, which I definitely exaggerated each time I was looking for sympathy or excuses for being short-tempered, but was happy that Scott and I were able to meet up.

I had been to Rome two times already, and Scott had done most of the major tourist sites prior to my arrival, so we were able to just putz around Rome, eating drinking and shopping. Well I guess I was the only one to do much shopping, but seriously, what backpacker cant live without a Benneton sweater dress??

I also cashed in some Marriott points at the 5-star, Category 8 (yes, EIGHT!) Boscolo Hotel. It was beautiful and newly opened. Let's just say they have to work out some of the kinks, and I made sure to let them know what the kinks were. Regardless, we enjoyed sleeping in high thread count sheets and receiving apology messages on the TV

From Rome, we headed down to the Sorrento and Almafi Coast. We made Pompei our home base.
Pompei & Pompeii
Interesting trivia fact- Pompeii is the ancient city that was buried in 79 AD when Mt Vesuvius erupted. Pompei is the modern day city that built up around the ruins of Pompeii.

So, from Pompei we walked the 800 meters to Pompeii and were happy to learn that admission was free on that day. (The savings of 11€ per person was redistributed to our wine budgets in short order...)

This town was pretty interesting, because it really didnt get covered with lava as commonly misunderstood. Rather, it was covered up to 6 meters high in ash. But the kicker is that most everyone who did not get out in time was basically killed by inhaling the fumes from some sort of gas or some other byproduct of the volcano explosion. So a lot of the city (including people) were well preserved under ash. They were able to excavate most of the city, as well as take casts of those who were caught unawares.

I think that we really got to explore the regions, and did manage to make some fun trips to the following places, which seem really close when you are playing Family Feud on the iPhone during the entire train-ferry rides

Positano

This is a postcard perfect little town on the Amalfi coast. The bus ride to get there from Positano was harrying and Scott even got a bit nauseaus, which I thought was funny. I didnt think it was so funny when we got off the bus and had to stop at one of the very first restaurants we saw. For some reason, when Scott gets off of long bus or ferry or even train rides, he immediately gets over his nauseau and it is replaced with this huge hunger that must be satiated immediately, or else he acts like me after a 46 hour commute to Rome....

Anyhow, we sat down to a lovely view, at a very empty restaurant called Bruno's. I thought it was Burger King, and custom ordered my pasta dish "My Way." The dish was delicious...fresh fish and tomato sauce with homemade thick pasta that reminded me of Eat'n'Park Chicken Noodle Soup noodles. The Ozzie couple behind us started talking to us (I think I heckled them into taking our photo after they looked at our menu). Quite interesting couple, in that the man actually knew 2 out of the 3 Rivers in Pittsburgh. He was REALLY close on Monongahela.

Then they asked us why we chose this restaurant and why I ordered the dish I ordered. We didnt have good answers to either question, "Because Scott was nauseus and needed to eat before he bit my head off, and I like to be as difficult as I can in a foreign language" were the best answers we could come up with. Turns out that this restaurant, and my particular dish, were written up in some Australian travel guidebook!

Capri
We headed to Capri on a rainy day. Luckily by the time we got to Capri, it was just overcast. So we decided to skip the Blue Grotto, with the mindset that I'd be back someday (ohhh someday...the one you gave away will be the only one you're wishing for...someday, someday...oh oh someday). Yes, that is a Mariah Carey song, who spends a lot of time on Capri. Alas, we didnt have any Capri sightings.

But I did bust the funicular ticket seller who was trying to short-change me on 5 Euros.

In spite of having a thief on the tourist island, Capri is really an all around beautiful town. I got the cheapest eyebrow and upper lip wax of my life on Capri. Hoity toity CAPRI of all places! For 8 Euro as a walk-in, I got both eyebrow and upper lip waxed and the eyebrow's turned out very well. I suppose the upper lip turned out well too, but it's kind of hard to mess up that wax job.

Sorrento
After both day trips to Positano and Capri, we transitted through beautiful Sorrento and spent the evenings there. We had lovely meals, sampled Limoncello, and really just enjoyed this little town.

Mt Vesuvius
Again, I got to be a showoff hiker from Colorado and Scott and I hiked up to the crater of Vesuvius. It's no joke guys, it really does look like a crater and you get to walk along the rim of it. Apparently the eruption from 1944 was a very slow moving eruption, and they predict the next eruption to be within the next 40yrs and on the scale of the one from 79AD (the one that destroyed Pompeii). Our tour guide told us that the experts predict that they will only know AT MOST 3 days before the next eruption, so it will be quite a feat to evacuate all of Naples and Pompei in time. Just a hint if you are planning a trip to the Amalfi Coast, you might want to splurge and buy the travel insurance.

Serengeti Safari

2011-09-20T06:32:00.000-03:00

I dont even know how to describe the Serengeti. I will try, but will obviously leave a lot out just because it was such an amazing experience.

First, I was with my newly engaged besties, Kimberly and Sean. Second, we had an amazingly knowledgeable and patient guide, Ayubu (from Destination Tanzania safari's http://www.detasa.com/). Lastly, the Serengeti is just a mind-blowing place.

We started off our first day with a drive through the Ngora Ngora crater. The Ngora Ngora crate is the world's largest unflooded, intact calderas. That this means is that it is a huge gaping hole in the group that is like a zoo of wildlife. We saw the normal "cockroaches of safari" like zebra, giraffe, elephants and misc deer-like animals that all look alike after awhile. But we also saw a lot of ostriches. And they are horny bastards...the men always chasing after the women and we saw at least 3 different matings until we lost interest. We saw some lions too. Whoop-ti-do. The highlight of our Ngora Ngora wildlife viewing was our first cheetah. Granted, the cheetah was very far away but we wouldnt let Ayubu move until we all watched it for awhile and took lots of photos. Ayuba made the (very accurate) comment, "This is why they made a delete button on your camera." Sure enough, later in the safari we saw many more cheetah's closer and with more action to put this little one to shame. Thus, I wont put the piss-poor photo up here.

That night, we got way spoiled and stayed at this sick lodge, The Plantation House.

Next was the long awaited Serengeti!

We rode through the endless plains (which is, uh, what Serengeti kinda means in Swahili) and saw giraffe on the side of the road, and Masaii herding their cattle in between sending text messages on their cell phones. Sure, they might only consume milk and cow's blood, but you better believe they are updating their facebook status while they do so.

The next few days were a whirlwind of laughs, animals, and looking for cell phone reception. Here are some photo-highlights:

Seeing 3 baby cubs with their mother and another wicked stepmother

Offroading to see this lioness lounging in the tree. Look how close we got to her!

Endangered Rhino

Spotting leopards two times (pun totally intended) We also saw cheetahs a lot, which are my personal favorite. But they are more common than the elusive leopard, and the leopard is part of the Big 5 so everyone votes for them for Homecoming Queen. Interesting fact: Leopard and cheetah have small variances in their behavior and biology. The biggiest difference I could gather, though, was that cheetah's habitat is the tall grass, and leopard's spend more of their non-hunting time in trees. And, of course, the poor cheetah sits at home on a Friday night. I bought into this whole leopard craze and of course dont have many good cheetah pics. But seriously, the leopard and cheetah do kinda look alike so you can pretend that it is the same animal for blog-reading-at-work purposes.

Offroading to see this recent zebra kill and the feast by the lion while the lionesses hung back

We saw all Big 5 in one day (Elephants, Buffalo, Rhino, Lion and Leopard) and were beside ourselves with our luck. Then, things got even better. We had enough flexibility in our safari itinerary so that Ayubu managed a way for us to see the Great Migration of the Wildebeests. (Apparently when he picked me up from the airport, I mentioned a desire to see this, and he subconsciously recognized the Grasso Charm and dared not to disappoint.)

The wildebeest itself isn't that spectacular of an animal...it is kind of a shaggy moose-buffalo. But what makes them so fascinating is that they have a great migration where they move in HUGE groups across the Serengeti. I am sure you have seen National Geographic documentaries of this sort. But it really is like the TV shows. They gallop in these gynormous herds. Although, to be candid, we did learn and see, that they sometimes take off at full speed in totally the wrong direction.

But what is MOST amazing about watching the Great Migration of the Wildebeests is watching them cross the dangerous Mara River. And we were lucky enough to see it. What happens is that the group wanders up to the river and hangs out for hours trying to get the nerve to cross. It kind of looks like a group of freshman trying to get into a Fraternity party. Then one wildebeest takes the plunge while the hundreds or thousands of others watch him (or her! after all, this is 2011) swim across the river. If this wildebeest makes it without drowning or getting eaten by a crocodile, then it is full speed ahead. Every wildebeest as far as the eye can see starts jumping into the river (but strangely they pay attention to the pool rules and pretty much enter in single file). Most make it, and they continue galloping with the herd. We took some cool video, but alas wifi speeds may make this impossible until further notice.

The last day of our safari (and Kimberly and Sean's last day in Africa) was supposed to be a quiet game drive en route to the Lobo airstrip for our flight back to Arusha. We had had spectacular experiences the day before - sightings of all big 5, offroading, and watching the Great Migration of wildebeests crossing the Mara River. We expected a very quiet last day in Africa for Kimberly and Sean. Sean woke up and the first thing he said was,"We get to leave Africa today." It had become quite a joke that everything ridiculous that happened, good and bad, got the Shakira inspired comment, "This is Africa."

Our amazing safari guide, Ayubu, had left early that morning to drive the 10 hours back to Arusha because some clients had special requested him. So we lugged all of our bags for the hour long drive to the airstrip with Francis, the other Destination Tanzania guide so we could fly to Arusha.

Fifteen minutes into the drive, though, he breaks down and cannot change the fuel tank. Luckily a different company was behind us and they miraculously have enough room for all of us and our bags. In the spirit of "telling the universe what we want," we requested seeing more cubs.

En route to the airstrip, we see 2 lionesses and 3 male cubs with a wildebeest and watch them until they cross in front of us. We were on a roll, so requested that the universe dish us up a live kill. Five minutes later, we spot 3 cheetah chasing down a jackal into a ditch. What luck! Then our luck ended.

While waiting 45 minutes for our flight on the airstrip, our plane finally arrived. With a flat tire. Actually it was obviously a spare they had been using, so there was so spare.

So we have to wait for a replacement plane from Arusha. Not so bad, should be maybe just a 1-2 hour delay. Except they needed to find a pilot too. At that point, Francis had showed up and we moved all of our stuff into or onto his Land Rover. We had seen such excellent wildlife that we agreed it would be anti-climatic to go on another game drive, and Francis felt obligated to help a different driver having car problems (I guess in the spirit of paying it forward, as a different guide had helped him earlier that day). With our luggage on the hood of the car, Francis announces we are going to hit the guy from behind in hopes of getting him moving. When we were just about to bump the car, OUR car breaks down. We finally manage to get our car started so we can hit the other car, and we start pushing him forward. ONTO the active airstrip. We do so repeatedly, with our luggage on the trunk, and are even undeterred by an airplane swopping down and landing. I managed to get a video of this, complete with our broken down airplane only feet away. It's all we can do. After all, this is africa.

Photographs 33.3333% compliments of Kimberly Burdorf

Misc Africa

2011-09-20T04:39:00.000-03:00

On the eve of my departure from Africa, I am reminiscing about the good times I had here in the past 5 weeks. Yes there were some difficult times - constantly getting ripped off, having persistent body odor and shitty ass Wifi that makes Skype a pipedream. But all in all, Africa is a fascinating place both on the surface for tourists and deeper down for travelers. I have barely scratched the surface of the real Africa, but here are some of my tourist highlights and anecdotes:

Dr Tim and Victoria Falls
In Lusaka, my canoe trip buddy Niels bid me and Adiel adieu. Like clockwork, a Dutch MD/PhD named Tim sat down in his chair. Dr Tim had just arrived at the hostel about 30 minutes prior and planned on spending a few days in Lusaka before going to Livingstone for a medical conference. He left to explore Zambia's capital city and I kind of chuckled because there is nothing to see in Lusaka. Within 2 hours, predictably, Dr Tim was on the bus to Livingstone with me.

We checked into the Jolleyboys Hostel, which has every amenity under the sun, but zero hospitality and is run more like a penitentary than a hostel. It is owned by this hypocritical Canadian woman who, in my humble opinion, treats the guests like children and the staff like thiefs.
Dr Tim and I visited Vic Falls and it was as expected, a really really huge waterfall. Perhaps Niagara Falls has made me blase about lots of falling water.

The real excitement came when we visited the Royal Livingstone Hotel for high tea and sunset. Sure we were scrubby from hiking around the falls all day, but we sure felt opulent at high tea. It was $17 all you can eat finger sandwiches and delicate pastries.

The highlight was probably this zebra strolling past our seats on the porch right before sunset.

Rafting the Zambezi
I knew I had to book a white water rafting trip down the Zambezi River when Fabian (professional white water guide, photographer and kayaker) told me how jealous he was that I was there.

The Dutch Dr Tim and I linked up with 4 other Dutch students to share a raft with our guide Babyface. (Sidenote: I am searching for most notable African first names... So far in the running: Octopus, Potato, Not Yet who was on a hill prematurely, and my bartender friend Justin Case.)

We were lucky that the water level was conducive so that we could do full day rafting tour through all 25 rapids. The put-in was at the base of the falls and so rough that 50% of the rafts capsized on the first rapid. All of my raft companions were novice rafters, so not capsizing was quite an accomplishment.

Our lead paddlers up front were Dr Tim and Remco, a super sweet Dutch student who was about to spend several months teaching in a Zambian village, but secretly hoping to get a coveted spot in a local performing arts program.

Remco proved to be a strong paddler and we all had a great time tackling the rapids...until Rapid 7. We basically got caught in a violent dishwasher type rapid and Remco popped out. Only 3 of us managed to hold onto our paddles and we got thrust out of the dishwasher and atop two rocks, where we were at great risk of capsizing. We paddled like crazy to get over the rock and managed to free ourselves without flipping.

Remco had momentarily appeared clutching the front of the raft, but disappearred quickly and was out of sight. Turns out he was underwater, getting slammed between the raft and a giant rock.

It was a long rapid and we still had more work to do. We were freaking out because it was a violent rapid, and Remco was no where to be seen. This was the first time in my life I thought someone might have really died in front of me.

But we finally spotted Remco hanging onto a safety kayaker for dear life. He was all bloody, shaken up and had lost a tooth. His friends were equally shaken up as poor Remco sat shivering and bleeding at the back of the raft and we navigated the next 2 rapids with only 3 paddles.

Lucky for Remco, we had not only a doctor on board, but one that spoke his language. At the time, he didnt feel so positive about it, but by now I am sure Remco has recovered and is singing and dancing all over Zambia!

Chobe Safari (Botswana)
I arranged a 2 night/3 day lux camping safari from Jolleyboys (they have even a tourist desk, but they are no nonsense on the prices). The price was fair - less than $300 for the package.

When I got picked up, I was surprised to see Nick, a Welsh guy I had met in Lusaka who rather enjoyed talking about stereotypes. Also in the van were 2 high-spirited businesswomen from the UK, Catherine and Fiona, who would be with me for the next 4 nights on our back-to-back safaris in Botswana and then Zimbabwe.

We started our safari in Chobe National Park and saw an abundance of wildlife over the next two days. We had a really inattentive guide, but luckily here were so many animals that we were satiated.

More elephants than imaginable, especially at the mud bath at sunset (which resembled my safari underwear so much that I had to pull up my undies to show Catherine, much to her chagrin).

All sorts of giraffe, which looked at you quizzically with their long-lashed eyes, when they werent doing giraffe yoga...

We saw more Impala than in a Hertz car rental parking lot.

The camp site was great - with cozy campfire an pre erected tents with mattresses and duvets!

We spent 2 days doing very long and dusty game drives. Catherine kept insisting that we'd see lions on the 3rd day, but it wasnt looking too hopeful based on our crappy guides who were speeding along and likely scaring away the cats.

On the 3rd day, on the way out of the park, Fiona shouted, "What is that?? Lions!!" to which the guide responded, "Where?"

Sikumi Lodge safari near Hwange Natl Park (Zimbabwe)
After our horrendous experience with the guides in Chobe, we made a sigh of relief when we met Sam at the Botawana/Zimbabwe border. He was friendly, knowledgeable amd enthusiastic. We had lunch in the Zim town of Vic Falls and made our way via private (air conditioned!) van to our lodge near Hwange National Park.

Sikumi Lodge (http://sikumitreelodge.net/) was similar to one of those places you have surely read about in a travel magazine but never imagined that staying there would actually be within your reach.

We were staying in lux tree houses overlooking a watering hole that was frequented by all sorts of wildlife, including lions.

Abel, the accounting manager, told me that seeing lions was like seeing a dog in your backyard. He told me this while he was online searching for a fix for my iphone, and then taking my phone to his room when the power was out so that he could plug it into his laptop to charge as soon as the electricity came on in the middle of the night (I only had my USB charger at this point). And Abel wasnt the only first class service - the meals were served near the fire pit, and for those that were seated at the far end of the table, they brought an urn of ashes over to keep everyone warm and toasty. The dining service was really superb - our waiter had served the Royal Family and the Queen drank G&Ts and Prince Charles drank Zambezi beers.

Cleobus, our field guide, was so passionate about his job that he gave us extended and extra game drives because he too loved what we were seeing. We'd be driving along after dark, bundled up with blankets an hot water bottles, and Cleobus would be flashing a spotlight around the dark until he found us something good. Sometimes "Eagle Eye" Fiona would take over

The highlight was not one, but two lion kills within 200-800 meters of the lodge. At the first kill site, we our first sight was the male lion eating the buffalo, as bloody as can be, then mating repeatedly with the female lioness.

I really cannot say enough about the service about this portion of our safari. If you are ever near Zimbabwe, or near Vic Falls, Sikumi Lodge is really a place not to be missed.

The great thing about traveling independently in Africa is that if you do not book in your home country, and have a bit of flexibility, you can get amazing experiences for a fraction of the cost. The 3 day safari, including transport from Botswana and to Zambia, game drives, sundowner drinks, room and board, was under $300 per person.

Dar/Zanzibar - Eiid
After the back-to-back safari's, I headed to Dar es Salaam in Tanzania. At the airport, I was pleasantly surprised to see Nick fpr the 3rd time in southern Africa. I briefly wondered if he was following me, but then pushed the paranoia aside as I realized he would be able to help carry my bags, including that huge basket my sponsor kid had gifted me.

I spent a few days on "South Beach" in Dar es Salaam marveling at the Eiid celebrations and having deep conversations about how mizungo's will never fit truly fit in in Africa with my new ex-pat friends Casper and Philip at the Mikadi Beach Camp. I had a primative open air bandera and was really just wasting time at the beach camp, because it wasnt really safe to leave the compound (the back of the bathroom doors said INSIDE CAMP = SAFE, OUTSIDE CAMP = NOT SAFE, THIS IS NOT A JOKE!!!)

On that note, I decided to check out Zanzibar.

Zanzibar
My trip to Zanzibar is yet another example of me visiting places for really silly reasons. Zanzibar is a bar on the corner on 45th and 9th in NYC. I loved going to this bar when I lived right around the corner, because it had a Pier 1 feel, great hip-hop music and patrons who danced worse than me. So naturally I added Zanzibar as a last-minute stop.

I upgraded the extra $5 and bought a First Class ferry ticket from Dar to Zanzibar (apologies to anyone that has traveled with me on this trip when I was trying to stick to an unrealistic daily budget and would refuse porter service of $0.50 and instead insist on carrying our bags that contained 4 huge ceramic bowls in sweltering Balinease sun from the ferry boat to the hotel 800 meter away). But I digress.

So I've loosened my purse strings a bit and somehow used the first class ticket and some good ole Grasso charm to get chatty and stand with the boarding agent. I stood with him as the masses were corralled behind gates and ropes and I was first to get my ticket collected. Upon boarding, I took a misstep and 2 african men beat me as first on board. The younger african man held the door for me and we quickly realized we were half of the first class cabin. About 7 passengers shared the huge cabin all to ourselves. Downstairs in 2nd class, the deck was massively overcrowded. No surprise the ferry crash that happened one week later was due to similar overcrowding (http://www.businessweek.com/news/2011-09-10/tanzania-ferry-sinking-leaves-240-people-dead-607-rescued.html)

After docking in Zanzibar, I checked into my shit hole of a guesthouse ($12 a night) and walked around the shit hole of Stone Town, Zanzibar. It's not really a shithole - it is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, but looks pretty derelict from the outside. If you were walking around streets like this, like in Philly, you would not feel safe at all. I ran into the two African men from the ferry, who turned out to be Father and Sonfrom Uganda and Dar, respectively. (Their names are Joshua and Patrick, but it is easier to refer to them as Father and Son).

We meandered around Stone Town and my shitty attitude changed. I learned that the son had studied in Denver, and the father had been a controversial journalist who was hunted by Idi Amin (if you dont know who Idi Amin is, read the Amazon eQuik Book on him, or watch The Last King of Scotland). Father and Son fast became my new buddies. I think my motivation was learning more about their histories, and their motivation was increasing the size of their enterourge. Sidenote: One day I was talking to the son and told him of my interest in going to Rwanda...he rudely pulled out his phone and started going through his text messages. Finally, he showed me a text message conversation with the current president of Rwanda, Paul Kagame. Apparently the Father was his buddy during those years of opposition, and a few days before they randomly ran into him at a restaurant in Dar.

We arranged to meet up for drinks at sunset. There was a Jazz Fest, extended Eiid celebrations (and of Ramadan for anyone that attended CCD with me...)and many more cocktails to consume. I ended up whiling most of my free time carousing with these two characters, along with two of the son's crazy girlfriends from Dar who really knew how to have a good time.

One of the most notable (sober) activities on Zanzibar was the Spice Tour. I know a spice tour does not sound that exciting but it was the best $11 I have spent in a long time. Not only was my seatmate a fellow student of genocide and oppressive regimes, but learning about spices was fascinating.

At the spice farm, I got to use all 5 senses to learn about various spices you normally dont think about and let McCormick's worry about. They walked ua through the plantation and passed out freshly cut samples of pepper (who knew it grows on trees? BB, you cant answee that), a chunk of bark from a cinnamon tree, cloves, tamarind, lemongrass, vanilla, coffee beans, etc etc.

Assistant tour guides would occassionally approach us during boring parts of the tour with "accessories" made out of palm leaves - watches, neckties, necklaces, glasses.

At one point, a guy (without harness, shoes or any climbing apparatus) climbed up this very tall palm tree and cut down coconut for us, which were then hacked so we could drink and eat the delicious coconess.

This excitement was followed by a filling stew lunch highlighting all of the spices we had just learned about and an afternoon on the beach, complete with a slave cave. Yes, a slave cave where they hid slaves (after slavery was abolished) to ship off to Arabia and India.

Spices, palm leaf accessories and slave caves. What more could I ask for?

Closing Thoughts

As I sit here typing this blog entry on Zanzibar, I am grateful that I have had such a great time in Africa. I leave tomorrow night, and decided to do all of my errands today (including the blog entries) so that tomorrow I can sit on the Kendwa Beach before my flight. I was relieved to find an internet cafe with fast(ish) internet. I was able to Skype to Slovenia for the first time in 5 weeks without interruptions. I am able to upload photos in a reasonable time and feeling all around like I am inching my way towards the 1st world again. But nothing ever goes that smooth in Africa.

All of a sudden the electricity shuts down completely - all the computers, lights, fans. This is not uncommon in Africa - there have been unexpected power outages in every single country I have been to. The Internet Cafe guy jumps up and says, "wait 5 minutes please" as he runs out the door. We assume he is going to switch on some sort of generator, but soon learn that the electricity went out because he simply forgot to pay the electric bill.

Oh well, this is Africa!

Day 2-8 Kilimanjaro Trek

2011-09-13T12:13:00.000-03:00

After a pretty excting Day 1, Days 2-5 of the trek were pretty uneventful. We had lots of hiking and lots of downtime. We started learning Swahili and even learned to sing some songs. If you'd like, when I get back, I will serenade you with a song in Swahili that basically says, "Avocado, Watermelon, Watermelon" to the tune of Fraireze Jacque.

Other than that, Kimberly, Sean and I became basically the annoying competitive hikers who would aim to beat our guides estimate of how long it would take. Guides and porters say, "Pole, Pole" on Kilimanjaro as a reminder to go slowly, slowly. Obviously, us cocky kids from Colorado ignored this for the most part.

We didnt hit serious altitude until Day 5, when we hiked up to approx 16,000 feet and camped at Arrow Glacier(as a comparison, Denver is at 5280 feet, and people talk about how the altitude has an effect there....)

Day 5 also happened to be my birthday. The camp cook managed to bake me a somewhat lopsided cake at 16,000 feet and the porters cake me a 1-liter bottle of Sprite. They all came in singing Happy Birthday and this little effort of a makeshift cake and bottle of Sprite was very touching. And the fact that I was there with 2 of my best friends made it even better.

We knew Day 6 would be a doozie, so went to bed early.

Day 6 was a doozie...we conquered the Western Breach, which entailed basically scrambling on rocks, very steep rocks, from 16,000 feet up to 18,500 feet. At normal altitudes, this day would have been fun, but it was a cold, long, day full of lots of breaks and sucking in as much oxygen as we could. We definitely went "Pole, Pole" but thankfully none of us expressed or really felt any discouragement with the hike.

We finally got to camp at the Summit Crater with huge glaciers all around. Since there was no fresh water source, we are pretty sure the porters got our water by chipping away at the glacier. I had some strong signs of altitude sickness...a big headache and feeling like I had been hit by a truck. But by tapping my emergency stash of Potato Chips and resting all afternoon, I pulled out of it by dinner time.

Again we went to bed early because it was another cold night. I slept in the tent with Kimberly and Sean, smooshed in the middle of the two like a toddler who is afraid of the dark. It was a cold night. We woke up at several points in the night to discover frost on the inside of the tent, frost on our hats, frost on our sleeping bags. It was a cold night. Kimberly and Sean both woke up in the night with splitting headaches, and the frost everywhere inside the tent didnt seem to help matters. They bickered for about 10 minutes as to who would sit up to get the bottle of Advil from the backpack (it was that cold) and I knew that the altitude was taking it's toll.

On Day 7, we woke up around 4:30am and began the climb to the summit around 5:15. It was a tough climb - steep, sandy and cold. We went "Pole, Pole" and reached the summit around 6:15 just as the Full Moon was disappearing and the sun was rising. There were hardly any climbers yet on the summit.

We were all slightly choked up as we made our way to the "official" summit at 19,340 feet (5895 meters). I hadnt felt this way during the whole trek, but I was filled with an overwhelming sense of both relief and pride that we had summitted Mt Kilimanjaro without 2 of my best friends, and without much emotional or physical difficulty.

At one point, I looked over and in front of this beautiful vista of full moon disappearing and sun rising was Sean down on one knee, proposing to Kimberly.

It was a private moment for them, but I managed to catch this shot of them right after she (presumably) said "Yes."

From there, it was all downhill (especially for Sean). It took another 24 hours to descend the 14,000 feet back to the pick up point. The descent was probably the most physically demanding part of the whole trek - well that and now Kimberly had to lug around a huge diamond ring.

We were never once sore from the ascent, but we were sore from the descent for days. Luckily those were days spent in the Ngora ngora Crater the Serengeti National Park, complete with real beds and showers, so we werent complaining much. Stay tuned for the next blog entry on the wildlife viewing in the Serengeti!

Photographs compliments of Kimberly Burdorf

Day 1 of Kilimanjaro Trek

2011-09-08T10:15:00.000-03:00

Sean, Kimberly and I finished Day 1 of our 8 day Kilimanjaro trek in record time - in less than 2 hours instead of the 4 hour estimate.

But it didn't always seem like we'd even finish Day 1. Perhaps the red flags should have been heeded when the Guide recommended that I wear my Rock & Republic jeans on the very serious hike UP KILIMANJARO. Or when we were going through my gear and the packing checklist and he mistook my padded bra for a knee brace.

But hindsight is always 20/20.

When we stopped at the Kilimanjaro National Park registration, Sean stood in the Porter lineup hoping to get hired on as a Porter as an extra gig (in addition to his current 3 IT jobs that have earned him the nickname of "the Jay-Z of IT"). Unfortunately there were only 22 Porter spots available to carry the camping equipment and supplies for the trio of us, and Sean just didn't make the cut.

We proceeded to the Lemosho Route trailhead in good spirits, and with good spirits, specifically Konyagi, the local liquor that our Guide recommended, urged us to supersize, and generously offered to "carry" for us in his backpack.

At 3:15pm, we finished a quick lunch and said good-bye to our Assistant Guide, Busta (yes, as in Rhymes), and started up the steep hike sure footed. By 3:30pm, our Guide had slipped and fallen down or over 2 times. By 3:45, that number was closer to 6. By 3:50, Sean was carrying his 44lb backpack. Sean had not only realized his dream of becoming Porter, but had also been promoted to Guide by proxy.

Since it was only the 4 of us together, we tried to keep this hot mess of a guide under wraps and it was easy when no one was around.

But before we knew it, we were overtaking other groups and porters on the trail. Passing these groups while our guide stumbled and cursed like a sailor quickly resulted in the trail ablaze in gossip.

The whispers were obvious whether they were in Swahili or English. Kimberly tried to lighten the mood by making small talk and asking "gimme" questions about the flora and fauna. Favorite quote - Kimberly asking, "Are those bees making that really loud buzzing sound?" The Guide's slurred response, "I dunno."

We were basically alone in the forest with a smashed guide who had in the course of the hike: lost a shoe, narrowly avoided rolling down hills, fell into numerous thorny bushes, held Kimberly's hand and told her he loved her, and shot me glances to seem to indicate that he had just swallowed his own vomit.

The Guide had also developed Tourette-like symptoms by cursing, grunting and insisting how tired he was but refusing to sit down or drink any water.

A little bit less than 2 hours into the hike, I asked him if we were almost halfway there (based on the 4 hour hike duration). He slurred that we were almost at camp. Of course he had zero credibility and I was just talking to him to keep him from going unconscious. He then asked Sean if both Kimberly and I were his girlfriends, so we took his estimate with a grain of salt.

Four minutes later (after Sean insisted that we were both indeed his girlfriends), we arrived at camp. Hot on our heels was our soaking wet Assistant Guide, Busta.

Busta was dripping sweat and asked us if we had run the trail, or taken a helicopter. Busta had lagged behind to clean up lunch figuring we were in good hands with our Guide who has summited Kilimanjaro over 110 times. But then Busta started hearing rumors that something was amiss, so he increased his pace trying to catch up with us. As he encountered the groups and Porters we had passed, the rumors intensified with accounts of increasing debauchery by our Guide.

Busta took over Sean's role of Guide and expressed wonder that we had completed the trail in record time, especially with a blacked out guide. We had even beat some of our Porters. Guess he underestimated the trio of consultants from Colorado(one of whom was hiking in Rock and Republic jeans).

Feeling confident that we are now in good hands with Busta, we wrote this while snuggling in the tent pondering if our guide will even recall the Day 1 hike, or even have a job in the morning.

(since we are on a mountain and miraculously have connectivity to post this blog content, the pictures will have to wait until after we summit.)

Zambia - Lower Zambezi Canoe Safari

2011-08-23T03:55:00.000-03:00

Back at the hostel, I met two fellas who had booked a 3 day/2 night canoe safari down the Lower Zambezi leaving at 7am the next day. After my friend/sabbatical role model Kat's story about getting capsized by a hippo on a similar trip, I signed up immediately!

Even though hippos are my favorite animal because they are depicted so cutesy and the ideal xmas wish list item, they really are dangerous, territorial animals. Hippos are vegetarians, but if startled or threatened, they can capsize your canoe with their bodies or mouths. They can kill a human with their bites, but the greatest danger is getting capsized in the river and getting attacked by crocodiles.

Besides this knowledge I already had, Stephen our guide did a good job of scaring us during the pre-trip briefing. We had a small group - Laura and Steve an English couple, Adiel and Niels the backpackers from the hostel, and me.

Since the canoes are 2-person, I lucked out and got to paddle with Stephen the guide. I was first to spot wildlife, and had an unparallelled view of the river from my perch up front. Although the boys later told me that Stephen didn't paddle much and I did a lot of the paddling....

We were off and within 10 minutes of our initial put-in, we paddled around several pods of hippos in the water (they do really pop up and go down into the water like that game at Chuck E. Cheese where you take the hammer and try to smash them when they pop up out the holes), and got up close and personal with elephants drinking from the bank of the river! What an adventure!

We camped on one of islands between Zim and Zam (short for Zimbabwe and Zambia). It was lovely meals prepared by Stephen and the rest of us pretending to help. But really we were just stuffing ourselves with salt'n'vinegar potato chips, watching sultry sunsets, or stargazing.

The first night, after we set up camp, we could hear hippos and elephants nearby and lions in the distance. We could also faintly hear disco music. We made jokes about our guide sneaking off in the middle of the night leaving us alone with the hippos.

The next day, as we were paddling, we still heard the disco music. The guide commented that it is a 24-hour disco, and I made a crack about it being the Ibiza of Zambia. Niels started calling it Zam-biza and we had to take a photo when we were back on land and driving back...

The trip was amazing, and we saw incredible wildlife up close - bushbacks, crocodiles, baboons, monkeys, exotic birds, impala and of course countless hippo and elephants.

The highlight of the trip was probably the one day we were about to take-out for lunch, and we saw a small family of elephants on the shoreline. We paddled closer and closer and they didn't seem scared, and more kept coming to the shoreline.

We got so close and just sat there watching themselves drink from the river and take mud baths. Eventually, the entire family of 7 formed a line in front of us, faced us in unison.

It almost seemed as if they were posing for us and maybe even taking a bow, like after a Broadway play. In any case, we were thinking, "Bravo, Bravo!"

Lucky for me, I have 2 more safari's planned and will get the Encore performance!

Zambia - Kids

2011-08-23T03:48:00.000-03:00

I left Budapest completely bogged down with children's clothes, toys and treats and full of excitement. I did do some wise shopping for myself and picked up a cheap white hoodie sweatshirt in Hungary (which I have worn everyday because Africa is so cold at night - who would have thunk?).

Again, I was a points whore so had an unfortunate Star Alliance routing of Budapest - Munich - Johannesburg - Lusaka. On the last leg, from Joburg to Lusaka, I sat next to an African woman and started chatting over sandwiches. I was a bit nervous about going to Africa alone, and excited about visiting my sponsor kid, so . I asked the woman if she lived in Joburg or Lusaka and was surprised when she answered Pittsburgh! I unzipped my hoodie to show her my Pittsburgh Steelers tshirt I was wearing and we became instant friends. Juliana is originally from Zambia, and was in Swaziland visiting family and coming to Zambia to pay respects to some deceased relatives.

Juliana lives in the Burgh with her Botswanian husband who is a counselor at Duquesne. And guess where she lived? In an apartment complex off of Crane (Down from Banksville pool but up from Eat'n'Park). To anyone not aware of this, it's about .5 miles as the crow flies from my parents house. After I tell her about my sponsor kid, she tells me the real real reason she is coming to Lusaka - to pick up a one-month year old baby from an Orphanage and bringing her back to the Burgh. She organizes lots of used toy and clothes donations for this orphanage. They even purchased as shipped several washer and driers over! (italics) On a philanthropic note, if you are in Pittsburgh and have any children's clothes or toys in decent condition, please private message me and I'll coordinate something with Juliana.

Juliana invited me to the Orphanage to visit her daughter and while I have every intention of taking her up on the offer, I'll admit I am not confident in my ability to go there and leave without putting my name on the "list" and getting on my way to becoming the poor man's Angelina Jolie.

That night I had a hard time sleeping, and made friends with the hostel receptionists enough that they let me jump on the computer for a quick facestalk. A couple weeks earlier, one of the funny English guys in Croatia had made a joke that I initially laughed off, but then got a bit paranoid. While I was telling these guys about my upcoming trip to visit Esther, they asked the usual questions about what my monthly donation goes towards...one asked if it paid for internet for her, and if I was inadvertently funding her facebook addiction. He made a comment, "I can see it now on your news feed - 'Esther has checked in at the well.' " While extremely inappropriate, and very hilarious, I did do a quick facebook search for Esther to confirm, in fact, that she isn't using my sponsorship dollars for facebook.
Esther has NOT checked in at the well, Jimbo Kimbo...

I woke up bright and early (still wearing the white hoodie) to go visit Esther and her family. Joan from Children International took me in the van to the Chibolya compound where Esther lives. I have been in poor areas, ghettos, favelas, etc before but this compound was unreal. Garbage everywhere, pigs wandering eating it and barefoot kids in tattered clothes playing on the dusty paths that pass for streets.

The 4x4 vehicle pulled into the Children International facility and I received a great tour of the facilities and where my money really goes. I am pretty sure I am the only sponsor to ask so many questions about their healthcare records and pharmacy operations. I saw the African version of Stock Cards and Par Locations, minus fancy PeopleSoft or Motorola Scanners.

Then it was time to visit Esther!

We pulled up and the crowd of neighbors dispersed so the family could come greet me. It was lovely to meet her - I had absolutely no idea what to expect and neither did they! I me Mirriam, the mother and siblings Kyombo (11), Wisdom (3) and Catherine (6 months). Dad was at work as a plumber, but his monthly income of $40/month barely covers the rent so he obviously had to prioritize work over my visit.

I was invited into their spotless house to open presents.

I also have a funny feeling that they dressed up a bit for my arrival too. After the Children International representatives took photos like papparazi outside of Katsuya, the family surprised me with a gift from them to me. It was a sieve for sifting grains and a basket to catch the sifted grains. Now this was absolutely touching and thoughtful. It even breaks my heart a little bit to think that they got me something useful so that I can sift the pebbles out of my rice (and of course Joan looks at me and says, "How are you going to get that huge thing home???"

After presents and pictures, us females went shopping for minimeal (a 25kg bag at under $10 lasts the family a month). Then we we went to a small shop for lunch. This was Esther's first time eating out, and I think she enjoyed her first restaurant meal!

As I was preparing for this visit, a lot of people asked me, "i want one too...how can I get one?" I go through an organization called Children International, based in Kansas City. I picked it primarily because it is not strongly affiliated with any religion and they have a good ratio of funds that go directly to the kids. You can look through profiles and photos and pick any kid you want. I saw first hand how grateful these families are to have even one child who is sponsored. At risk of sounding like Sally Struthers, a small donation every month really CAN change a child's life.

Budapest

2011-08-16T08:56:00.000-03:00

I arrived in Budapest on the overnight train from Ljubljana and immediately checked into the Marriott (on points of course, because, you know, I'm a points whore). The Marriott is right on the Danube river with great view of historical buildings, river and bridges (which, except for the buildings, has an uncanny resemblance to Pittsburgh).

But this wasn't a pleasure trip, it was pure business. Budapest was the last chance to pull myself together before the big trip to Africa. I had errands galore: shopping for sponsor kid, last chance for 'washing machine' laundry, taking off my chipped nail polish, renting my condo, updating my blog, and shopping for essentials that I may not be able to find during my 6 weeks in Africa.

I took out my daily limit at the ATM and decided to spend it all on gifts for my sponsor kid, Esther, and her family. To call Esther my sponsor kid is a misnomer - I have been sponsoring her for over 6 years and she is now technically a woman at the age of 14. But it's easier to call her my sponsor kid, so we'll go with it...Since I was staying at the Marriott, I basically ate and drank everything there from the lounge (read: free) and conserved cash for gifts.

I was able to make one quick tour, the Communist Tour of Budapest. Hungary has lost all the wars they have participated in the past 500 years, most recently and importantly WWII (the tour guides words, not mine). Hungary was occupied by one of the winners of WWII, the Soviet Union which meant they were forced into Communism. (I often think how funny it is that the Soviet Union was essentially our allies during WWII in fighting the common enemy, then we spent the next 40 years with them as our enemy). Despite a violent uprising against communism in 1956, Hungarians knew how to keep their mouths shut, and it was a sort of "communism light." Not many people dared to challenge the Soviets or protest communism until 1990 when they voted in Democracy, along with most of the world.

Today, Hungary is living in what is referred to as "post-communism democracy" which differs from straight up democracy for many complicated reasons that I won't bore you with

I experienced the meaning of "post-communism democracy" as I struggled to find gifts for my sponsor kid and her family. There was hardly any selection of goods, and it was a challenge to find anything of reasonable quality at a reasonable price. Sorry Esther, you aren't getting a Louis Vuitton bag, nor are you getting the cheap shoddy Dora the Explorer knockoff backpack from the graffitied back alley.

An uplifting antecdote - at one point during my shopping spree, I was running up the Metro stairs 2-at-a-time to catch a train. I missed the train, so sat down on a bench. A woman comes walking up to me, with a friendly mischievous look in her eyes, apparently scolding me in Hungarianm while waving a bill in my face. The equivalent of a $65 bill fell out of my pocket as I was running. After withdrawing money from the ATM, I had distributed the cash among my person in case I got mugged or something. Old habit that has never been needed (knock on wood). I was touched. This Hungarian woman had no idea that her good deed is going directly back to people that need the money more than her or I, even if she is living in post-communist democracy. I wish I could show her this photo of the goodies that took me over 2 days to gather

Slovenia? Where is Slovenia?

2011-08-16T08:10:00.000-03:00

The picture of this girl carved into the wall of a building overlooking Ljubljana's main square, Prešeren Square, is a depiction of the real life muse of Slovenia's most famous poet, France Prešeren. But it reminded me of the reason I wanted to come to Ljubljana in the first place, Veronika overlooking the main square (and dont be a fool like me making up a wrong pronunciation in your head...it's pronounced Yoo-Blyah-Na)

I had read a Paulo Coehlo book called "Veronika Decides To Die" which is about a 24 year old girl who lives in Ljulbljana and sits evey day overlooking Prešeren Square in meloncholy. She gets bored and decides to die by overdosing on sleeping pills.

After taking the pills she reads a magazine article called "Where Is Slovenia?" about how most people do not even know where Slovenia is located. She starts writing a letter to editor pretending that she is so outraged about people's ignorance of Slovenia that she decides to committ suicide. The story really starts from here, because the overdose does not work. Anyhow, it had me wanting to visit Ljubljana.

In case u r wondering the same thing as the magazine readers(or didnt pay attention during the World Cup), Slovenia is a small country of about 2 mill located between Austria, Hungary Croatia and Italy.

In the most recent past it was one of the 6 republics in tbe yugoslavic federation. It was the first republic to separate from Yugoslavia and it did so relatively (see previous blog entry for relativity....) peacefully and democratically in June 1991. The same night, the battles began and continued for the next 10 days until a peace treaty was signed. Slovenia joined the EU in 2004 and Euro was introduced in 2007 and became part of Schwengen in 2007. As my tour guide said, "And that is the last important thing to have happened in Slovenia". You can understand this as you observe the cafe culture. The streets and squares are lined with cafes with people relaxing, reading, chatting or just simply hangig out. I really liked it here but only wished I had more time in my schedule to meet locals or even travelers. But it was such a splendid city I had to give it it's own blog entry so that no magazine article ever again has to ask, "Where is Slovenia?"

Notable highlights of Ljubljana:

*A dairy vending machine with cheese, milk, yogurt, etc. Apparently quite commonplace in Slovenia. My tour guide looked at me like I was nuts for asking if they were common.

*The university library. It was designed by what sounded like Slovenia's only architect, Jože Plečnik (quick, someone get my David Kennett over here!) It was designed with a fun exterior to get people inside. But the interior is deliberately dark and heavy, symbolic of the effort of learning and studying. Then as you walk up the stairs to the second floor, you have a great reading room that is illuminated by the huge windows, again symbolic of enlightenment that learning brings about.

*Appropriately named "Butcher Bridge" where lovers go to lock locks onto the rails and throw the keys into the water, thus symolizing their their love is locked forever.

After Ljubljana, I didnt have any real plans. I stayed at a very small, intimate hostel in Ljubljana and didnt meet any interesting backpackers. After some brief and uninteresting conversations, I decided to skip Lake Bled (even thought Brooke Roberts had a convincing facebook comment) and instead head to the Soca Valley to indulge in some water sports, and pretend to break in my new hiking boots.

I managed to get to the town of Bovec (after being locked on a bus at a rest stop for 45 minutes because I did not put my boots back on quick enough), and was thankful to have booked a hostel room in advance, as it was a holiday weekend. The town was super small, charming as all get out, and in a valley surrounded on every side by the Julien Alps. I dont really know what the Julien Alps are, but it sounds exotic and I want to impress my readers. Anyhow, I was anxious to get in the whitewater of the Soca River, and within 2 hours of arrival, I was en route to do some Hydrospeeding.

Hydrospeeding is basically boogie boarding down rapids. You lay face-first, grabbing a hard plastic sled of sorts, and go with the flow down the river. It is scary, and our guide made sure to stress this. So much that I was tense for the first half of it. But once I relaxed and just went with the flow, I had the time of my life! There are plenty of rocks that your knees hit, but in the moment it is worth it. Of course, the next day I realized that despite ignoring grey hairs and small wrinkles around me eyes, I am quite old. I hobbled around like an old man, complaining about my knees.

The next day I went whitewater kayaking, but it wasn't very exciting. To be honest, I have paddled through more current and waves in Pittsburgh rivers and the ocean before a big storm. Anyhow, it was still amazing to be on the seafoam green waters in such beautiful surroundings.

I did do a bit of training by walking up and down a steep, rocky path 7 times. I felt disciplined, but am pretty sure that Kimberly and Sean are leagues ahead of me in breaking in their heavy duty hiking boots.

During my time in Bovec, I smoothly fell in with a group of local Slovenian and ex-pat Argentenian guides. I had a blast gallavanting with them, most notably being taken to a WWI bunker in the dark (after midnight) and being told that I was not allowed to use my flashlight. I also was invited to a traditional Argentinian meat roast. Of course I dont eat meat, but I got to meet Fabian's son, and also some other tourists, guides, and locals. It was a great trip, and everyone I met in Bovec was so friendly and sincere. I was sad to leave, and kept putting it off but I had already purchased a ticket on the overnight train to Budapest. By the end of my 3 days there, I was bumping into people I knew on the street and really felt at home.

Apparently my Spanish impressed my Argentinian friends, and Fabian offered to drive me to Ljubljana for my 2am train to Budapest. Check out this sweet ride!

Yugoslavia War Tours (Croatia, Montenegro, Bosnia & Hercegovina)

2011-08-09T17:20:00.000-03:00

Anyone that knows me knows that I have a somewhat unsettling interest in wars, genocides and oppresive regimes. And if it happened during my lifetime, I am even more intrigued. So being in the former Yugoslavia was right up my alley.

A Cliff's Notes history that will attempt to simplify the complicated and overlapping history The Federal People's Republic of Yugoslavia was created in 1946, when a communist government was established. In 1963, it was renamed again to the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. Yugoslavia included 6 republics: Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia-Hercegovina, Montenegro, Macedonia and Serbia. Communist, socialist, whatever, it was a regime that was somewhat oppressive and discouraged nationalism. It's political center was Belgrade (in Serbia). Tito was a very admired leader (one thing I heard was that the people loved Tito even though he was a corrupt thief, but at least he gave back to the people) who died in the 80s.

In the late 80s, as we know about the era, there was growing unrest with socialism. We know that in 1989, the Berlin Wall came down and brougt with it an end to the Eastern Bloc. In 1991, Slovenia decided to withdrawal from the federation. This happened quietly, with a 10 day war that ended in Slovenia getting its independence.

Some might say that the early bird gets the worm because when Croatia decided to do the same, boy did Serbia not like this. Serbia (along witb Montenegro) attacked Croatia. After some years of fighting in the mid-90s, the outnumbered Croatians won independence. Croats are Extremely proud of this, and I pity the Croat that happens to find himself sitting alone at a bar with me. I have had the opportunity to grill several different young people about their experience with the war all over Croatia, and how they view the tensions with Serbia today.

Marin Karlovic (pronounced Maureen Karlovich, like the girl I went to high school with) is a 31 year old who lives in Zadar. When he was 12 or 13, he fled alone to live with his uncle in switzerland for 6 months. He told of how he was escaping on a bus and on their was shelling on the other side of the highway. He said thathe lived on thr 4th floor of an apartment building through most of the war and thry were constantly on edge about fighting. While not constant, there was the constant threat wihh intermittent bouts of attacks, of course on civilians in homes, schools, hospitals, etc. He said when there was thunder, they often confused it wih bombings. He told one story that made me get goosebumps. During a period of relative peace, some neighborhood children were playing basketball on the playground across from his apartment. A neighborhood dog that had a history of biting came running into thr court and the children dispersed for fear of getting bit. Not two minutes later, a grenade (or some other sort of explosive...his english wasnt that great) hit the basketball court.

It was stories like this that made me especially interested in learning more about the siege on Croatia and other former republics of Yugoslavia.

First, we did a Wall Tour of Dubrovnik. Dubrovnik is a walled city on the Adriatic Sea surrounded by rolling hills. It has been walled for a very long time, since about the 13th century. The walled city was originally created to ward off pirates or other enemies that would attack from the sea. It certainly served its purpose, as we learned on one of our tours. However, when Serbia and Montenegro attacked, they simply setup shop on the hillside and bombed down into the walled city to defenseless Dubrovnik.

Mostly, the women and children left, but the men stayed to fight and defend their city. Our tour guide was born in the walled city of Dubrovnik and had some interesting stories to tell about how his father stayed in the city while he and his mother fled until the fighting subsided. There was substantial damage to Dubrovnik, however most of it has been repaired, restored and renovated.

Our next tour was to Montenegro.

Montenegro is a small hilly country (literally it means Black Mountains) that sits to the south of Croatia on the Adriatic Coast. Montenegro remained part of Greater Serbia/Yugoslavia and was part of the attack on Dubrovnik from 1991-1995. However, in 2006 there was a vote to determine if Montenegro would separate from Serbia. They needed a 55% majority in order to declare their independence. 230,661 votes (55.5%) were for independence and 185,002 votes (44.5%) were against. This slight margin resulted in Montenegro becoming an independent nation with no formal opposition from Serbia.

We had a great time on our tour to Montenegro (which wasn't truly a war tour, but I turned it into one in my head). We had an excellent tour guide. The highlight for me was when he was giving the bus instructions at our first stop and said, "Listen very carefully, I shall say this only once." To which I immediately sat up, looked at him and flicked my sunglasses up and down and said, "It is I, Le Claire." No one got the 'Allo 'Allo reference except for me and the tour guide, but it was one of the highlights of the tour for me. We putzed around some old walled towns in Montenegro and spent the afternoon in Budva, an overdeveloped seaside town that I fell in love with for the big, buff beautiful men who walked around shirtless with fanny packs. Budva is also where I tried on a bathing suit, and fell in love with it until I looked at the price tag. Designer swimwear really isnt on a backpackers budget, but I worked some of that so-called charm and got a really good deal on it.

Peggy, Nancy and I really liked the air in Budva and remember it fondly.

Our next tour was to Bosnia and Hercegovina. Again, I turned this into a war tour in my head. We had a couple stops, but the main stop was Mostar, which is a city in the Hercegovina section of B-H. It has an old bridge, a lot of Turkish and Muslim influence and we had a really great time using a hookah, having a leisurely lunch along the river and bumping into our tour guide from the Montenegro tour.

Now, Bosnia and Hercegovina's war history is a bit more complicated, so instead of boring you (because I am already depriving you of photos), I will refer you to wikipedia for a full history of Bosnia's place in the war (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bosnia_and_Herzegovina#Bosnian_War_.281992.E2.80.931995.29)

Croatia - Adriatic Coast

2011-08-09T17:17:00.000-03:00

Croatia is stunning. Those 3 words sum it up.

I had heard Croatia was beautiful. I was a bit skeptical, as I have seen many beautiful places. I really didn't believe the hype that it could meet my expectations. But the reality was that Croatia surpassed my expectations before I even landed.

From the airplane, it was like looking down at a map - coastline and islands (1185 to be exact) surrounded by this intensely serious blue water. It looked unreal from the air - unlike anything I have ever seen.

Flying into the Dubrovnik airport, we flew low over the old walled city of Dubrovnik and it's majesty literally took my breath away. There is not a better word than stunning to describe it. I felt like it couldn't get better than what I saw from the air. Again, I was wrong. Even on the bus ride from the airport, ever turn seemed to give way to an even more beautiful vista. I sat in awe staring out the window hoping the €5 bus ride would never end.

Alas it did and when I got out of the bus in Dubronvik's walled Old Town, I realized that a lot of other people (and cruise ships companies= understand it's beauty. Old Town was literally wall to wall with people. It felt almost like the shopping mall at xmas time, expect at the mall, people are hustling and bustling. In Dubrovnik, the cruise ship tourists are meandering and stopping to take photos at every turn. (If you cant beat 'em, join 'em - see below as we got snap happy throughout our time in Dubrovnik too)

After some harrying logistics that involved froggering past tour groups and a bait-and-switch of our apartment (unbeknownst to me) the stars aligned and I stumbled upon my friends Peggy and Nancy who had arrived earlier in the day. Peggy had born the brunt of the bait-and-switch as she was the first to arrive, and I'm not even sure how Nancy found the new apartment, but it was a calamity of sorts because Nancy's luggage had decided to spend some more time in Germany.

We finally got the logistics all sorted (well except Nancy's luggage which showed up 3 days later), we set about exploring Dubrovnik. Again, every little nook and cranny showed a new view that seemed unbelievably better than the last. We explored in this manner the next day too and discovered a little cove where we managed to secure a private table and do some sunbathing on the rocks. Luckily we got there before the crowds (see below).

Several days later, our next stop on the Croatian Coast was the island of Hvar. From Dubrovnik, we traveled 4 hours by bus , 2 hours by ferry, and another 30 minutes by bus to arrive. But arrive we did. Hvar Town is this gorgeous medieval town with stone streets that converge on the main square that butts up against the Adriatic Sea. Our first impression was 11pm when we went out with a group from the hostel and I can't believe I am describing a medieval town this way, but it was basking in it's own sexiness. The old town was illuminated in a soft light that made the cafes, the people and the yachts seem even more sexy that they already were. We had hit our groove and danced and flirted all night, perhaps basking in our own sexiness.

The next day, we made our way down to the Hula Hula Beach Club and REALLY hit our stride. We lounged on beach chairs on the rocks and swam in crystal clear water all afternoon. Around 5pm, the party moved over to the main bar area where there was a DJ with live saxophone and vocals. The mingling was great, and we were surrounded by beautiful, well traveled, successful people who work hard and party harder. Over pitchers of margaritas and bottles of pink champagne, we quickly made friends with boys willing to pick up the tab(s).

(Jenn - this is the John Galliano that I fell in love with before I knew who made it. I bargained HARD to get the price down on this bathing suit)

If you arent traveling by boat, the routine on Hvar is to lay around in the sun all day, make an afternoon party at a beach club like Hula Hula, then shower and eat dinner, then make the nighttime party at a club like Carpe Diem. We followed this routine for a few days with little variation. The one day we introduced variation was when I asked our eccentric hostel owner Luka (sing along: My name is Luka, I live on the second floor...) for a nearby island recommendation. His recommendation was excellent - Jerelim Bay beach which is a budget-friendly $6 boat ride away from Hvar Town with secluded beaches, clear crisp water, and huge bean bag beach chairs. The only downside? Luka recommended us a nudist beach.

Despite the nude beach surprise, Nancy, Peggy and I thoroughly enjoyed our time in Hvar, and really felt like had to force ourselves to leave the island, but we all left with enough good memories that we hope to come back (and more importantly, hope to convince all of our friends to come next August!).

I got a pretty bad cold from the "routine" on Hvar, so I laid low in our next town of Zadar. Zadar was Peggy's first hostel experience and I think she got through it unscathed. We had an excellent hostel location, right on the marina and across from the beach. But except for the interrogation I did on the poor receptionist about the Yugoslavian War (see next blog entry), the only thing I did was lay in bed and hack. At one point, I pulled it together enough to be social in the courtyard bar, and some girl said to me, "Did you see that poor girl in room 504? She is so sick and just laying in bed all day sneezing and coughing." I admitted it was me, surprised she didnt notice my cup of tea at the bar, or the pile of dirty tissus in my lap, and she asked, "Why arent you leaving?" Apparently she didnt know that when I was leaving, it was to go to the party island of Pag with Nancy.

Nancy had went ahead to Pag to scope out lodging and let me recover and unfortunately Peggy had to leave to go back home. So I arrived alone on the island of Pag and it looked like the moon. Pag is composed of sheer cliffs of limestone that tumble into the sea. There are more sheep than people on the island and it is known for Pag cheese. Pag cheese is especially strong and flavorful due to the sheep's climate and diet that is saturated with sea dust, salt and water from the gusting winds from the sea onto the cliffs.

Oh the spareness of the island and the tales of the sheep are so whimsical and romantic until you get to Zrce beach. Zrce is known as Croatia's Ibiza. It is a thumping alive series of beachside clubs that operate 24-7 and feel like a tailgate, amusement party and music festival all at once. There is bungee jumping, insane costumes like a Borat green one-peice, and the most serious professional clubbers I have ever seen in my life.

Whereas Hvar clubs were about mingling, Pag clubs are about dancing, Dancing, DANCING. I will admit I was a bit intimidated by the insane partying, and wished I could channel Jimmy Wang and his house music flare to fit in, but it was a stretch. Nancy and I prayed for Pitbull, and kept chasing free drinks after we gave up on our smuggling alcohol. At one point after my bag cleared the bouncer check (bc I was peeling an orange and didnt have a spare hand free, so how could he expect me to open the bag with sticky hands? If you think that is bad, you should see how I boss around Immigration officials about which page to stamp in my passport. I swear one day I am going to get deported. But I digress). So after I get through, Nancy throw's her bag over the fence to me when the bouncer turned his back and told me to run. Now, this is because we thought that the alcohol was in her bag. It was in my bag.

That is completely beside the point, though, because just hours earlier, Nancy and her new English friends told me horror stories about the bouncers from the night before. The first story was a bouncer slapping a drunk kid so that he passed out, fell back on the curb and split his head open. When he was giving a statement to the police, they just lauged at him. The other story was from Nancy's friend himself, when he ordered a round of drinks around 6am but decided they were too expensive and walked away. Oh no he didnt. Immediately he was surrounded by bouncers and got punched square in the jaw. The boys recounted how they managed to pull wads of money out of their pocket WHILE getting punched. I was apprehensive about sneaking in alcohol, but Nancy persuaded me. No wonder that girl works in Sales.

But this is a blog entry about the Coast, and not bad decisions, so I will wrap it up for god's sake

Switzerland

2011-08-08T06:01:00.000-03:00

Near the end of my travels in Asia, I oftentimes caught myself thinking, "How can I incorporate this into my blog?" while doing something interesting or cool. I didnt like experiencing travel like this - constantly thinking about how I was going to document the experience instead of actually experiencing it. If you've ever traveled with me, you have surely heard me preach (or drone on?) about how taking pictures while sightseeing "disrupts the continuity of having fun." Of course, I do take pictures and enjoy looking through them later, but I feel like I do not fully appreciate travel when I have the distraction of looking for the "perfect shot." Similarily, I made a conscious decision to disconnect myself from blogging for awhile.

Luckily this coincided with my planned visit to Zurich to visit my dear friend MLL (using her initials because some scary dude cyberstalked her and found this blog). MLL and I studied abroad together in Kiel, Germany. Never heard of it? You arent alone. Even Germans sometimes have to ask twice. MLLwas arguably the loudest and most entertaining person in our group (probably a head to head tie with our dear friend Liz). That was in 1999 and I am happy to report that they both are this way, just with more discretionary income and grey hairs.

In college, MLL and I Eurailed around together and hit the European hotspots of: French Riveria, Copenhagen, Goteborg, Sweden, and Hamelin of Pied Piper fame. After our traveling, errr, studying was over, she stayed on in Europe and I returned to the US. A couple years later, I was living in Arlington, Virginia (http://youtu.be/4T1RMuoQnKo) and at a happy hour with coworkers and saw her across the bar. We got together, but lost touch because this was pre-Facebook and you had to make an honest effort to keep in tough in thoae days. So we fell out of touch.

A few years later (read: the post-facebook era) I was transitting through Charlotte airport and look up to see MLL again. Thanks to facebook, we were able to coordinate some business trips in San Francisco and even did a crazy War Tour through South Korea, North Korea, Vietnam and Cambodia. Therefore, it was a nobrainer that i'd include a visit to MLL as part of my Flashpacking trip.

The trip itself was fun, but it was more hanging out with a good friend. Not very exciting blog material, to say the least. But hey, at least it's a new blog entry and after all YOU are here reading it.

Mainly MLL went to work and I spent days exploring Zurich or sitting around the apartment relaxing. Highlights include:

*Eating fondue in Lucerne

*A brief jaunt to the small nation of Lichtenstein, mainly to increase our country count

*Breaking in my heavy duty hiking boots on Mt Uetliberg (Sean - you will regret not doing it...)

*Spending 16 hours moving MLL into a new apartment with movers who thought it appropriate to pack, store and transport her garbage from Frankfurt to Zurich.

*Watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians. If you think this show is ridiculous, then you clearly have not seen it dubbed in German.

*Trying (unsuccessfully) to find a cup of coffee under $6 anywhere in Zurich

*Getting picked up (succesfully) in the Hauptbahnhof by a Tunisian personal trainer/model who refers to himself in the third person

Brunei

2011-07-16T07:37:00.000-03:00

Brunei is an Islamic Monarchy, located between Malaysian Borneo and a cheapish flight from KL. The ruler of Brunei is the Sultan, who is the head of state, absolute monarch (no elections and no functional political parties), and the equivalent of Prime Minister. In 1997, he was named the richest man in the world. His name is General Haji Sir Hassanal Bolkiah Mu'izzaddin Waddaulah, but we will just refer to him as "His Majesty" going forward. Coincidentally, his birthday is July 15th and it kicks off a month of birthday celebrations. I made it in time to join in the festivites. But in a country that doesnt have alcohol, how fun can the celebrations actually be?

Everyone in KL asked me why I was coming here, and it was mainly because I've never met anyone who has been here. I may be a late adopter of technology like google mail and iphones, but I fashion myself a bit of a travel trailblazer. Anyhow, as it turns out, Brunei is an excellent destination to update my blog.

There are about 370,000 people in this oil rich nation smaller in size than Delaware, and everyone has private cars. There are only 40 taxis in Brunei and even less public transport, so you better believe I was elbowing old women and children in my path to get to the taxi stand. There are about 2 sights in Brunei, and I did them both in under 3 hours.

First up is the Royal Regalia Museum, which features regalia from His Majesty's coronation ceremony in 1968, photos from his childhood, and all the gifts he has received from foreign dignataries. It is a huge museum, but I only spent about an hour inside, but not for lack of regalia. I left because you have to enter barefoot and I couldnt stand the cold floors.

Most notable in the museum were the following regalia:

*photos from his childhood, including one "during" the circumcision ceremony. He was smiling so I can only imagine it was actually before the circuncision.
* a solid gold upturned hand used to support the chin during crowning. Think: a solid gold mannequin hand similar to what you'd see Jeff and Jody singing around in an episode of Today's Special. Apparently it was won by the current Sultan's ancestors in the 15th century after a victorious cockfight. Anyhow, in the 60's it wasnt known that Muslim men shouldn't use gold, so this hand will never be uaed again.

His Majesties mug is plastered everywhere around Brunei. I'm taking massive images on sides of every building. it's a good thing he is good looking. To be frank, he is smoking hot for a 65 year old. But I guess when you are a King, Sultan and President with riches like e has, you can pop off for a little bit of "work" now and again.

How many images of His Majesty can you spot?:

There were little tidbits of excitement during my short trip, like watching to city transform into a brightly lit, family-centric fairgrounds in honor of His Majesty. Or hiring a water taxi on the Brunei River and taking a photo of the Sultan's palace, then seeing a helicopter leave (with His Majesty inside, I was assured). Most notable, I think, was meeting one of the only other white tourists. Jim Patton was a sprite 83 year old who retired to the Phillipines and was visiting to renew his tourist visa. The reason he was so memorable wasn't because he was lucid talking my ear off, or outwalking me (his comment to hurry me up, "well, you arent overweight"). But, he was originally from The Burgh. No kidding, he had a full on Pittsburgh accent and everything.