Hi, my name is Brandy Bell & I am a travel addict

Image of my brain

It starts like any other addiction: a quick voyage into an unknown world. Maybe your friends are all doing it, and they’ve goaded you into trying it. Maybe you saw it on TV and it looked incredibly cool. I can’t tell you why we start, and I can’t tell you how to stop. My name is Brandy Bell, and I am a travel addict.

I’ll never forget the moment I knew I was hooked on travel. At the top of  The Holy Monastery of Rousanou in Meteora, Greece. I looked down over a valley of houses, farms and winding country roads. The cold wind whipped around me, making the weeping willows sway their long limbs, beckoning me like a siren to come closer.  I looked left and right, and seeing no one paying attention, I went closer to the willows. Just behind them I saw an interesting looking room, which was boarded up. Aha! I snuck over, and put my face against the barred window- I strained my eyes to see what was in the room and in between blinks, the face of a monk appeared 3 inches away- on the other side of the bar.

“What are you doing here?” He asked me in Greek. Busted. “I just wanted to see what was over here. I’m very sorry” I replied in my undoubtedly American accented Greek. This was enough to soften him up, and he allowed me to peer into the room by lighting a candle for me. The room was shelved floor to ceiling on all four walls, and the dusty wooden shelves were covered in skulls of former priests. I later found out the living monks currently use the room to feel at one with those who came before them.

My eyes went wide, and I felt my heart pounding in my chest. I quietly thanked the priest and floated away. A simple moment like that, that I cannot translate to the language of words, had me on fire from the inside out. What other magical little corners of the world are waiting for me? I was high. I  I stayed high until I came home lovely California, and then the withdrawals hit.

Back at home, I began printing out hundreds of photos, covering my walls in my trip,  rereading my journal daily and talking incessantly with Karlie, my travel partner. I was doing anything to get myself back to that wonderful peak that I couldn’t reach again at least, not until the next time the wheels left the tarmac and I was on my way to Turkey. Since then, it’s been a downward (is it opposite day?) spiral of never ending travel benders.  Nothing compares to the head spinning, heart pounding, blood pumping high of strapping on the pack and walking out the door. Where am I going? Doesn’t matter- let’s just get on with it.

I can’t help thinking about the next place I will travel to. I literally spend so much time fantasizing about travel each day it has become a problem. Sometimes I forget what country I am actually in because I am so absorbed in my mental travel. One minute I am washing dishes in my Madrid flat, the next minute I am in the cloud forest of Panama, on the trail of death looking for poison frogs to finish my dart project. I part the branches of the forest and start scanning the foliage for signs of movement, the ground beneath me is wet, so wet I can feel it soaking my feet. Dear God, that’s actually my sink overflowing because I am daydreaming again! Hello, reality- we meet again.

This weekend I went shopping, but I wasn’t there to buy anything. I was simply looking at the bottom of everything and inside all the clothing. What? Why? Because I am searching for a “made in” tag or imprint. “Made in Vietnam” oooh, I bet Vietnam is great. I wonder what kind of clothing they wear in Vietnam. “Made in China” Ooooh China! I want to go there too, the Great Wall… hmm. “Made in Turkey” OOOH Turkey. Then I start googling pictures of Vietnam, reading blogs of people who are in China, Kazakhstan.. you name it, I’m reading about it. Then the real evil ugly part of the addiction comes in. NEED.

I don’t simply want to visit now, I NEED to. There is no logic, no reasoning, and nothing that can stand in the way of what I feel I now need. A fiend on the hunt for their next fix, I can think of nothing but the next destination… not even finishing this post.

Talkin bout a Revolution #Occupy Madrid #OccupyEarth

“When the people fear their government, there is tyranny; when the government fears the people, there is liberty.” – Thomas Jefferson

Nuevo Mundo

In case you live under a rock or only through your television, yesterday was October 15th, 2011- Global (R)Evolution Day. Spurred on by the Arab Spring, Spanish Summer, and American Autumn the whole world united in marches, peaceful (WTF Roma?) demonstrations, and a general outcry of discontent.

Along with an estimated 500,000 in the heart of Madrid I stood holding my bright yellow sign. In large red letters “First they IGNORE you. Then they LAUGH at you. Then they FIGHT you. Then YOU WIN! -Gandhi” on the other side the message was more concise. “Juntos creamos un nuevo mundo” (Together we are creating a new world).

For hours we stood in Puerta de Sol chanting along with the people of my city, my world “que no! que no! que no nos representan!” (no! no! they don’t represent us!). The demonstration was organized by people giving of their time, their precious little resources, and giving all their emotion and energy to forward a movement that is bigger than all of us. United we stood against a global system that is hurting its people more than it is helping them.

Marches were organized at various corners of the city beginning earlier in the day, with the destination being the Puerta de Sol- the center of Madrid. As each group entered Sol bearing their banners, signs, anonymous masks, and drum beats, we who waited for them cheered on our support and joined in chants, growing ever louder by the minute as more people flooded into the square. The excitation was palpable, and as hundreds of thousands assembled at 8pm we all sat and patiently waited for the main activities to begin.

At 8:30 on the dot the flash mob began. Tens of thousands in the center of the square laid on the ground, overlapping each other. The older lady next to me rested her head on my shoulder, I laid against the people behind me. A human woven mat, suspended in silence. As we were all pretending to be dead, I couldn’t help but think of the people who literally laid down their lives in unnecessary wars, that moment of silence was for them. The poor people who have been sacrificed for the almighty dollar, which is not being used to benefit those they left behind.

Can you hear us now?

After our moment of silence, we came to our knees, with our hands clasped behind our head we remained there again for a moment of silence. As my palms sweat and my heart pounded in my chest, I felt the hearts of those beside me pounding in unison. Blood pumping for change, for a world we want to live in, a world we can live in.

Then with our manos arriba (hands in the air) we shook our hands in a silent scream as the orchestra started up with Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. As the music began, piped through speakers resting atop metro exits resounding through Sol, the expressive dance portion of the protest began on a small stage. I fear my worlds fail me in describing the beauty of this act. Trust me and spend 3 minutes and 4 seconds of your life to view this. Even if you don’t agree with us, you can’t deny the creativity and talent displayed.

Two young men dressed in top hats and suits with money pinned to their clothes held the reins of six working class people. Men dressed in construction uniforms, sanitation uniforms, and the women with their eyes taped over, their mouths taped over in silence danced blindly and seemingly happy while under the firm hand of the bankers. As the crescendo approached, they removed their blindfolds- opening their eyes and following the nooses around their necks back to the hands which are controlling them. With a firm grace, they removed themselves from the nooses and the bankers stepped down. The scales of justice and an hourglass of time were held in the air and the crowd cheered as they danced peacefully until the end of the song.

The screams, chants, clapping and roar of the crowd in their appreciation and enthusiasm was just as heartening as the dance itself. I looked to my left at the octogenarian who was clearly in physical pain from sitting on the cobblestones for so long, and she had tears in her eyes. I took her hand and squeezed it, realizing the tears in her eyes were mirrored in my own.

After the demonstrations, a friend and I walked the streets to her house. Seeing no reason to put my sign away, I walked down the street with the sign held high over my head. Through the sea of people I received many thumbs ups, applause, and heartfelt smiles. This rapidly changed as we moved away from the center of town into the more posh, affluent area of town. My sign was met with jeers, looks of confusion, and ultimately I was stopped by an older gentleman who said with barely disguised disgust “no. you will not create a new world”. I wish I could say I kept walking, but my indignation took over. “No sir, your generation created this world, and my generation WILL CHANGE IT! It’s our turn to live in the world we want!” Behind me, several women clucked their tongue at the sign and walked away in their extravagant fur coats. Enjoy your comfort now ladies- change is coming.

Super bummed you missed your chance to stand up for a new world? It’s not too late. Get involved in your area. Spend 5 seconds sharing the above video- spread the word. The news might not be televising what we are doing, but you have the power of social media. Stumble relevant articles, Facebook your friends, Tweet about it.

Ignorant comments will not be approved, this is a place for growth and change, not the stagnancy of hate.

Except for this hateful comment I have: Bank of America, go directly to Hell. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.

Scrivener’s Palsy

I even have plants!

Well there’s no denying that I’ve neglected you, readers, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.

I’ve just been hard at work. Actually, that’s a lie- I’ve simply been enjoying my life and you can’t fault me for that.

What have I been doing you ask? Establishing a non nomadic life. A life with books, furniture, and other stationary objects. A life with clothes that don’t get crammed into a backpack and strewn on fences to dry. No, my clothes get hung in a (DOUBLE!) closet on wooden hangers.

Mostly I spend my days acting as slave to a 4 pound cat named Sabah, who did not come with the flat, but weaseled her way into my heart and life. When I’m not doing that, I am:

Taking Spanish lessons to prevent my sloppy grammar – which in turn made my English grammar plummet.
Watching two beautiful boys grow, learn and develop personalities before my eyes. I have the best “job” in the world.
Turning a room mate into a great friend.
Swimming. Walking. Traveling. Bitching about the rain.
The most monumental thing I have done, nay, that I am still in the process of doing- is writing my first novel for publication.

What’s it about you ask? Great question… With countless suggestions to put my travel experiences into a book, on May 1st- my 26th birthday I went to the store and bought fourteen lined notebooks. Enough room for 100,000 words written by my own hand. I wrote the second chapter (I don’t believe in first things first) and left the obnoxious stack of books on the coffee table. There they sat for one month, taunting me- daring me. Do it Brandy, just write it all down and give it away. It’s just words… come on, write me. Alright, I will.

31,500 words (and a hell of a lot of pens, tears, and cafes) later and this book isn’t exactly a travel memoir yet. It’s mostly just the scribblings of an unquiet mind. I’m discovering one has to write a WHOLE lot of absolute and utter trash until one day brilliance creeps into your wrist and bleeds itself out all over the page. Those are the minutes I wait for, those are the sentences you’ll read.

I can’t promise you that this book is going to have you laughing your ass off. I can’t promise you this book will have you sobbing into your pillow that you hug at night. I can’t promise you anything other than the fact that this book will be 100% Brandy Mother Effin Bell- what more could you want?

Be patient with me… but don’t forget about me.

Peace & Laughter.

Knock Knock- Who’s There?- Opportunity!

The One

Nothing can explain the way I feel when I see the golden sun sweep over the heavy grape vines of October in California’s central coast. There aren’t words poetic enough to explain the tranquil beauty of the gorgeous Pacific waves crashing on our shores. No foreign place will ever make my heart sing the way it does when I wrap my arms around my best friend in our home town. So why am I getting on a jet plane in 17 days? More importantly, why are all my belongings in a suitcase?

Because I am moving to Madrid, Espana! (Spain, for all my white peeps out there) Why? Why not? I’ve never been an English teacher before. I’ve never lived in a city of 4 million people. I’ve never lived in a country where English was not the first language. I can guarantee I will learn something new every single day. I know it won’t be easy- I am prepared for it to be uncomfortable at first. I know there will be days when I want to curl up into a ball and hide in my flat and watch English television all day. I also know that I will be smarter and stronger at the end of this experience. Like my old friend Winston Churchill said “To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often”. (Not that perfection is what I am expecting of this experience, cause that would just be boring.)

When I close my eyes, I see the cobblestone streets of Madrid- I see people walking their dogs in the morning and rolling their shop doors shut in the afternoons for siesta, I see elderly couples holding hands in Retiro Park, and I see myself breaking my ankle wearing Euro shoes. (Seriously, how DO they do it?) I want that to be my reality, except for the ankle breaking thing.

So to all my dear friends and family on the Central Coast, THANK YOU for the hugely warm welcome home- I hope to return the favor to each one of you in my new home- Madrid! (okay, not EVERYONE is invited to Madrid, just the special people.) I know I’ve been slacking on the blog, but I kinda have been planning a trans continental move… so gimme a break. I promise many life updates and to keep the travel bug alive and well.

Wish me luck!

Walking the tightrope of “travel life” at home

Sometimes, this is how it feels

Anyone who’s had a backpack strapped to their back for several months and lived like a pauper on the streets abroad, this article is for you. You know who you are: the sweaty, dirty, often exhausted, sunburned and hungry ones. The ones who try to live in each country like it’s their own, who take a bite of culture so large it’s sometimes hard to swallow. Who feel the change inside themselves with every country they enter, and feel a small part of their heart break with each country they leave.
How do we keep it up? When the pack comes off and the work clothes go back on, how do we keep the good things we’ve found and cultivated in ourselves alive?
How do you possibly explain to your friends and family the deep and permanent changes you have undergone?
How do you recreate the small gestures of kindness from people that moved you to tears, but cannot be put into words?
How do you explain how the poorest people you have ever met have the richest lives of anyone?
More importantly, how do we resist molding back into our old lives once we’re back “home”?
The cell phone and internet tethers, the status items: cars and homes, the retail therapy to fill voids in our soul, the expensive dinners to socialize with people we don’t love, and general superficilaity.
Is it possible, or do you have to adjust to EVERY country you are in, including your own?
I know what I want. I want a simple life with a clean home, water I can drink, friends that are family, someone to love and trust, and eventually healthy and happy children. No more, no less.
I feel that coming back to America this would be looked at as “ambitionless”. I don’t want to live to work anymore. I want to work to support my life. I don’t want the job title, I want only the satisfaction of doing a good job for someone. I don’t want a car. I want to take the time to walk where I need to go, to be alone with my thoughts and myself. I don’t want a house full of expensive things that mean nothing to me. I want to be surrounded by photos of memories and the people I love. I don’t want to waste money on alcohol and gourmet foods, I want to save money to give to those who have less. I want to be the person I am abroad while I am home… but I don’t know how to keep this integrity to myself.
Travel friends, how do you do it? Do you find yourself compromising after time, or are you puritans? I’m curious to hear from everyone, really. Help a girl out.

Wants, Waste, and something else that starts with W

Simple Life, Pure Pleasures

Okay, I don’t have anything else that starts with W, but who isn’t a fan of alliteration? Today, I got a message from a friend asking about the trip (yeah, Jen!) ” How has this experience changed you, the way you think, who you are?”. All my travel friends know you ask yourself these same questions many times on the road. Whether it be at 3am on the overnight bus when the driver is playing a Spanish backstreet boys CD on repeat, sitting on a camel wondering if you’ll ever be able to stand up straight again, or getting 2nd degree burns swimming in the rivers of Africa- these are the questions that come into your mind- well at least they pop into my head at these convenient times.

How has this changed me? The most noticeable difference to myself: I’m more patient. Living my life in the “now society” where I can get movies on demand, where Google has the answer to every question I can think, where my cell phone is a permanent extension of my hand, and where people take the time to update their Facebook status with “Suzie Q is shopping at Target” I was highly accustomed to getting what I want, when I want it, how I want it. The world was Burger King and I was going to have it my way, damnit.

However, last night I took an overnight bus that was supposed to take 8 hours, it wound up taking 14 and I had a chicken on my lap for 3 hours and then held someone’s dirty sleeping, sweaty child for the remainder of the trip. The funny part? I didn’t mind. Okay, I wasnt THRILLED when the chicken decided to shit on my lap, but hey- what choice did it have? The patience comes second nature to me now, it’s just how life is. But there are other things that require a daily practice on my part: self denial & understanding my wants versus needs.

I used to be spoiled – granted I spoiled myself but nevertheless, I did not want for much, if anything. Now I face the daily battle of: Do I need this to live- to survive? I will gladly walk 2 miles to save 50 cents on oranges, hitch a ride to save 3 dollars on a bus, and drink tap water to save money on bottles (even if it wreaks temporary havoc on my body). Practices I used to look down on and call “cheap” in a derogatory manner (hey, I’m bein honest here) are now my motto. But why? Not because I don’t have the money. I come from one of the richest places on this planet*, I spend more money on an airline ticket to travel for leisure than most people make in 6 months. I am lucky, I am spoiled even when I want for what I consider to be basic.

Preparing a salad in Portugal I was stopped mid-slice by a woman who put her hand on mine, and told me to stop wasting. I was shocked, hurt, and even offended. “Waste? I’m not wasting- I’m cutting an apple!” She picked up the pieces of the apple that I had put into the compost bin and said “this is food, we eat this” and proceeded to cut off around 1 Tablespoon of edible apple. I scoffed. “It’s not really that much waste” I defended. She looked at me with what can only be described as disappointment and I understood immediately. “Not that much waste” to me, was more than she could afford. This is a small example of how little the concept of waste registered on my brain. Now, I try to be much more thoughtful in my actions and evaluate everything for what is usable and what is actually waste.

Clearly I could write for days on how I’ve changed in my heart, my mind, and my soul,  but my favorite thing that has happened during this trip is a feeling of unity with the people of the world. I am able to understand and identify with so many different cultures and mannerisms, regardless of the language spoke, the religion practiced or the color of their skin. I feel a true citizen of the world, and I am consumed with the journey to continue to learn more about the people I share this planet with.

*Dear American friends, I know the country is in a recession and many people have lost their jobs due to no fault of their own and are struggling to make ends meet, but I can’t lie to you. We are rich and take for granted things most people will never have in their lives. Please remember this before leaving a comment to the effect of how poor you are because you can’t make your car payment. Respectfully.

Morocco. Marvelous, Magical, Morocco.

Thorns in the Sane

From the very greeting “Asaalam Aliekum” which literally means “peace be upon you” to the genuinely warm hospitality and love that everyone in the country seems to possess in abundance, this is a country driven by love and respect. Morocco does for my heart what Greece does for my soul, and for me, that’s saying something.
In the city there was a man with no arms or legs. He obviously had no means of making money, so every day his neighbor would carry his stump of a body  (there really is no other way to put it) to the main street where he would wait for passersby to give him a coin or two. I hid in an alleyway across from him and watched for 20 minutes. Nearly every Moroccan who passed tossed in money, some stopped to fan him because of the heat, some tilted his head back and poured their water into his parched mouth, some simply put their hand over their heart and smiled warmly at him. The communal sense of responsibility for every soul is a recurring theme in Morocco, and deeply embedded in most people you meet.
Food and hospitality in Morocco is a serious business. Spending only 3 days in Fes I was invited to dinner over 20 times and always told to come early so that I could learn to cook traditional Moroccan dishes. Moroccans love to eat, and the food is always very flavorful and plentiful. I have never seen food go such a long way as in this country. You might prepare dinner for 4 people, and wind up having 8 people to dinner yet there is always enough food.
As one Moroccan friend told me “Everyone in this country is my brother, and we must always share. Food that is for one person will be for two or three, because this is love.” Words and actions like this cause my heart to want to explode out of sheer happiness. These monetarily poor people have more love and kindness in their country than I could ever dream of.

Marrakech Square

Walking down the street with a friend of mine in Marrakech, he stopped to buy a cigarette at a cigarette stand. (Side Note: Cigarette stands are cardboard boxes manned by people who sell individual cigarettes for 1 dirham, the equivalent of 10 cents. Most people are too poor to buy a pack a time) Immediately after lighting the cigarette, someone tapped him on the back and said a few words. My friend handed over the cigarette and we walked on. I asked what that was about, and my friend said “oh, he wanted my cigarette”. “Was that a friend of yours?” “No, I’ve never seen that man in my life!” The normalcy of that interaction kept me thinking for hours. I couldn’t imagine that happening anywhere else in the world. “Hey Stranger, can I please have your only cigarette?” is likely to be met with a few choice words if not simply a “no”.
Of course, this is not to blindly glorify the country. Like every other place on this fantastic planet, Morocco has its share of problems. For tourists, the main problem is the hustle of the country. It seems like everyone is a guide, and you’re in luck- their uncle also has a carpet shop and can make you “very special price, friend price!”. Walking by souks you are sure to be barraged by “hello, where you from? please, come look only, no buying, just looking…. please, my friend, come drink tea and look. no buy”. Through some Moroccan magic you inevitably leave with a lighter wallet and a purchase you didn’t exactly plan for.
If you happen to be a solo female traveler (good for you) then it’s going to be even double the harassment. “You are so beautiful, I want to marry you. How many camels? Really, now I call my father. How many camels?” “Please! Please girl, I want to make you very special massage, Berber massage, with the Argan oil. Please, I make massage on you for free- like friend. you don’t worry” and it goes on and on. Of course, that’s also part of the charm of the country. People are not shy, they say and do as they please for the most part (within the limits of religion and laws) and make no apologies for being forward.
If you’re thinking about a trip to Morocco, do your research. Make sure that if you’re visiting during Ramadan you’re informed and prepared. While I cherish this country, I know it’s not for everyone- most people get sick, can’t stand the heat, hate the harassment and don’t like being taken for a monetary ride. While those are all very real concerns, there is something so magical and captivating about this country that I wish I could mail a small part of it to everyone I know and watch their souls bloom.

Morocco ~ Beyond Words

What can I even begin to tell you about this country? A picture is worth a thousand words, but none of them are the right ones to explain this beautiful country.
It’s overwhelming at first. Everyone is shouting at you “you’re welcome in Morocco” and ushering you to their shop to drink their tea and see their carpets. Donkeys, motorcycles, children, snakes and monkeys are coming at you from all angles and the strongest urge you have is to close your eyes from sensory overload. But it doesn’t help, the sweet smell of fresh orange juice, the smoky fires from tajines, the stench of the butchers alley in the summer heat, the lure of the spice markets, and human sweat all mingle together, constantly in your nose, soaking themselves into your pores.
The heat, a sweltering 122 Fahrenheit, during the holy month of Ramadan is so unbelievably difficult that by the 9th day I have cracked lips and fever blisters on my body.

The people are as strong and sweet as the hot mint tea they are pleased to pour for you. The food is flavorful and fresh, and always served with love. The best part about Moroccan food? You get to eat with your hands.

Look at the gorgeous tilework of the hamam, and hear the songs of women inside singing while scrubbing and massaging each other, until your eyes begin to burn with the sweat of your own brow and your backpack has melted itself onto your skin.

Only able to think about water. I want water. Now. Water is sold, but it is Ramadan and it’s impossibly rude to drink cold water in front of thousands of thirsty, fasting, incredibly hot people. So I keep walking – looking for a sign of the riad I am supposed to be staying in. Swat away the flies around your feet only to learn its sweat from your legs dripping down your ankles.

Ah, the smell of the berber crepe, look at the hands of the woman stained red from flattening out crepes all day and night, dripping the red oil from her palms onto the dough, and working it into a flat bread of perfection. Just 3 dirham could buy one, but it’s Ramadan, so you keep walking.

Finally to find the Riad, paying a fair price ensures you will not have a fan, but at least you will have somewhere to sleep. Besides, it’s too hot to sleep until 3 or 4am anyways. Take an ice cold shower, scrubbing every inch of your body and hoping to feel clean for the rest of the day. By the time your clothes are back on, you are sweaty again anyways.

If this sounds exhausting to every faculty you have, you have understood- however, it is also amazing and exhilarating. The genuinely warm welcome I have received from strangers, inviting me to their house for breakfast, to their parents house for tea, people who take me by the hand to lead me when I am lost and spray my face with water during the day when I am hot. Morocco is gorgeous, inside and out, and I cannot wait to return to this magical place.

World Travel As An American*

The State that REALLY matters

I have a Canadian flag on my backpack, I won’t lie. I also have a Greek, Mexican, UK, and California seal on my backpack (thanks Laurie, I couldn’t have sewn those myself!). I don’t pose as a Canadian, but I have definitely been tempted to in the previous years of travel. When people guess where I am from, after incorrectly guessing English due to my extreme pale color, I respond with “I’m from California!!”.

I used to be greeted with “ohhh American… Bush” and a kind of stern face.  It made for a few tense moments when I explained that just because I am of the country does not mean I support the actions of our government, and that I am traveling to see the world for myself- typically people warm to that response and do their best to show me JUST how great their country is.
Now, when people ask where I am from (yup, England and Ireland are still the top guesses) and find that I am from USA, they say “OBAMA!” and usually high five me or play “Barack Obama” songs from their phones for me to listen to. I am continually surprised at how many versions of songs about Barack there are in the world, and how many people support the USA as having this leader.
Whether you’re democratic, republican, liberal, green party, purple party (is there a purple party?) or plain old don’t care- what have been your experiences abroad when greeted as a person from the USA? I’m curious to know how many “Barack Obama” songs you have heard- or maybe you’ve had negative reactions? Let me know below!
* I use the term American to describe solely residents of USA here, and completely respect that “American” can be anyone from North or South America.

9 things I Love about Portugal

Getting ready to leave Portugal for the beautiful Morocco… I feel compelled to write about how much I’ve enjoyed this gorgeous and hot country, but the internet is a fleeting commodity here- therefore, enter my favorite way of blogging, the list.

1) Polite Drivers. Holy crap. I step out onto the street and the cars actually stop, some people wave and say “Bon Dia”… I’m used to dodging cars and running for my life, even if the light is in my favor. This is a refreshing change.

2) Cheap, Strong Coffee. MMMM. A cup of coffee will cost you 55 cents and is strong enough to last you through the day. But at that price, it’s hard to resist having 3 or 4

3) Gorgeous Men. I’m not alone in my admiration of the handsome men of Portugal (Natalie- I know you feel me ) Muscular bodies acquired solely through hard work, and a beautiful tan from the VERY strong sun of Portugal. If you have nothing to do for a day in Portugal just sit back with a beer and admire the scenery!

4) Cheap Beer. A bottle of Super Bock should set you back only 1 euro in a bar (unless you’re going to touristic places, then they’ll take as much money as you’re willing to shell out) and from the supermarket a 33ml runs for 40 cents at the infamous Pingo Doce.

5) The Wine. Oh yeah, you knew this was coming. Delicious Vinho Verde (Again, from the beloved Pingo Doce) will run you from 1 to 3 euros for a full 750mls of tongue pleasing juices. Also, they sell plastic cups that are perfect for enjoying your newly acquired beverages for a very reasonable price, to make you feel THAT much classier. Port wine should run you about 3-7 euros and is obviously going to be great, you’re in Portugal!

6) Palace Lisbon Hostel. Arriving their first night of business, and staying for only 1 euro due to an excellent promotion via HostelWorld (buy the Gold Membership if you plan on staying in hostels, cause the booking fee is total BS) I found the hostel with only 16 beds at the time, but over 20 people waiting to stay. I arrived back 6 weeks later to find the most pimped out hostel you could imagine. Amazing couches, incredibly fast wifi (they even have computers for those backpackers who are still purists!), a huge breakfast spread in the morning with proper coffee, a terrace with views that rival the miradours of the city, great music, brand spanking new beds with super soft linens, and staff so helpful they are like a mini tourist agency! After the walk up the hill to the hostel, you’re quite thirsty, which is perfect, cause they offer a free welcome drink, too! Needless to stay, if you’re coming to Lisbon (and can’t find a couch host via Couchsurfing)- stay with the Palace! Book and tell them Brandy sent you- I won’t get any commission and you won’t receive any special treatment, BUT it will make me feel better

7) The Metro System. It’s such a high security system, the standard hop on sans ticket will NOT work here, so don’t even bother trying- BUT it’s incredibly well laid out and marked.  The tickets only run about 80 centums each way if you’re staying on the same line. Don’t be discouraged by the machines if you don’t speak Portuguese, just watch the person in front of you buy their ticket, and do exactly what they did! If you can’t figure it out, ask the person behind you for help. You will find they are more than wiling to help you buy your ticket so they dont have to stand in line for an hour waiting behing a line of tourists who cant figure out the machines.

8) Eco Friendliness. The stores are now charging for plastic bags in most areas, and while the fee is modest (2 cents) it is a great encouragement to everyone to bring in or buy reuseable shopping bags. The metro, train, and boat tickets are all rechargeable and offer an incentive for recharging your card versus issuing a brand new one for each voyage. Recycling containers are VERY easy to find and are color coded (with pictures, for non Portuguese speakers) so there is no excuse to combine trash and recyclables!

9) Extremely Polite & Helpful People. When you come to Portugal (because let’s face it, you want to come now) you should learn at least a few pleasantries in the native tongue so you are able to reciprocate the niceties that EVERYONE will greet you with. Passing people on the sidewalk in Lisbon you will typically be greeted with a “Bon Tarde” as you pass. Be a good traveler and learn how to respond! For easy (and free) language tutorials in tons of languages check out www.byki.com and download whatever language you need. Never underestimate the importance of learning even a few phrases, it opens more doors than you can imagine!

Been to Portugal? What did YOU love the most? Leave a comment!
Not been to Portugal yet? Stop dillydallying and buy a ticket, you won’t regret any time spent in this country full of culture and happiness.

the beginning of the end.

oh lord. 79 days till my vacation turned Round the World Trip… I am fine with this, no, I am excited for this, and yet I find myself biting back tears at every second of my day. Leaving what I know, what I am good at, and the people I love, for something new, exciting and unlimited is terrifying. However, I have to ask myself which is more terrifying: living in comfort and being a stagnant, unachieved human being, or throwing rationality and sanity out the window and chasing your dreams? we really only live once, and for me, one life of wondering “what could have been?” is no life at all.  To that end, I have created this home, live vicuriously, for my friends, family, Paesanos (I wont forget you, either), and stalkers to catch up on my life. I chose the name, Vicuriously (and yes, I am well aware it’s not a word) to remind myself, that instead of having to live vicariously, I can live curiously, and to enable you- my friend- to live life like you never got the chance, or never took the risk.

This blog was created out of love. My love for you, my love for travel, for wine, for people, my love for me- so I will always have it.

“Do you want me to tell you something? Love is everything it’s cracked up to be. That’s why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, for being brave for, risking everything for. The trouble is, if you don’t risk anything, you risk even more.” – Erica Jong

Prepare for Takeoff

My Love

1 hour before the cabin door closes, flight attendants prepare for takeoff and I prepare for a takeoff of my very own.  Because I promised to be honest on this blog, and because there are so many people who are about to embark on their own RTW trip, I feel I must tell you yesterday was the second worst day of my life. Yup.

On the cusp of reaching my major life goal- a dream I have held for as long as I can recall- one would think I would be ecstatic. It was so close I could taste it!  No car, no home, nothing to hold me back- I am free. I can go anywhere I want. I can be anything I want. I can live anywhere I want. Of course, all I wanted yesterday was to curl up in my own bed, in my own home in my town and sleep. I missed people so badly I couldn’t breathe. I wanted home. I wanted Central Coast wine (read: Donati). I wanted everything to be safe and normal. I cried so hard I made myself sick, I kept asking myself “what did you do?!?” I was panicked- crippled by fear and the desire to be comfortable. I’m proud to say that a bottle of Cabernet Franc and a dark room did the trick, and I was actually able to sleep for 5 WHOLE hours last night.

I am thrilled to report that today is the exact opposite. (hello, emotional roller coaster- xanax anyone?) I am at the airport. I am calm. I am confident. I am SO Ready to be home- Greece. I can’t wait to breathe the air- lock my eyes on the Acropolis- start speaking Greek- I just can’t wait to start!

Next stop after Athens? Can’t be certain. I’m thinking Olympia, Meteora, Delphi, or some island- only time will tell. Love to you all- some more than others Let the games begin!

Athens, S’Agapo

Good Morning, Athens

Athens- Day One. I wake up at 4:50am Athens time, and fear that I have become a victim of Jet Lag… this is unacceptable, so I did a little sleep yoga and passed out till 9am- that’s more like the Greeks! I cannot wait for my feet to hit the ground running outside. Alas, the Metro is on strike today, so by foot it is. I set out with the goal of getting lost so I walked about 4 miles in various directions, usually dictated by where the best looking clouds were. Yes, I chased clouds- I can do whatever I want!

Sun is Shining, the Weather is Sweet

After stumbling through some of my favorite ruins, Hadrian’s Library and Kerameikos I landed in the Plaka area, which is this quaint few blocks within the city, that feel nothing like a city. Groups of people sitting outside their island style homes, cats & dogs meandering the streets, and friendly Greeks shouting at one another from their windows. Time to stop for a while. Sticking to my budget I decided I could afford a Greek coffee. Lucky for me, Greek men are always there to guide you to *their* restaurant, which is always touted as “ze very baist of ALL ze restaurant…come, you sit.. come now”.

Who am I to say no to that?! I sat down below the Acropolis with my new best friends, Takis & Lakis who made me a “medium sweet” Greek coffee and regaled me with tales of their manliness & travel spoils.Yes, Takis & Lakis, rhyming names for best man friends.

Takis is a professional Greek dancer (be still my heart) and Lakis is the owner of the restaurant Zorba’s (of course) in the Plaka area. Somehow during the course of the conversation and crude jokes Lakis snuck behind me and began giving me a neck massage. “ohh you wear ze backpack you needs ze massage” I was about to protest when I realized this was likely going to land me a free coffee… massage away, Lakis! I spent a few hours outside, soaking up some sun, drinking the glorious coffee and laughing hysterically at the men.

I was invited back tonight where they will be putting on a dance performance for 400 people where I will take photo & video for their new website… wish me luck.. and maybe a massage…

Break it down- Miles walked: 9 Euro Spent: 14.80 Characters Met: 3

The trouble with Greece…

Oranges in Kifissia

is that it’s absolutely as amazing as you imagine it. Admittedly, I love this country and have since before I initially set foot in it. After my first trip in 2006 I thought back on this country as a magical place where the sky was unlike any other place in the world. The food, the people, the drinks, the language- I loved it all, and always thought back to it fondly. This time, before I arrived in Greece I started to panic. What if I had built this country up so much in my mind that nothing could actually be as amazing as I imagined? Did I hallucinate that the clouds seem 4D? Was Greek Salad *actually* that much different thank something I could get back home in the states? Friends, I am thrilled beyond words (and yet here I am spewing them) to report that Greece is still as breathtaking to me today as it ever was in both my reality and my memories.

Today I had no real plans, so I hopped on the Metro (no strike today!) to the end of the line, Kifissia- which can best be described as the Carmel of Athens. High end shops & eateries, fashion forward females, and Sephora! Much to my surprise (and almost dismay) I found myself inside of Sephora (that wasn’t the surprising part, people) and didn’t want to buy a thing. Not that I couldn’t afford it, I didn’t *want* it. I didn’t even want to try on any of the testers… so I walked out, confused and shocked at myself. Thanks to my ADD, I forgot all about Sephora when I stumbled upon a gorgeous park lined with orange trees.

After absorbing a few hours of Kifissia, I hopped back on the Metro to Syntagma Square, home of the Parliament building,

Changing of the Guards at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and the procedure we all love to watch- the changing of the guards.

These men are statues! They never smile, turn their heads, or move until they are supposed to. Perfect control over their mind & body, and complete dedication to their jobs… ooops, I’m in love! I am so lucky as to have found myself conversing with a (completely gorgeous) man who was formerly a National himself and got to talk to him about the job. It was great having someone to converse with, while watching the ceremony of the changing of the guards.

I’m exhausted friends, and off to rejuvenate my sense of humor, wonderment, and excitement. I look forward to your comments in the morning!

“put your head on a stick” and other Greek advice.

Taverna Akropol

I woke up late today, in a panic- I don’t know why I was so distraught, I didn’t have anywhere to be or anything to do… then I looked out the window and it was raining. Well, hell! After chastising myself for being such a negative nancy about the rain (yeah, I said negative nancy- what of it?) I strapped on my waterproof Merrel’s and hit the road.

I thought Metro hopping sounded like fun- you never know what you will find…Because I wasn’t in a hurry, I looked around the Metro station and realized I was in a veritable museum. Each Metro Station has artifacts unique to their area, dating back to the 2nd century! I snapped some photos for you guys, and jammed onto the next Metro station. After hitting about 5 places, I decided to head toward Plaka and duck out of the rain for a Greek coffee.

In the Plaka area there are many restaurants, and to improve the odds your restaurant will get the customer, there is always a staff member (usually the owner) sitting outside, smoking, drinking, laughing with friends and clacking worry beads. As soon as a potential customer comes near, it starts. “come, come, lady please, come sit here! you are American? you are Canadian? this is the BEST restaurant, here, look at the ze menu”. You can only take this so many times (while being polite) before you break down.  Though it was pouring down rain, I was being picky. I wanted the perfect place, and I would walk until I found it. Then it happened.

I heard the place before I even saw it. The music, the familiar bouzouki, the female singer, the clap of hands. My heart literally started pounding with excitement- traditional Greek music means traditional Greek dancing! I turned the corner to find exactly where I wanted to be: Taverna Akropol. I thought  I would give the door man the satisfaction of feeling like he roped me into the restaurant, so I pretended to refuse and then agreed to stay for a drink, but only if I could sit outside. He looked at me like I was crazy (okay, I am) but put a cloth on the table and got me a glass of red wine and a plate of bread with oil. I fully intended to splurge and get a Greek Salad, but after savoring the oil, the thought of having anything else seemed unnecessary.

I sat there in the rain, under a canopy of trees- the music pouring out the doors and windows, wine in my glass and oil on my lips with a stupid smile across my face. In fact, it’s still there. I cannot help that it is the small things in life that make my heart sing. Christos (of course) the doorman, came over to my table to talk to me, and brought me two roses and told me never to forget this place. Little

Red Wine, Red Roses

did he know… I invited him and the owner, Yiannis, to sit with me and we had fantastic conversations about everything and nothing. My favorite part was that he would introduce me to all the Greek men as “Brandy, like Metaxa, she is from America BUT she speaks Greek!” as a warning to them to not say anything I could understand.

After spending several hours at the restaurant, the lunch crowd left and it was just the staff of the place between rush hours. Taverna Akropol has been there for 70 years, and the same staff has worked there for the last ten years, they are more family to each other than their own families, and it was truly heartwarming to watch their interactions. With the doors closed and no customers they get to let loose, dancing among themselves, cursing at the TV, calling each other malakas, and finally getting to have a meal of their own. I felt so privileged to be able to hang out “behind the scenes” with them, and could have stayed all night if I wasn’t staying in the ghetto.

“you are staying in OMONIA?! with the gypsies?! no, no, you should not do that, it is very international there” which is the Greek way of saying something is shady. So the men walked me to the bus station and paid the driver to take me to Omonia “make fast! before dark” they yelled to the driver while telling me how to “keep my head on a stick” which I took to mean, look around me…

Needless to say, I made it home safe, sound, and touched (not even literally today) by the genuine hospitality, concern and love of the Greek people. How am I supposed to make it around the world when I have found the place that fills my soul?

Wordless Wednesday – Sparta, Greece

Ancient Sparta, Greece

TRAPPED! In my Hostel!

I arrived to my favorite place in the whole world (so far) Olympia, Greece two days ago. Since the town population is 1500 people, there were no CouchSurfers in this area. This leaves me no choice but to stay at “Youth Hostel Olympia”. FML. The owner of the building is approximately 96 years old and definitely is losing most of his senses. He welcomed me to the hostel, let me know the room was 10 euro for the night, but 12 if I wanted blankets. He also informed me that curfew was 10pm, since I was dead tired and it was 945, it was no big deal.

Day Two. I am woken by the owner of the hostel telling me there is no balcony to the room, that it has disappeared. I politely informed him that I was on the balcony last night, and hung my clothes on the line so I am pretty sure it’s okay. He says “no balcony- you don’t have balcony anymore” Then he comes back to the room 4 minutes later and says “IT’S THE ONE OF APRIL!!!!” Ahhh. April Fools- you don’t have a balcony… ha… ha… ha…. I’m not sure if I like this guy…

After spending the day admiring the fantastic ruins of the “city” and strolling the main drag- which is really all there is to do here, I went back to the hostel to find that I was no longer its sole guest. Vivian from Melbourne, Australia was victim #2. She arrived and I showed her the town, the travel agency, and the jewelers who will be trying to get in her pants for the length of her visit. We had dinner at 830, and by the time it was over- realized it was our “curfew” for the hostel.

Due to the liter of wine I had ingested with dinner, I decided the best option was to go to our rooms in a timely manner, put the ladder over the balcony, jump to the roof and get out of our prison. This was a great plan- until I realized the ladder was not tall enough to reach the ground floor, as we are on the 2^nd story. Next plan, put the ladder on top of the other ladder. Don’t think I’d live through that. Next plan? Jump from our balcony to the roof of the neighboring shop and scale down their wall… seems feasible, if not idiotic. However upon closer inspection, I saw the footprints (and consequential broken roof tiles) of the would be escapees before me. Obviously, this was not the right way out. Plan D- Start a fire, then ask where the fire escape is- no, too severe. Aha! A paper airplane to the overly friendly jeweler across the street to ask him to help us down… FAIL. Use my sheet that cost 2 euro to make a rope down to the ladder? Nope, didn’t reach. After several hours of being trapped on the miserable balcony listening to the town, which just seems to wake up around 1130pm- I admitted defeat, cursed the hostel director, and sunk into a sleep where I dreamt of a hot air balloon escape.

Day Three. I am pleased to report that shortly before writing this, I located a two story ladder and have it neatly hidden two balconies over from mine- muhahaha. I just have to hope that in the next 6 hours of daylight I am not discovered and therefore ruined again! Wish me luck, and a safe landing to the ground floor.

My Big Fat Greek Easter

Church at Midnight

12:01am- Easter Sunday, Olympia, Greece If Jesus was not already supposed to have been risen, he surely would have been awakened by the display the Greeks put on for him at Easter time. Easter in Greece is THE holiday. The entire town is present and circled around the only church. The streets are filled with the flickering flames in the hands of every man, woman, and child. The sky is lit up in a colorful display of pyrotechnics. Everyone is here, everyone has their candle, and everyone is eagerly awaiting the hours to come. The previous two hours of fireworks is capped off by the Grand Finale of fireworks, the incessant ringing of bells, and the enchanting chants from the priest which are piped over loudspeakers that reach the very outskirts of town. The people in the streets are singing and every light in town is turned off- the only light apart from the candle flames  is the light emanating from within the church. You forget that your body is numb from the cold, and every sense you have is mezmerised by the production in front of you… then, 3 hours later, as suddenly as it began, the service is over and everyone disperses to their family homes.

Now comes the part everyone is REALLY waiting for- dinner. For two weeks before Easter there is no meat or animal (that has blood) byproduct eaten. No milk, no cheese, no butter, no meat, no LAMB, no eggs. This is hard, especially for the Greeks! At 1am Sunday morning, it is time to rejoice in their carnivorous delights once again. The table is set with tzatsiki, cheese, horiatiki, wine, bread, olives- and that’s just the place setting! Then comes the first course: a “Butcher Stew” of sorts- Magiritsa. Swampy green with stringy leafy vegetables  is the chosen soup of the meal. Liver, bones, neck, and intestines of the lamb are the REAL stars of the show, however.

Mind you, I informed my hostess earlier in the day that I was a vegetarian, but she assured my there was no “meat” in this dish.

Magaritsa, Traditional Greek Easter Soup

Sitting with a Greek family in their home on their most sacred and revered holiday of the year is a pleasure few foreigners are able to partake in- so Brandy the vegetarian became Brandy the willing carnivore. Now, I wont lie- there was no way I was sucking the marrow from the bones that were in the soup, but some definitely plopped into my bowl as I passed the bones off to the VERY grateful octogenarian aunt to my right. Oh well- more *flavor*.

I wish I had taken my own photo of this soup for you, but the Greek spirit is one where you are enjoying yourself in the moment, not worrying about anything else. I gladly put aside every other thought and simply enjoyed every meat filled minute of the evening- until I realized this Hellenic Cinderella had forgotten to stage my own entrance to the hostel, and it was well past my 10pm curfew! I excused myself between course 1 and 2 to run to the Hostel and do this. Bah! I was actually locked out- even from my own room- Malakas!  Oh well, I have more important things to worry about, like course two- lamb!

Lamb & Potatoes are course 2 in this traditional fast breaking meal. Next, come eggs! All the eggs are dyed red to symbolize the blood of risen Christ, and the family cracks each others eggs in a circle wishing “Hronia Pola” (literally many good years to you). Now that the egg is cracked, we must eat this too! You easily eat one kilo in this 3 hour meal. Now that your body is aching from all the food it is time to drink more wine and chat. Chatting in Greek families more sounds like a battle of epic proportions- and sometimes you’re sure it’s going to come to blows, when in reality they are just catching up…

Now it’s time for dessert! Baklava, Koulourakia, “Milk Bites”, Halvas… BAH! After a few of these I could no longer be polite- I was in physical pain from so much food. After a month of eating one meal a day, this meal dropped a bomb on me. I had to refuse the next round of desserts and cheeses that came out, for fear my eyeballs would literally fall out of my skull due to lack of room.  Finishing at 3:30 am, everyone kissed goodnight and rushed to their respective villages & hotels. Since I was totally locked out of my hostel, Panagos gave me a room he had open due to a last minute cancellation. Wow. What more could he offer me? I am in amazement of the level of hospitality I am receiving.

After 4 hours of sleep everyone is up and it’s time for breakfast. Ack- more food! “Mono Cafe” (only coffee) is not an acceptable breakfast request. You must have yogurt & honey, koulouraki, eggs, cheese, cake, orange juice, AND cornflakes with milk. Please, no.  I am swimming in food & hospitality. Thrilled. Even more than my stomach or coffee cup my heart is full and warm. People I have known a total of two weeks are as kind and welcoming as friends of decades.

“and this old world, is a new world for me… and I’m feelin’ good”

Whateva- I do what I WANT!

MINE! ALL MINE!

After 5 horrendous nights spent at Youth Hotel Olympia, (seriously people, if you’re coming to Anicent Olympia, Greece- do yourself a favor and stay in a hotel. It’s only about 10 euro more and you will have hot water, no curfew, clean sheets, a room to yourself, and no creepy hostel owners constantly coming in your room for no reason. I’m all for low budget travel, and have made some serious compromises in “standards” to save a few euro, but this was NOT worth it- okay, end rant. Moving on!) I decided I was still not done with this town. I love the people, the atmosphere, and the surrounding towns are also incredibly charming. The great thing about my itinerary is that it’s only a vague idea in the back of my mind, and with (quite literally) all the time in the world I am able to grant myself the gift of doing what I want, when I want. I want to stay in Olympia longer!

Thanks to Panagos and his awesome mother (whom I think I want to adopt) I found a flat for a month for 300 euro. I have my OWN bathroom, my own fridge, my own dining room (okay, I have a table and chairs in my living room but it’s exciting!) a balcony, HOT WATER 24 hours a day, and no freaking curfew. Last night was my first night in my new place and when I woke up this morning I laid in bed for about 15 minutes laughing out loud at the fact I just woke up in my own house- in Greece. Now, let me back up and tell you about renting a place in Greece.

After trying on my own for a few days to find a place, and realizing I was not the woman for the job, I turned it over to Maria- Panagos’ Mom. She was at church and asked around if anyone had a room to rent for a “nice American girl”. (ugh- isn’t that false advertising?) The woman comes over to the hotel- looks at me, says “300 Euro a month, come on Monday”, and takes her leave. On Monday I walk to the house with my everything I own in tow. After opening the door she gives me the keys, shows me how to plug in the fridge, adjust the heating and A/C (yeah…. A/C!!) and shows me the bathroom and closet. Then she wishes me “Hronia Pola” and shuts the door behind her. I didn’t even pay her yet! She doesn’t even know my name! She didn’t do a background check! Nope, just- here are the keys, here’s the place- see you later. I don’t even know where she lives! This is the Greek way. They assume you will do something because you say you will- because that’s how they operate. What a tremendous breath of fresh air.

In fact, as I write this I am sitting on my balcony staring into the forested mountains of Flokas. The air is scented with the

~ My Balcony ~

blossoms of all the orange trees in town, the budding jasmine and of course, a slight tinge of cigarette smoke. (duh, its Greece) The sun is coming through the cypress and pines to find its way onto my face and shoulders, kissing me as lightly as a lover. My breath comes easier and I cannot erase the smile that is plastered onto my face. I’m home… for now.

Giving up my V card

Balls of Meat- Great.

No, not that V Card (im saving that one for marriage…haha) my Vegetarian card. That’s right- I’m giving up the title. At the age of only 5 years old (almost 20 years now, sheesh) I made the decision I wasn’t eating meat. Yup- I’m stubborn. Since then I have avoided animal flesh studiously. Living in California, this was rarely ever a problem when I decided to go out to restaurants. At home, I cooked vegetarian food substituting lentils, tofu, tahini, and many other products to supply myself with much needed protein & iron. Living life as a vegetarian was easy, and accepted.
You try explaining to a Greek mother that you ‘ eat meat. “Why not?!” – Oh, I just don’t like it. “What do you eat?!” – Vegetables, Fruits, Cheese, Bread… even eggs “Oh my god (makes the sign of the cross over herself) sit, sit”. She comes out about 20 minutes later bearing a plate of meatballs and potatoes. “Now, you eat meat”, and she walks away.
Really?! A PLATE of meatballs?! I sat there and absolutely stared down the plate, wishing my mental powers were strong enough to make it vanish. I looked around for a potted plant where I could hide the food temporarily. I thought about casually walking to the restroom with the plate in hand. Hmm. No pets around either. Well, now I’m screwed. To make it worse, she comes from the kitchen with a glass of water and sits across from me. “Now, you eat meat” she repeats, and waits expectantly.
A MEATBALL? A BALL OF MEAT? Into my mouth? This can’t be happening. …Now, I eat meat…. One, two, three meatballs went down without incident. Thank God for my willpower. Now some potatoes… When will she leave the table? I finished the entire plate and pounded my water, imagining it was something stronger. She was delighted, and showed this by kissing my face many times and saying what a good girl I was. Bah!
Well, that was awful. The worst part was, the taste of the food wasn’t even bad, it just freaks me out. I decided to take a walk to clear my head. While walking I thought about eating grass- I’ve seen cats do it to make themselves throw up- why not me? Luckily I have ADHD and was distracted by something shiny. Oooh a truck! Why is it going so slowly? Imagine my delight when I see a truckbed full of teeny tiny baby lambs! “oooooh babies!!!!” I exclaimed, and all in the same moment, it hit me.
I lookd at them sheepishly and put my eyes back on the road… poor baby lambs, off to become dinner for someone- maybe even me.
After walking for a few hours, I came to terms with the fact I had just consumed random balls of mystery meat, I wasnt dying, there was no awful side effects (that weren’t in my head), and really, the flavor wasn’t half bad. “Now, I eat meat” I repeated to myself for a while. Before writing this, I had dinner again with the family (you really cannot refuse a Greek mother). Main course: Moussaka (cue everyone in the world saying “eewww moose caca”). Yup, ground meat lasagna (to put it simply). I sat down to my plate, smiled at mom, and said “kali oreksi”. Now, I eat meat.

Call me Crazy…

My excursion for the day today took me to Flokas- a small village town about 3 kilometers outside of my town. Flokas is home to the Ancient Olympian theater, one taverna and a campground- that’s it. The walk to Flokas is completely uphill (thank you, calf muscles) and absolutely gorgeous. Remembering I forgot to apply sunscreen and it was about 1:30 in the afternoon I began jogging to escape the dreaded sunburn I knew was coming to me.
Being out in the middle of nowhere, your senses really come alive. You hear everything better, things look clearer, you feel the air against your skin- in every pore, and your lungs greedily absorb all the oxygen they can hold. After a few minutes in my own trance, I realized I heard something strange and slowed down to look around. Aha!

Where you Goin? Nowhere!

Scooting his way, very very slowly uphill, was a turtle, or maybe it’s a tortoise I forget which live on land. At any rate, I was as delighted as Elmyra from Looney Tunes. I tried to offer him some branches for lunch, scout around to see if there was a turtle family, even made a little water fountain for him (just in case he was thirsty). Well, turtles are quite rude, and he went inside his house and wasn’t having any of it. Fine- I’m going paparazzi on you. Admire my photo of my new pet. I call him my new pet because he’s on the path going uphill and it’s about 2 more kilometers before he can get downhill needless to say, he will be there for my enjoyment tomorrow.
Moving on towards Flokas. Aha- I see the sign for the theater, and as I am walking up the hill I realize it’s very quiet… too quiet. I get excited – I start running. I reach the top of the theater and, sweet baby jesus… I AM ALONE! If there is anything I love more than ancient ruins, it’s not having to share them with ANYONE. (okay Karlie, you can come.) Alone- all alone in an ancient theater! I was literally skipping with joy.
Now, it’s no secret I am an egomaniac, conceited, self absorbed, totally in love with myself, or some sick combination of all of the

Mine- ALL Mine!

above. That being the case, the first thing I proceed to do is find the place on the ground with the best acoustics. About 2 meters from the front row- your voice echos 5 times. What’s more exciting to me than hearing my own voice? Hearing my own voice FIVE TIMES!
I slowly used my imagination to fill every spot in the theater with people I know, faces I remember- even if only in passing. Now, with a full audience I proceeded to give a speech. It’s of no use to you what the speech was about, but it lasted for about 15 minutes before I politely excused myself from my imaginary audience as I was starting to get a sunburn. I jogged back to my house to think about my “speech”, my “audience” and just how exciting it will be the next time I am able to reconvene and carry on my lecture… Maybe the next time I do, you’ll be privy to the details of my speech, maybe I’ll even record it, or maybe I’ll never go back to the theater again- whatever, I do what I want!

How to almost die in Greece- 5 simple steps!!

Where's Taylor when you need him?

As I do with everything of a very serious nature, I am having to turn this into a hilarious post to avoid the reality that yeah- I could have very easily been dead yesterday. So, in case you’re having a bad week, a bad hair day, or you’re just bored with life- here’s how to efficiently end your days on this earth- Greek Style!

1. Think you are strong like bull and can do man’s work.
2. Volunteer to help a friend clear their olive grove
3. Make big brush piles & add petrol
4. crumple newspaper at the bottom and light it on fire
5. Nude sun bathe down the hill while waiting for the fires to “finish burning”

Now, reading that list makes me sound like a total idiot (which I very well may be), but I assure you these events came about in a manner that seemed totally legit. Let’s go back, Tarantino style.

When a friend in Greece is undertaking a project, if you are not otherwise occupied, that means you are undertaking the project- that’s how friends work. My friend, Nicos was going to clear his olive grove the last few days, so of course I volunteered to come along. The first few days weren’t bad, cutting branches and burning them in small piles. Then came the bigger pieces. Literally, I can now throw a small olive tree (about 6 feet tall) about 4 yards and land it in a burning pile- with no problem. I was pretty excited about this new development, but we realized if we hoped to get the job done in only one more day, we would need an extra hand.

Nicos got a friend, Christos to help us out, and we set off at 9am the next morning for the grove. By 10am we had 5 piles burning and were making good time- great! We continued at a breakneck pace until 2pm, when Nicos had to leave to get more petrol. We decided we would break under the trees while he was gone and just wait for the few piles to finish dying out. I left Christos at the top to watch the fires and I went down the hill.

I have this thing about the sun in Greece, if it’s at all humanly possible I want to be absorbing it with every inch of my body. So I hid myself behind a tree and decided I was gonna sunbathe in the nude for a few minutes. By the time I had my top off, a really nice wind came and made me wonder if I wouldn’t be too cold.  I realized the wind was REALLY cold, then I heard the noise that every person who has lived in California their whole life knows- the sound of a tree burning.

I grabbed my top and started running up the hill yelling to Christos. He got up from under the tree he was laying under and started running. I finally saw the fire, flames about 10 feet high taking its toll on the sweet olive tree. Then, another gust of wind. This one tree spread 6 small fires all around it- less than 10 seconds. These 6 small fires turned into 8 fires, which turned into 10 fires- all under 20 seconds.

I was 99% certain if I ran up the hill we could stamp out the fires and save the rest of the grove. The very thought of Greece, specifically my dear Olympia burning again was too terrifying. I ran up and started to stamp a few of the smaller ones- then came another gust of wind and the small fire that was under my feet shot a flame straight up and licked my chest. I looked down at the hole that was just burned in my shirt, and realized I was an idiot. My life is not worth a few olive trees.

I yelled up to Christos whose 6 small fires had become 1 rather large fire that it was time for us to go down the mountain and get help. He ignored me and kept stomping on the fires. I yelled at him one more time and he ignored me. As I started running, leaping, or bounding down the hill I vowed that if the fire didn’t kill him, I was going to! I reached the bottom of the gorge and started running up the next hill towards the freeway. I was literally doing the splits up the hill, climbing over trees, landing on rocks- running for my life,- running for Christos’ life. I took one look behind me and saw much more smoke and flames than I wanted to.

Excerpts of “Fire on the Mountain” (why did I have to read that?!?) were playing out in my head. The worst place to be is above the fire,and yet- this is where Christos was, chasing the fire, leaping into it and stamping on the flames with his Nikes. I was praying to everything I believed in, and things I didnt believe in, please stop the wind, just stop the wind. I looked back across the valley to other side of the moutain- Christos was now stamping on fires and using a branch to put out another fire at the same time. Oh, I’m going to kill him if he lives through this.

Being as the grove was on a freeway at the end of a tunnel, the cars had about 5 seconds to see me before they were into the next curving tunnel. As cars passed me going about 200 kph I realized no one was going to stop unless I forced them to. I took my shirt back off and started running into the road. As I did this, I hearing Christos yelling. “ola kala- ola kala!!!!” (all good) I looked, and sure enough all the small fires had been stamped out and only 3 mature trees were up in flames. Then he threw himself on the ground.

I put my shirt back on and started cussing up a storm. Then I looked at my shirt, saw the hole in the fabric, and all the passages from Fire on the Moutain were back in my head. I imagined Taylor fighting these flames, Backdraft, my charred home of California, the tongue of fires lapping up Latigo Canyon, the sound of the trees- I was throwing up before I even realized it.

When Nicos arrived I filled him in on the situation and told him he better run up there and thank that boy, because if it wasn’t for him, that whole grove would be in flames. I refused to go back and help finish the job- I sat on the side of the freeway while they finished burning two more large piles. I sat with my back to the grove and practiced meditating breaths. Two hours later, when they were finished Christos comes immediately up to me. “you are okay?” I forgot that I wanted to kill him. I smiled, pointed to the hole in my shirt, and said “ola kala”.
One wrong wind and this boy would have never seen his 30th birthday. If we had both fallen asleep under our trees, who knows what would have happened. All I know is, I’m alive, and though I am more bruised than a Law & Order SVU actress I still have air in my lungs- that’s all I need.

I’m getting hitched!

...or just some girl

Ha, made you look! Not hitched as in the ring on my finger, ball and chain around my ankle, misery in my eyes kind of hitched (did I say that?) but the kind where you’re just as likely to die a slow, miserable death… okay, all kidding aside- hitch hiking people! Also known as thumbing, tramping, hitching, autostop or thumbing up a ride, depending on where in this world you live.

Now, mothers of the world are gasping, covering their children’s eyes and crossing themselves. Don’t worry. Like spiders, snakes, and any other thing most people greet with terror- odds are, it’s more afraid of you than you are of it. How often do you pull over your nice vehicle to pick up someone thumbing it on the side of the road? Exactly.

Hitchhiking alone as a female the first time is a bit terrifying- I won’t lie. You stick out your thumb, or forefinger, and keep walking, hoping someone will honk or pull over. Then someone pulls over, great! I take a second to pretend I am adjusting my bag to size the person up and let my instincts do the work. If I get even the slightest uh-oh feeling, I decline the ride stating I just left something back at my hostel and turn the other way. Case in point: I’ve got my thumb out, a man pulls over and honks a bit, I jog up to the car and lean into the window to ask where he’s headed towards (not that it mattered) before even greeting me he just stares at the girls and says “ohhhhh yessss” then he responds with “i go everywhere you want”. Hmmm. Thanks but no thanks.

Fortunately this is the exception and not the rule. Most of the time people are going out of their way to do a kindness, and are usually curious about what brings you to their area. Now that I am posted in Olympia for 2 more weeks, hitching has become my daily activity. I walk to the road (yes, the road- because there’s only one) and wait for someone to pull over. Then, I go where they are going, explore the area, and hitch back to town. It’s a blast, I’ve met great people this way who make a huge effort to make sure I am enjoying their country, their towns, and even take me back to their house for a meal!

“If those who owe us nothing gave us nothing, how poor we would be.”  ~Antonio Porchia, 1943

Why Greece?

I Am Alive.

I am not Greek by birth, by blood, or by any remote relative.  I am naturally blond-haired, blue-eyed and with skin the color of fresh cream. I speak with a typical nasal California accent. I squint in the sun and I spent two decades without eating meat. I am not Greek by birth. However, I cannot mute the beating of my heart, the blood that pumps through my veins, and my mind that whispers to me the sweetest words in Greek. I love this country, that is no secret.

“Why Greece?” I often ask myself. There are 195 countries in this world- many of which I will not see in my lifetime. There are plenty of places I have been that have caught my interest, yet there is nothing and no one living who has captured my heart like this country. Why? I could say it is the natural beauty of the land, that cannot be debated, but my home in Central Coast California rivals the beauty of any place on this planet. I could say it’s the people, and truly- they are a large part of the puzzle- but there are beautiful people populating every corner of this earth. I could say it’s the language, the history, the narrow hilly roads, the plant life, the water, the coffee, the food, the backgammon – I could enumerate every small thing in this country that makes my heart beat, but the truth of the matter is that it’s the most intangible thing of all.

The spirit of Greece is what keeps me coming back. The feeling in the air every minute of every day. I set foot on the street and feel the earth giving me life. I place my hand on the ancient marble column and there is an invisible umbilical cord, feeding my soul. A deep breath- ten seconds of inhaling the fragrant air and I am new. I close my eyes and see more clearly the beauty of this country- truly, my home.

I want to bottle the air, to box this feeling up and mail it to you… but I know my Greece is not for everyone, nor do I wish for it to be. It is mine- it is what makes me come alive.

“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” – Howard Thurman

Trust your Insticts -or- This is Why I Carry a Switchblade

Smith & Wesson

I know that I am only 24 years old and many of my readers have decades of life experience on me. That having been said, I have lived my fair share of life, much younger than many people do, and much more than many will. Through experiences good and bad, I always come away with a lesson. The most important of these lessons is to always trust my instincts with people- I am rarely led astray.
Sitting at my local cafe drinking my afternoon coffee with the beautiful sun lighting my skin, I am approached by a well dressed, middle aged Greek man who asks to sit. This is nothing out of the ordinary, and I was in the mood for conversation so I said yes. He introduces himself and we begin a small conversation in Greek before he tells me that he would like to practice his English. We switch to English and because I am more comfortable in my native tongue, I am able to use the rest of my brain to do what it does best- observe.
Firstly, I notice he is constantly scanning the cafe area with darting eyes. This strikes me as odd, and I file it away for future reference. Ahhh, he must have a wife and not want to be seen. So I interrupt him and ask him if he is married. “No, no, I am single” he reassures me. As he continues rambling, he invites me to join him for a drink at the bar around the corner. Again, this strikes me as odd- we are at a perfectly good cafe, and the fact he is nervous here makes me suspicious. After a total of 4 to 5 minutes he excuses himself and says he must return to work. “Promise me we can have a drink tomorrow… 6 or 7 pm, okay? You must promise!” Normally I would tell this guy where to stick it, but the men of Greece are naturally friendlier and like I said, this is nothing out of the ordinary. “I promise nothing, but I am living here for now, I am sure you will see me again.” This pleases him and he is on his merry way.

The next afternoon I see him driving down the street on his moped wearing one helmet, and with another on the back. Oh that’s real cute- he thinks he’s gonna get me to ride on his crotch rocket? (Pun completely intended, sorry readers.) Sure enough, he drives up to me “ahhh come- we will go for a ride, slowly slowly, I will not go fast!” I immediately make up my mind about him and decide that I 1) do not want to ride this joke of a moped 2) do not trust this guy as far as I can throw him 3) would be altogether happier if he never talked to me again. However, in a town of 1500 people, it’s best not to make enemies within two weeks of living there. I politely refuse his offer and tell him I am otherwise occupied, but I would see him around.
The next 3 nights ensue in this same fashion, loser on moped or loser on foot, asking me for a drink, a coffee, a walk- just to hang out. I get the creeps from this guy but have no real reason to tell him to shove it. Instead I found myself taking side streets or running into shops and out the back of them to avoid this guy- I couldn’t stand the sight of him, much less the sight of him looking at me.
Today I was driving with my friend Nicos when “Moped Man” drove by us and beeped his horn. I did the courteous thing and gave him a head nod. Then Nicos said to me “you know this man?” I said “yes! this is the weird guy I told you I have been running from.” He looked at me with what can only be described as disappointment “Brandy, you must stay away from this man, he is from an outside village and I do not know him.” Later, over dinner, Nicos mentioned to his mother we have seen this “malakas” downtown, and asks her if he is an okay guy. She looked at Nicos- looked at me- crossed herself, and then tells me this man was released from prison not too long ago where he was serving time for raping a young girl.
I didn’t mean to, but I broke out into a smile. I silently thanked my instincts for guiding me correctly again, and double thanked myself for always packing my switchblade. After dinner I decided it was time to head home, after all, it was nearly 1am. I hit the main road and started towards my flat. Soon I heard the piss poor puttering of a scooter, great…
Sure enough, it’s him. Before he comes to a stop I have my knife out of my purse and in the sleeve of my hoodie. “Brandy- why you are going home so early? Let us take a ride on my bike- slowly slowly.” I know I could have just said “not tonight” and walked the 3 blocks home in complete safety, but every part of my body wanted nothing more than to lunge on this man and carve his face off. I settled for something in between.
“Turn your bike off so you can hear me” I said to him. This idiot, thinking I was going to negotiate the terms of our “slow ride” turned his bike off and stared at me like a little puppy. “I know who you are and what you have done. If you EVER approach me again I will dig this knife into your heart before you can blink.” (enter switchblade here) From puppy dog face to deer in the headlights- he gave me a look of acknowledgement, turned on the moped and sped away.
Tomorrow has not yet come, so I cannot say if this method was particularly effective, but it gave me a sense of empowerment, it gave him the knowledge that I would like nothing more than to stand over his corpse, and I think it gave us both an understanding.

Now readers, please do not regale me with statistics of weapons being used against those brandishing them or that forgiveness is deserved by all- or any other crap like that. I am well aware that my actions might be considered brash by some and downright foolish by others. Until you walk in my shoes- you will not have my feet.
Is the moral of this story to carry around a switchblade and confront convicted rapists in the middle of the night? No. Nor is it to always be watching your back at every second of the day and night for some would-be assassin. It is simply to trust your instincts -unless you have really bad instincts, then you should just stay home.

50 days abroad for $1056 USD – Part 1

It cant buy everything

When I tell people I have quit my job and decided to travel the world I am greeted with a few responses, the most common is “Where did you get all the money?!?”  It takes everything I have not to laugh in their face. Travel does not have to cost an arm and a leg- you can see the most beautiful places in the world for even less than I have, as I have a tendency to plurge sometimes – a liter of wine anyone? yes please! 40 euro on a hotel in Sparta? yup. (should have brought a sleeping bag- epic FAIL on my part). This first post is covering accommodations, and how to get around spending $100 a night on a hotel.

Accomodations: I know everyone has heard me preach about the wonders of Couchsurfing. Like every time I mention this organization I have to remind you- couchsurfing is not to be viewed simply as a place to crash- it is an “exchange” organization. Find a way to give back to your hosts- or do some hosting before you start couch hopping! That having been said, it is a perfect way to save money on the road, and most importantly to make lasting connections with fellow travelers. The money you save on hostels is nothing in comparison to the friendships you will gain through this site. If you’re even remotely interested, I encourage you to start a profile (add me as a friend- if I actually know you) and wait for someone to ask to be hosted by you – then, be brave- say yes, and open your home and your heart. You’ll never be the same.

Another route is HelpExchange.Net. Similar to WWOOFing in that most of the options are organic farms looking for workers. The premise behind HelpX is similar to CouchSurfing. Create a profile and browse by area for people who are looking for workers. Not a green thumb? That’s okay (I kill plants like it was my job) there are other options: hostels, B&Bs, teaching English- the list goes on. Unlike CS, this website costs money to belong to, and is just another way of filtering out people who are serious versus people who are wasting hosts time. I had two weeks of accommodation in gorgeous Monemvasia thanks to this fantastic site and will be spending harvest (Grapes, of course) in Italy working through this program- go me!

Hostels. I know, you know all about hostels from watching Hostel 1 & 2 and are pretty sure you are going to die if you set foot in one. Well, I’ve been in hostels on 3 continents so far and am still alive to talk about them. Hostels are a great (read: cheap) way to crash if you can’t find a couch. If you’re a shy traveler, you can work your way up to the dorm style rooms by scoring a private room for usually only double the cost. Great sites for finding hostels (yes, use more than one site to check!!) are HostelWorld, Hostels, HostelBookers, and TFTHostels. Yes, you will have to share a bathroom, you won’t have a hairdryer, you might have to pay for your own sheets or towels – but you won’t be spending more than $15(USD) to sleep for a night.

Friends. Friends of Friends- Acquaintances of a friend’s friend. Use social media to reach out- Twitter, Facebook, Emails. Let everyone know where you are, where you will be going and where you dream of going. Odds are someone will be able to get you in contact with a person who might have a place to crash, or at the very least, show you around their city. The more people you know- the better your odds of having the hookup! Be friendly, be genuine, be entertaining- homes & hearts will be open to you before you know it.

Street Sleeping. It’s not glamorous or comfortable, but it happens. You are sore in the morning, you look like a train wreck, you wonder why there are bootprints on your face and pray the pile of drool on your shirt is yours (seriously, how did the bootprint get on my face?). Pop 2 Excedrin PM and wake up in exactly 7 hours ready to see the city! If you are gonna tramp it up this way, please use some common sense. Bus or train stations, in front of churches, or near hospitals or other public places are usually the best option. It’s only one night of your life, and let’s be real- you’ve probably slept weirder places when you’re drunk… (or is that just me?)

In the end, the only real question is, what’s more important to you? Seeing more of this world than you once thought possible, or having a plush hotel to stay in?

My Third-Life Crisis

“Cyrus Jones 1810 to 1913. Made his great grandchildren believe You could live to a 103. A hundred and three is forever when you’re just a little kid- So, Cyrus Jones lived forever” – DMB

I don’t want to live forever, I want to live to be 75 years old (and not a day more, damnit) and here today, on my 25th birthday of existence I am living my life more than I have any other year of my life.

25 years sounds like a long time as I sit here today and wonder where it all went. The first third of my life seems a constant struggle to get somewhere. To get to be old enough to go to school, to get to be old enough to drive, to get through college, to get a job, to get a better job, to keep moving onward & upward. Sure enough I got all these things, I could go places, anywhere I wanted. The hard part was realizing none of these things were what I actually wanted.

Enter my “third-life-crisis”- much cooler than a midlife crisis because I don’t have gray hair, and still have the foolishness of youth to propel me headlong into whatever my heart desires. Sitting at Thanksgiving dinner with my dearest friends family, my friend away in Hawaii, I looked around and saw a beautiful, loving, family who wanted nothing more than to spend this day together. It warmed my heart to look at the faces in the room and see delight at the simple act of passing mashed potatoes around the table.

With that, I slipped away to the family computer, logged onto Orbitz and bought my ticket to Greece, knowing I was not coming back to California for a LONG time. I rejoined the dinner table feeling every bit as ecstatic as the family, but for my own reasons. With the click of a button and $732, I made the biggest change of my life in 3 years- I was leaving America and living for myself, come what may. I suppose this is the equivalent of the sports car purchase, and just as impulsive, however, a sports car can be parked in the garage or sold- my ticket was non-refundable and only 97 days away.

The next three months are a blur. Job resignation, terminated relationships, giving away every worldly possession that didn’t fit into my Kelty, selling my car, whirlwind trip to Hawaii, and finally getting into the car and heading to the airport. I won’t lie- it felt awful, rotten, painful, every bad emotion you could feel, I felt it. There were days I wondered what on earth was wrong with me, throwing away a perfectly good job that I loved (and in this recession?!) saying goodbye to people I love with every beat of my heart, leaving the land that I adore- the beautiful Central Coast of California. The day before I left was the second worst day of my life- hands down.

Reading all that would make any sane person ask “well WHY did you do it then?”. Friends, I am thrilled to report that every single day since then have been the best days of my life. As the airplane’s wheels lifted off the ground and America became a small speck in my peripheral vision, I focused myself ahead, into the next chapters of my life.  I miss things & people of “the old life”, but I am so content now, living in peace and finally living for myself, in harmony with myself.

Duhhhh Happy Birfday!

So today, 25 years from the first breath of life I took, I am inhaling deeply the air of my favorite place on earth- Olympia, Greece. In 10 days I will leave my darling Greece for a country I have yet to discover- Spain! There I will meet with friends on the beautiful Canary Islands to celebrate two people joining their lives in love before their families. I could not be more excited to be able to partake of such a unique experience and share the happiness these amazing people have brought into my life.

The next month I am off to explore Portugal and enjoy the coast and blazing sun. The end of the month will bring my ears the music of Matisyahu & Dub Inc at the two day Sumol Summer Festival in Lisbon. July & August are up in the air, I have nothing but possibilities open to me. You cannot imagine the immense pleasure I get at knowing these are the months of my life- my choices, my happiness, my dreams, are finally mine.

The Center of the World – Delphi, Greece

I’ve long thought I was the center of the world (or universe) and last week, I was actually correct! That is, of course, if you abide by the Greek mentality that long held Delphi to be the center of the world. This is the place where mankind was supposed to be the closest to God, to the heavens, and of course, to enlightenment. I can’t tell you if I was any closer to a higher power, except by the sheer fact that the ruins are at a good elevation, or if I was in the literal center of the world- but neither of those things mattered.

Temple of Zeus, Delphi Greece

The journey to Delphi from Olympia is rather simple. A quick bus to Pirgos, then the train direct to Thessaloniki, instead of going all the way to Thessaloniki, you are dropped on the freeway in Itea, 20 km away from Delphi. From there, it’s a 20 euro taxi or a hitch away. The journey back? Well, that will be it’s own blog entry.

As I made the walk from town toward the archeological site, I saw what I fear most in places like these. The dreaded tour bus- not just ONE bus, I saw 10 buses crammed full of people who have a Nikon hanging around their neck, 30 minutes to experience something that took thousands of years to build, and of course, screaming children. I blessed my Merrells (thanks for the rec, Kat!) and ran my way to the top so I could have a few minutes of peace.

Sitting at the top of the site, at the base of the theater I sat in silence (and awe) for ten entire minutes. Traveling to ancient sites such as Delphi, Olympia, Sardis, or any other place that is packed with history and natural beauty is an intense form of meditation for me. I am compelled to touch every column, every ancient seat, trace my fingers over the archaic lettering that I cannot understand. Every time I caress the face of a cold marble building, or stare into the eyes of a fragmented statue, I develop a true relationship with the place I am standing. I know this makes me sound crazy, but it’s true. I feel the energy from the tips of my toes to the crown of my head.

Oh, The Oracle

My eyes close and my head immediately is filled with the photos and clips of years past. Goats offered in worship, town meetings, the fresh market, local women gossiping around the fire of the kitchen… I see this, I hear it, mostly, I feel it. You will notice (you better, damnit) that there is very rarely a human being in the photos I take of places – unless they are the subject of the photo. That’s because this is how I see the land- empty of tourists (even me- you won’t catch my face ruining a photo of monuments), empty of technology, full of life and spirit of the ancient times.

I can’t shed light on any archeological finds that you don’t know about, or tell you stories of the oracle that you can’t find online- but I can tell you that being in Delphi, even when sharing it with hundreds of other people, is one of the most serene feelings you can get (without Ambien).

Drive By Molesting- would you like fries with THAT?

Put your hands where my eyes can see

Las Vegas is pretty cool- you can get married in a drive thru there. America is pretty cool too, you can go to the drive in and watch a movie without having to get out of your car… but WHERE can you get drive by molested, friends?
The Answer: The mountains of Greece. All you need is a car and a willingness to talk to strange old men. Check AND check!
The first time I came to Greece, in 2006, I rented a car with a friend. This gave us the flexibility to explore much more of the gorgeous countryside and small towns that were not inundated with tourism. After passing the last town about 2 hours ago, on a road I was pretty sure was someone’s really long driveway I approached a herd of goats. Of course, I stopped the car to let the goats pass, and to roll down the window to hear the metallic clanking of their bells against their neck as they made their way across the street, while stopping to eat everything in their path. Seriously, these things are amazing. Forget pigs, you ever need to get rid of a body… you get a goat!
After the last goat was across the road, I moved the car along slowly, sure I would run into more goats. After about 2 km I saw a man who was probably on vacation from playing Grandfather Time. Seriously, he’s old! His back was bent in the arch that makes you want to roll a matchbox cars down it (just me? okay then..). I slowed the car out of respect and waited for the obligatory “Herete”. He indicated for me to stop and so I did. He asked if I had a cigarette, sadly, I did not. Then he saw the camera I had just used to photograph the goats. He smiled excitedly and motioned I should take a photo of him. Great idea, I’ve found Moses and now I can document it.
After taking the photo of him, I got back in the car to resume my aimless driving when I notice he’s still hanging in the window. I’m pretty sure it’s been a while since he’s seen a car, so I figure he’s taking a look at the dashboard to see what all the fuss is about. It’s only then I realize his hand is slowly snaking its way down toward my nether regions. Right before I am able to grab his hand he quickly jams his hand between my legs. HA! I am wearing jeans, so this isn’t a real offence, and I move his hand away, roll up the window while saying “safe travels”  and driving down the road while shaking my head…
Did that just happen?! What was going through his mind? “Ah,  what the hell, I’ll just try it”? Did it just register to him that I was a female? I mean, really, you’re a thousand years old, I hope you got your kicks buddy… I know you’re probably sick of goat lovin… I love my life. Funny things happen to me, and that makes me happy.

Barcelona- Day 1

Welcome to Barcelona

After a quick and easy flight on Vueling (seriously, good airline) I landed in Barcelona at 7pm and made the journey to my hostel via train, metro, and foot. Because I enjoyed my time in Athens so much, I got wound up in having fun and made a total rookie error. I didn’t write down the address of my hostel before getting to the airport! That’s okay I said, and checked my internet in Athens Int’l. I started to write down walking directions, and then my ADHD kicked in. I don’t know what happened or how it happened, but my directions stopped in the center of an intersection, with no hostel in sight. Oh you’ve got to be kidding me, self. How could you?!

Luckily I remembered the name of my hostel- but my exhausted body and tired mind decided I was only going to speak in Greek. I couldn’t remember how to say anything in English, or Spanish. This is just sick. How are people so multilingual ALL the time? Can I get a brain transplant? After about 20 minutes of circling the block, I remembered a phrase from Dora the Explorer (who says TV can’t educate children?) and went into a coffee shop to ask for help! Eventually I got to the hostel, and what an awesome hostel it is.

After good sleep, I headed out to explore the city. Let me just start by saying- I am not a city girl. Every time I find myself in the city I feel like Brick from Anchorman… “LOUD NOISES”. Tons of people around, languages I can’t understand (but still spend time trying to decipher), smog, honking… get me away from it! Yet, when I find a place to be with myself (even amongst the crowds) it feels even more special than the solitude of the country.

Today, I sat alone on a park bench while watching a man play catch with his dog in the lake in front of La Segrada Familia-

Wonder if they're betting?

it was one of the best parts of my day.

Naturally I am impressed, floored even, by the creativity and precision that has gone into the fascinating parts of this city…but as I stood behind my camera today, I realized I can’t bring the beauty of this city to you the way I see it. I take photos of the sights you are supposed to see, but what I see in Barcelona is the man playing catch, the old men in the park playing cards, the kids feeding pigeons and the barefoot old lady who walks the streets bent over, while people look over her arched back to stand in line for a church. Beautiful dark haired men with olive skin in perfectly tailored suits and manicured women walking their dogs… Barcelona is a city that is all about the people- it just happens to be showcased in a gorgeous frame.

If a picture is words a thousand words, I’m about to save myself some carpal tunnel by FINALLY opening a Picasa account. Check out this link to see my pictures of Barcelona, and let me know what your favorite part of the city is…

Tapas, Wine, Tapas, Wine, Tapas, Wine, Beer, Beer, Beer

I’m sure I could have thought of a more original title, but when I woke up this morning (1pm) that’s all that was playing in my head. Yesterday I arrived in the gorgeous little city of Logrono where I am being hosted by an awesome CouchSurfer, Stephanie. For my first night in town, we decided to do it up Spanish style and have a dinner of Pintxos and wine.

So good it's stupid.

First stop Bar Angel for Champiñón a la plancha (grilled mushrooms). Three button mushrooms on a toothpick, topped with a baby shrimp and slathered in garlic butter atop a bread round, add a glass of wine to go with it and this delicious morsel will set you back only 2 euro. Those of you back home can absolutely make this (and should!) as a fantastic party appetizer and bring a little Spanish flair to your table… what are you waiting for- invite some people over!

After this delicious little bite, we finished our glasses and set off for the next place in search of patatas bravas- but the bar was too crowded to get in the door, so we skipped it and headed for Pata Negro- a Jamonero. I thought about having a little jamon (since I am in Spain after all) but decided the blue cheese and tomato preserve bocadillo sounded better. It was ridiculously great. It deserved a moment of silence- it was that good. Very simple- a tiny little baguette (2.5 inches) sliced in half and smeared with a tomato preserve. On top of the preserve sprinkle some good quality blue cheese – think gorgonzola dolce- and you’re in heaven. No joke. Paired with a glass of wine this little slice of paradise cost 3 euro and change.

Now, it was finally time to track down some patatas bravas. Diced potatoes, fried, and then SMOTHERED (I’m not kidding people- drenched) in spicy red sauce and aioli. It comes in a small dish and you are meant to eat it with toothpicks, while slopping some of the sauce off onto a bread round. Since I don’t enjoy (okay, I freaking HATE) mayo, I can’t say this was my favorite tapa- but if you’re into aioli, this would be a dream come true. The pieces that had just the spicy sauce were really tasty, in my heat seeking book! A great glass of wine alongside I walked out the door only 2 euros lighter in the pocket.

Now that dinner was done, it was time to drink some beers- you can find a “nice” bar anywhere you want in Logrono, but I was

Bad Pic- my camera was drunk...

craving dive. First stop, El Viajero (the traveler). With old luggage stacked behind the bar serving as shelves, tribal masks along the wall and safari hats being used for lampshades, this was my kind of place. Not only that, it was “double beer night”. 2 euro for a sturdy pint of ice cold beer served in a traditional German stein- yes please!

Next up was Stereo, a funky bar with a mix of old rock n roll and the angsty youth of Logrono dancing away their troubles to Elvis… More beer- now I started to lose track of how much this one cost. Then we headed to La Luna- the moon! More beers… Around 4 or 5 we ended the night at a Kebab restaurant with falafel kebab and, you guessed it- more beers!

My night got EVEN sweeter when I came home and got to Skype with dear friends from back home who I miss more than there are words for… with that, I went to surf the couch and dream of being in a booze carnival called Barnival… Even dreaming is better when it’s alcohol induced! I’d write more- but I’m off to make some amazing sangria and Greek food for my American host living in Spain. What a world I live in.

Robbed Abroad. Now what? #rtwnow

Aw, Hell.

Life is a funny thing. My second night in Logrono, Spain was spent like every night in Spain- going out to bars and meeting new people- the whole country feels like a party. After seeing a concert at Biribay, a jazz club in town, the international crowd of Logrono dispersed and made their way to the several clubs and bars of the city. My couchsurfer and a few friends of hers headed for club Stress. As soon as we opened the doors to the club, the beat poured out onto the street, inviting our bodies to move with the rhythm. Due to the hangover I was nursing that morning, I decided I wouldn’t be drinking this evening- but that’s not gonna stop me from doing a little booty shaking with the locals in the gay friendly bar.

Two hours of moving and grooving and it was time to hit the next bar. Our group moved to the door, and I looked to the floor where I saw an Action Wipe. I knew I had one in my purse, how funny that I should see a local product on the floor in Spain… oh… oh God. It hit me like a ton of bricks moving in slow motion. I kept my eyes on the Action Wipe, offering a silent prayer that somehow the people of Logrono were ahead of the trend and already using them, but I knew what I would find as I reached my hand to my side and put it into my purse- nothing.

I rested my head on the cold marble pillar of the club for a few seconds, gaining strength to open my eyes and face my new world. When I opened my eyes I realized exactly what this meant. I have no cash, I have no passport, I have no identification or means of getting money- in a word, I am screwed. Somehow the optimist in me won over in these moments- I rushed to the restrooms and scoured the dance floor, hoping the thieves took the 500 euro in cash and discarded the only thing I cared about- my passport. I checked outside of the exits and asked the barkeep to keep his eyes out after closing in case it turned up.

The camera I had purchased 4 days ago in Barcelona, all my papers, my cash, my ATM card, the USB stick where I kept the copies of my documents- and MY MAKEUP. Take my money, but don’t you touch my eyeliner, assholes. I let the wave of nausea take me over for a second, but realized what’s done is done. I couldn’t turn back time and leave everything at the house (as I should have), nor could I wish my passport back into my possession. I could share some laughs with the Moroccan, Latvian and fellow American as we walked towards the police station though.

The officer said it was best to go home, cancel the card and come back in the later morning (as it was 3am). It is only through sheer luck that I was couchsurfing at this time, otherwise I would have to return to a hostel I couldn’t pay for with quite literally, 2 euro and 45 cents to my name. Stephanie immediately told me I was welcome to stay as long as I needed to sort everything out- which was more of a relief than I can put into words. I cannot fathom this moment in my life without the beauty and blessing that is couchsurfing.

We went back to the house, and I canceled my ATM card, but did not cancel my passport, as I am still holding out for someone to return it. I might be naive or foolish (both?) but I truly believe there are more good people than bad in this world, and there is a chance a good person will find it.  A girl can hope. So now I must wait in Logrono for my ATM card to be mailed from USA, at which point I have to rush to the embassy in Madrid to get a passport (without any form of ID) so that I am able to continue to my dear friends wedding on the 31st of this month. I guess you could say I am stressed.

Then, I looked into my travel insurance policy and realized it (naturally) doesn’t cover loss of cash, passport, or personal items that were stolen. It makes perfect business sense, and I have to understand it- but when those words sunk in, I realized what that truly means for me… no more Europe. In one night, more money was taken from me (effectively) than I have spent the entire trip to date. My mind and heart, are reeling.

After Ana’s wedding in Gran Canaria (if I can get there) I will be heading out of Europe. I won’t let this incident interfere with my dream- which is to see the world- but I will let it steer me in a new, unknown direction. I dont know what area I am headed to now, it largely depends on a cheap flight or a boat hitch… but I know that I cannot afford to hang around Europe as long as I had intended to. This means no harvest in Italy, and while that stings- it means many more things that will be more wonderful than I can imagine.

By sheer luck, Stephanie owns The Alchemist and I picked it up this morning looking for a little escape. Immediately the story throws me into a parallel world, of a shepherd who sells his flock to make his dreams of travel come true and is robbed along the way. It takes him on an unexpected detour which turns out to be more of a blessing than his original plans. So, with a little sorrow in my heart, but adventure in my veins I’m playing darts with a world map…

“When someone makes a decision, he is really diving into a strong current that will carry him to places he had never dreamed of when he first made the decision. “ – The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho

When life hands you lemons, go to Morocco

Image Credit: Juan Fernandez, Trek Earth

Four days after getting my pockets emptied in Logrono, Spain- I am still here! Waiting on my bank to rush my ATM card, so that I have the funds to get to the embassy in Madrid and hopefully obtain a passport in time for the wedding in the Canary Islands. My flight to the islands leaves the 31st (the next flight isn’t until the 6th, the day AFTER the wedding) and it’s supposed to take 7 business days to get the passport. The fact I have no identification makes it a little tricky, but I am crossing my fingers and believing it will all work out the way it’s supposed to.

As my last post said, I can’t afford to stay in Europe even with the economy nose diving- it’s too expensive for a backpackers budget that just got slashed in half. I asked myself where I wanted to go, and the truth is it doesn’t matter to me. I will make it around to every place I dream of eventually- the order is not what’s important, it’s the experience. Right now, a place that will allow me to see the world on a fringe of a shoestring budget (yeah, what now Lonely Planet?) is exactly what I need.

SkyScanner is a great website that lets you check flights from wherever you are to anywhere in the world. Simply enter the airport (or country) you want to leave from, and select a month- and it finds you flights anywhere in the world in order of price… amazing! I entered Madrid, for the month of June, and one way ticket. Then I closed my eyes to imagine what possibilities could be popping up on my screen in a second. First listing, Morocco a flight including taxes and fees for 12 euro.

I’ve had Morocco on my list for 6 years now. I remember the moment I flipped through a National Geographic and saw the red henna stained hands of a woman resting on blue tiles in the entirely blue city of Chefchaouen, Morocco. I blinked slowly and felt myself in the city, listening to the silence of the streets through this photo. So when SkyScanner gave me a price of 12 euro to get to this land I have dreamed of- I couldn’t help but break out into a smile, and then a full blown laugh.

Sometimes things work out the way they are supposed to. I don’t know how long it would have taken me to get to Morocco if I hadn’t been robbed Thursday- but I know that because that unfortunate instance occurred I will be in this magical country in less than a month. Yes, Morocco in the Summer- I’m just that crazy.

Image Credit: David Dennis Photos

So, to that end- if ANYONE reading this knows ANYONE in Morocco who might be able to help me find a flat or a camel to rent (what? Im serious!) for a few months, I’d be terribly appreciative of the intro- even if it doesn’t pan out, making friends in the country I am heading to is always on my list! Thank you, Merci, Gracias, Efharisto, Shukran.

Granada, Spain- I love you.

On a walk towards Sacramonte

Oops, I’ve been off the radar~ my apologies… but that’s because I have been enjoying myself far more than I should. Back to work for Donati Family Vineyard (remotely, obviously- check out the site!), staying at a fantastic hostel in Granada, and experiencing the South of Spain… I’m a happy girl. When I was waiting for my passport and money situation to sort itself out, I wasn’t feeling like writing- and I couldn’t take photos because my camera was stolen. However, arriving in Granada set my creative juices to flowing.

The Arabic flare of the city is gorgeous. Walking through the tiny crooked streets it’s very possible to hear traditional Moroccan music in both French and Arabic from one shop where gentleman are sitting and drinking tea from their small, clear, glass cups; the other side of the street there is flamenco guitar pouring out while Spanish men dance in their shops of jamon and wine. The smell of the shisa (hookah) and tapas mingle together from both sides of alleyways and combine together in a scent that is truly Granada.

Last night I walked around the old quarter by the light of the full May moon, and followed the sounds of a guitar up to the top of the

Tea Market

hill. Sitting alone on his balcony was a young man picking the guitar with the entire landscape of the Alhambra as his backdrop. I sat down on the street and watched the night sky while listening to this guy play his heart out. After about 30 minutes he noticed me and offered a timid wave. I gave him a slight nod, and then he continued to play while singing. It was absolutely a perfect experience, and I could have never paid for such a treat. Sometimes you’re in the right place at the right time. Being in Granada now, is exactly that.

Seriously, another robbery?! Foiled by Footwear

If only I had packed my very own Shoemerang!

Yeah, I know that a few short weeks ago I said I would be in Morocco, but I am a female, and as such- I change my mind more than I change my shoes. (though that’s not hard to do cause I only own 1.5 pairs of shoes now…yeah, 1 and a HALF) So, it’s no secret I love Matisyahu’s music and I just had to come to this festival in Portugal, money be damned… Last night I caught a spontaneous overnight bus to Lisbon from Madrid and now here I am in the artsy city in the heart of the country. Oh, don’t think it was a cake walk, either.

Sitting in the bus station waiting for the bus which was supposed to come at 10, that didn’t arrive until 12… I was reading my novel with my purse on my lap, laptop bag against my body on my left, and backpack under my feet. The lady sitting behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked me in Spanish “are the buses upstairs or downstairs?” I responded “the buses are downstairs, we are upstairs.”

Weird lady “so the buses are not upstairs?”
Awesome Brandy “No, there is no more upstairs. We are at the top, go downstairs for the buses”
Weird lady:  “Do you understand Spanish?”
Awesome Brandy: “we’ve been speaking in Spanish this whole time, so yes, I do”
Weirdo:  “oh okay, so there are no buses upstairs?”
FedUp Brandy in English:  “Sorry, I don’t speak Spanish”

I turned back around and grabbed my novel while thinking “well that was confusing.. how am I supposed to read after that distraction?” Aahhhh SHIT! Distraction! I looked to my left and sure enough, my laptop was gone. I grabbed my purse, grabbed my flip flops off my feet and started running for the nearest door. Weird Lady’s cohort- Tiny Asian Man, was about to exit the door with my laptop. I took my last robbery pretty well, but this time… I wasn’t having any of it- I wanted to make fist to face contact.

I took a second to think- then I took my shoe and tossed it right at his head- great success, his large dome made a perfect target and I got a satisfactory slapping sound. This stunned him and he stopped to see what happened. By that time I caught him and grabbed my bag. I started to demonstrate my awesome Spanish cussing abilities when he grabbed my flip flop and ran. At that point, I just had to laugh… enjoy my single female flip flop, jerk.

I started running back to my backpack, to find Weird Lady putting her paws all over it. Awww Hell Naw. I threw my other flip flop at her and it hit her right in the face, hoping it smeared some of her ugly purple eyeshadow. Since I was between her and the nearest exit, she had to run past me. I raised my hand as if to smack her, so while she was watching my hand and running by- I stuck my foot out and tripped her- laughed, and walked to my bag. All this took about 80 seconds.

After that, I was too upset to continue reading, so I listened to some relaxing music on the iPod and waited for the bus to arrive so that I could get some much needed sleep. Finally the bus comes, and it’s half  full of children and babies. To borrow a quote… “No Sleep Till… Lisbon!”

I arrived early in the morning and got treated to the view of sunrise from the roof of my hostel- absolutely breathtaking. The brand new Palace Hostel in Barrio Alto has fantastic views and is right in the middle of downtown Lisbon; their opening promotion price (open 3 days only) was 1 euro a night! How could I go wrong with that? So yeah, I might only have one a half pairs of shoes- but I have a roof over my head for 1 euro a night… everything always works out.

Lisbon, I love you. Real bad.

A View from the Top of Bairro Alto, Lisbon

I arrived in the city at 530am via the overnight train from Madrid, as I walked up one of the many hills in the city that led me to the Palace Lisbon Hostel, I looked around and thought it was going to be like any other city. Upon arrival at the hostel I got a tour of the rooftop, where I sat and watched the sun rising over the castle and river. It could have been the lack of sleep, or my endless fascination with all things new, but I swear the sunrise was reflected off every inch of the river, every window pane in town, it just hung in the air, warming the city… spectacular. I somehow was able to catch up on my much needed sleep and then I headed out to see what the city had to offer me.
I scoffed at the 1euro40cent tram ticket (yeah, I’m getting THAT kinda cheap), and decided to go by foot. I was enjoying a perfectly peaceful walk along the river towards a large plaza when I noticed a guy following me and shouting “I’m not drinking- I’m so f*cked!!!” He follows me for about a block yelling this at the top of his lungs, while I am laughing out loud at this hilarity. Judging by the scent that was seeping from his pores, I was pretty sure he had been drinking for about 10 years straight. I decide this guy REALLY wants another drink… so I pop into a mini market (which is really just a closet with trinkets and booze) and I buy the guy a beer. I hand it to him and ask him to stop following me now. To which he responds by yelling “I’m drinking!!! I’m so f*cked!!!” You can’t pay for comedy like that.  (yes, I understand the lack of logic behind not wanting to spend 1.40 on a tram ticket but being willing to shell out 1 euro for a crazed alcoholic- but that’s just how I roll)
I walk up the hill to the absurdly large cathedral, where I popped in for a peek. Gorgeous stained glass, vaulted ceilings, candles flickering~ everything a cathedral should be. That having been said- I was ready to move on to the castle. Upon the highest point of the hill lays the impressive castle of Lisbon. Admittedly, I am awed by the massive size of this castle and it’s fantastic view….but like so many other places, Lisbon is a city of the people.
I walked from my hostel in Bairro Alto to the outside suburb of Belem (about 6km) and on the way home got lost due to the fact there was no daylight and I don’t do maps. I used my best lispy Spanish (which is surprisingly well understood in Portugal) and asked a woman for the general direction of Bairro Alto. She asked me if I was lost, where I was from, why I was here, etc… all the while walking me back the way I had come. We arrived at a pastry shop called “Pasties de Belem” and she said first I must have one of these pastries before I can even think about heading back home. There was a line out the door and around the corner, so we waited in line while she told me how famous and delicious these little treats were.

Put it in my mouth!

When we got up to the counter, she not only ordered for me, but paid for mine as well. We walked to a nearby park and enjoyed these little morsels which were- pretty freaking good. Then she walked me to the metro station, used her pass to get me in, and told me just to ride the line to my stop. I thanked her and tried to push money on her, but she wouldn’t have any of it, instead she said “welcome to Lisbon” and disappeared back into the crowd of people pushing their way onto the underground.
I don’t know what I’ve done in this life or a past life to get such good luck coming my way, but I find I am consistently surprised an awed by the kindness, generosity and sheer goodness of people every day and Lisbon is no exception.
PS. The men are GORGEOUS.

“…and they don’t even speak English!”

Did I use this photo already?

Sitting in a quiet cafe enjoying the view of a castle on the river, I strike up a conversation (or was it the other way around?) with a well dressed, well groomed, well off woman who is clearly dying to speak to someone. First she starts off about the food. “I haven’t had a decent meal since I got here- there’s hardly anything edible in this whole country…. I went to a restaurant last night and tried to order something that didn’t taste like cardboard, and can you believe it… they didn’t even speak English!!”

As she continued her tirade her face grew red from lack of inhaling oxygen while spewing this poison out of her lungs. When she began to snap her fingers for the waiter and assault him with her overly loud English to ensure he got her drink order, I took it as my turn to speak.
I normally try to politely agree with strangers on menial topics as I find it’s the quickest route to my personal freedom from them, but in this moment, she was picking on the people of a country I happen to quite like- and I don’t take that well. I may have also been suffering from a touch of PMS- just a touch.
“I’m terribly sorry you haven’t found any foods that appeal to you here- do you have dietary restrictions?” No, no, she informed me- it’s just that nothing here tastes good, in fact, it was impossible for her to even know what she was ordering because none of the “heathens” in this country spoke a “licka english”. Well slap my ass and call me Sally, I was about to ruffle this woman’s feathers worse than any “non english speaking heathen” ever could.
Firstly, I asked why she was even here in Portugal. Craving a holiday in a sunny spot. Hmm. “If you wanted to holiday in a place that has sun AND spoke English, why didn’t you choose Australia? There’s an entire continent of people waiting to speak English to you, and plenty of sun.” Well, it was simply too far for her to travel.
So had long had you planned this marvelous vacation Queen Oldbags? “Oh I’ve always thought Portugal was supposed to be a lovely place, I bought my ticket almost 4 months ago!” she gloated. Once her drink arrived and I was certain she would be my captive audience for the duration of those 12 ounces, I simply let her have it. I have some talents which I excel at; reaming people out is one of those I am increasing less proud of day to day, but I’m still pretty great at it.
First- “if Portuguese people visited you in your home country, (which I am sad to report was none other than USA) and acted so appalled at your lack of Portuguese, how would you feel?” I asked her in a casual manner, so she didn’t understand yet that she was being blindsided by her fellow American. “Everyone should speak English not everyone NEEDS to speak Portuguese” she retorted, and then offered me one of those ‘you know how it is- it’s just more important’ smiles. Unbelievable.
So, in your four months did you happen to learn any Portuguese? Research the cuisine? Look in the back of your guidebook at the “simple Portuguese phrases”? …did you happen to put any effort at all into this vacation or were you simply planning to arrive in the country and treat it as if you were still at home?
I think she got the point at this juncture. She huffed and mumbled something under her breath. I said “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that- was it English?” oh wow- this really set her off. I figured I would just keep barraging her while she was fumbling around for the proper word selection.
“If you wanted an English menu and English speaking people there are plenty of McDonald’s and Starbucks around- surely you would find some great food there?” I gave her the smile where you can’t be sure if I am being sarcastic or genuine.
She asked why *I* was here in this “god forsaken place”? I retorted that I initially came for only 3 days to the city, but since I have been so taken with it, I have extended my stay by over two weeks. She looked at me as if I was an alien. “how do you manage it? I just can’t wait to be gone.” I suggested she call her travel agent and get herself a return flight ASAP as both parties: her and the country of Portugal would both be better off.
She called me a “snotty little bitch” and I used some choice Portuguese words (which I learned from a freestyle rapper who I am in LOVE with) and asked her if she’d like the English translation. Since she declined, I left the cafe and paid for both our drinks- nothing like a little class right after setting someone’s hair on fire.
I will say, it’s not my custom to go out and pick fights with people at cafes when all I want to be doing is writing in my journal and listening to a little music, nor is it my problem if narrow minded individuals feel the need to travel. It was simply her poor choice to look to me to commiserate with her about what an awful country this is because it’s like every other place: you get back what you put in… I guess Queen Oldbags didn’t put the right stuff in…

10 things I’ve learned on the road

sunshine must be good for the brain

So, I’ve been quiet lately- I apologize, but my brain has been a whirlwind. I am alive, well, and working in Lisbon, Portugal. As I have not been tethered to a computer for the last few weeks, I have had time to think, to write, and to pay attention to what I have learned thus far in my four months. I can’t act as if these are all new concepts or as if they are revolutionary- but they are real, and they are important to me.
So, in no particular order, here are ten of my favorite lessons I have picked up. Let me know if they ring true for you…
1. There are more good people than bad people in this world. Sure, I’ve been robbed 1.25 times, been followed around by a rapist, and ran into a few other unmentionable obstacles, but of the months I have spent relying on the kindness and goodness of strangers- I truly believe the good people of this world outnumber the bad, and if not by number, by display of action. The nature of humankind is to talk about the bad things we see around us, and I regret not writing a blog post every time someone gave me directions when I was lost, bought me a cup of coffee, helped me up when I fell (what? cobblestones + backpack = suck)…etc. Trust in the goodness of people and you will be rewarded. Not every time, but when it counts.*
2. You’re your best friend, and often time the only friend you’ve got- so, you better get along with yourself. There’s nothing more miserable than a rotten travel companion- which is why I am traveling solo! As awesome as I am I’ve been stuck with myself day and night for the last 4 months. Sometimes we argue (yup, I’m talking about me, myself, and I) and sometimes we’re too funny for our own good, sometimes I want to talk to anyone else in the world because I am sick of talking to myself, and sometimes I literally run home (to wherever my home is that night) so that I can be alone with myself and my thoughts. End result? You better like yourself a whole lot to devote this much time alone with yourself, cause you’re gonna learn a lot about yourself.
3. You have Enough Stuff. When I say “you” I mean me, but I’m 100% certain you also have enough stuff. In fact, I have TOO much stuff. I started with 18 kilos (do the math, my fellow Americans) and am down to 13 in the backpack… yet every time I look at the pack I find just one more thing I can throw away. It’s laughable to me to think of all the things I used to own, all the money I poured down the drain on retail therapy (makeup doesn’t count, I don’t care what you say, Sephora is awesome.) and all the CRAP I had lying around cluttering up my life. I have Enough Stuff.
4. Don’t go on a date with a Bulgarian when you speak no common language. I’m serious. It won’t end well, and you’ll probably wind up at home crying to a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label and lighting things on fire. Or maybe that’s just me.
5. Street meat won’t kill you, and it will probably even taste good. To be perfectly clear, I am talking about vendors who sell meat on a stick, meat in a gyro, just freaking meat foods- not the other street meat, which will probably kill you, and will not taste good. #
6. When you’re really lost, stop and have a beer- the directions are hiding at the bottom of the glass. Seriously. Your backpack is heavy, you’re probably getting a sunburn or it’s pouring rain- either way, you’re lost and I bet your map is doing you no good. Solution? Find the nearest dodgy looking pub full of old men (unless you’re an old man, then you’re competition- so, I guess you’re screwed, keep walking). Walk in and order a beer in the native tongue. The bartender will likely be gruffy and awkward, but will warm up once you flash a smile or money. After you down one delicious beer, order a second and then ask people around you if they know of such and such street. Make it painfully obvious you’re not leaving until you have directions, and then start to chat everyone’s ear off until it’s in their best interest to help you find your way. Always works! **
7. You never have enough sunblock. Well maybe YOU do- you and your brown magic- but I don’t. I packed 4 bottles of SPF 1 billion, sweatproof waterproof bulletproof child resistant zinc oxide and I am still a delightful shade of sunset pink. I will hereby award 1 US Dollar (better hurry while it’s worth something) to the first person who invents tattooable sunscreen.
8. You don’t need shampoo (gross, but true) That’s right, Im shampoo free since 3/3. No, I haven’t joined the forces of the euro mullet dread lock crowd- though, it’s tempting- look at these sexy do’s! Baking soda, my friends, baking soda. 1 tablespoon baking soda with 1 cup of water (awww, I gave the American measurements, I’m so nice) now, shake shake shake, and pour it on your dome. Clean, shiny hair with no freaky chemicals seeping into your brain. I prefer to get my freaky chemicals elsewhere, don’t you?
9. Your problems are insignificant in the long run. Unless you’re dying (in which case your problems will work themselves out rather shortly anyways) your problems probably AREN’T that big of a deal. omgwtfmalibubarbie*** I have nowhere to sleep tonight. Suck it up, sleep on a bench, and tomorrow, you have a whole day to look for accomodations. SweetJumpingKinkajoo It’s 40 euro to go 8 hours on a bus and I just spent all my money on beers and mascara. Get to the road, stick your thumb out and wait- you don’t have anything else to do.
10. (insert any non frequently traveled to country) is probably safe as there are thousands if not millions of people living there. Colombia- Iran- Thailand- Greece- oooooh, I can literally hear knees knocking. There’s b-b-b-bombs there! There’s crime everywhere folks, and if you have a decent head on your shoulders and a good attitude, the odds are pretty good that you’ll come out of these places unscathed. ##
* In case you happen to trust in someone on my word and something really bad happens, I hereby claim absolutely no responsibility for your rash decision making abilities. Come on- didn’t your mom tell you not to talk to strangers?
# Again, if you decide to try a hot meat popsicle and wind up blowing up your bathroom from both ends or in fact, die, from eating meat on a cart on the side of the road- that’s absolutely your fault. You should never trust anything you read on the internet- especially if i write it.
** Try this during a World Cup Match and you’ll likely be killed and served as street meat. mmm.
*** Please note, omgwtfmalibubarbie came to me in a dream and is hereby my cussword of choice, your partaking of this cussword hereby acknowledges the immense greatness of this phrase.
## In the unlikely event you 1) go to one of these countries 2) get bombed, kidnapped, sold for body parts, are used as a human mule, are sold as a mail order bride, undergo an unwanted sex change operation I hereby (again) assume no responsibility for your misfortunes, but I do reserve the right to laugh at you.

14 or 15 MORE things I’ve learned while traveling

What? It's legal...

An apology in advance: forgive the typos as I have just had my wisdom teeth ripped out of my head and am eating strange pills from a pez dispenser. In a continuation of my post “10 things I’ve learned on the road” in no particular order are 14 (or is it 15?) more things I’ve learned on the beginning of my Round the World trip. I hope you enjoy them as much as I am enjoying my painkiller popsicle I made myself.

11. Smiling will get you everywhere- sometimes it will get you places you don’t wanna be. Use smiles with caution. “you’re never fully dressed without a smile!” Ugh. just hearing that phrase makes me ill. Luckily, I’m not alone. I mean, for one, smiling at a dog is baring your teeth and that’s a sign of aggression… but more importantly in many cultures a smile is an invitation, usually to a pants party. I’m not saying to walk around mean mugging everybody, but use a little discernment when you flash the green light via the pearly whites or else you could wind up at some kind East Indian man’s house in a ceremony which appeared to be an engagement. Serious.
12. There is no travel day so horrendous that it would be better to be back home in the comfort zone. Waah, my feet hurt, my back hurts, I’m hot, my bug bites itch, I want a shower and clean clothes and a hot meal and cold water but I’m lost and no one speaks my languages and I just want MY OWN BED, waaah.  Yup, I’ve had those days. I just want my own bed- and then I remember I don’t have a bed, I gave it away. Waaaah again. Sometimes you’re just exhausted. Sometimes you need a coffee and or beer. Sometimes you need to just walk to the business district and watch all the people filing out of their jobs looking about as alive as a soggy potato chip before you realize just how good you’ve got it.
13. Where there’s a will- there’s a way. Captain Stubborn strikes again! I’m a spoiled rotten brat and won’t stop till I get my way-usually, that works out for me. Seriously, once you decide you wanna do something, make it happen. At least if you can’t make it happen you can wear yourself out so bad you don’t have the energy to be sad that it didn’t happen.

“The worst thing one can do is not to try, to be aware of what one wants and not give in to it, to spend years in silent hurt wondering if something could have materialized – never knowing. ” Jim Rohn ~ Click here to read more quotes that make you wanna wake up and do something!
14. The hardest part is making your mind up. This goes for just about anything. Jumping off a cliff into the river? Once you make up your mind you’re gonna do it, you might as well just jump. Buying a ticket to the other side of the world and living out of a backpack till God knows when? Just click “purchase now”. The details will sort themselves out. Have a little faith, a little tenacity, and a lot of courage. You can do it, and if you can’t- well, you better have bought insurance.
15. You don’t need money to enjoy yourself (okay, Im still learning this) It *IS* possible to walk around a city and not spend a penny… for weeks on end. Some of the more memorable experiences I have had with people on this trip cost me nothing. People watching, window shopping, stealing things (just kidding)… you get the point though- you don’t have to shell out dough for an experience, in fact, doing so will probably cheapen it and make you feel dirty. Wait, what?
16. Always pack more panties than you think you need. ( I told you, Melissa!) I am 99.9% certain the Travelocity gnome follows me around the globe and eats my panties. I have no other explanation for where they all go..okay, except that pair on the metro- but that was an accident! Side Note: I know someone’s going to disagree and say you can just always wash them out and night and let them dry, but I’m telling you- you’re gonna lose some.
17. Old men, though pervy, will usually help you out better than anybody else. Maybe because they have nothing else to do all day but drink coffee and argue about things repeatedly (as they forget what they were arguing about 4 minutes prior) but I find the cranky old men are the best source of great info. What shops to visit, what places to avoid, where to get the strongest coffee and the cheapest beer… you know, old man stuff. If you can brave the smell of their hair pomade, just walk up to them and admit you’re “a little lost” and then open your eyes real wide (so you look dumb and innocent all at the same time), and then offer a smile that looks a little bit scared so they feel the need to protect you… oh yeah, you’re in like flynn. The real problem is getting away…
18. Always validate your metro, bus, train, etc ticket or be prepared to do some fast talking or slow undressing. Pffft. Did you know the average fine for not validating your metro ticket is 40 (FORTY!) times the original cost of the ticket? Did you know that cleavage alleviates this fine? Well, now you do.  Note: If you’re a male, I advise you to NOT attempt using your bear rug cleavage to get out of this. Just keep saying a bunch of words in English that don’t make sense and look incredibly confused. Whatever you do: don’t admit your guilt.
19. Leave for appointments early, leave the bars late, and leave the passport somewhere safe! Unless you want to get your passport stolen while you’re dancing with gorgeous Colombian boys. Leave for appointments early because you’re in a new town, you don’t know your way around and it just looks sloppy to be late, even if you’re a dirty smelly hippy backpacker.
20. Stop taking everything so seriously, laugh a little. This needs no explanation.
21. Patience is a virtue… THAT is SO hard to cultivate. Why can’t there be a Buy It Now “Patience” App? I may or may not have had a problem with my patience previous to this trip. (yes, Bakich you were right) However, between layovers and bus delays and donkey crossings and walking behind old women on the sidewalk, I’ve learned how to be patient. In fact, I can sit quietly for hours on end and not even be phased by it anymore. Those back home are surely looking forward to seeing me be silent…
22. The internet is a great resource but can also be a burden. You know the feeling. The uneasy, slightly anxious emotion that you get at the pit of your stomach when you haven’t checked your email for a day or two… and maybe someone emailed you something life altering… or maybe there’s a cool Facebook post on your wall. UGH, why is there no internet in this town? If you’ve been on the road, you know what I’m talking about. Keep your cool, you’ll get net when you get it, in the mean time, make a list of things you actually need to do online, so when you get access you don’t lose an hour to StumbleUpon… (what? I’m guilty)

23. I still have a pulse though I don’t own a cell phone. Sure, sometimes it would be incredibly convenient to reach into my pack, pull out a phone and ask a hostel for directions- but teleporting would also be incredibly convenient and I don’t have that either. You can travel the world without a phone and sometimes it really sucks, but then again- I’m never sitting on top of a mountain enjoying a glorious view and interrupted by my bag screeching out ringtones.
24. Live in the moment. Of course this isn’t a new lesson, but I appreciate it more and more every day. Maybe my bus just broke down and its 43 outside, granted, though I am probably pitting out and being suffocated by the stench of unwashed & un-deodorized armpits- I’m also living like a local. Suck it up and experience the moment for what it is- likely a great travel story in the making. If not, just pull out your camera and take 1000 photos of yourself and things around you- always works for me.
25. Everyone you meet is your superior in some (usually most) ways. I was writing in my journal and a man with his arms full of bracelets and neck full of necklaces comes up and tries to sell me some jewelry. I explain to him in Spanish that I don’t speak Portuguese, sorry. He responds in Spanish “that’s fine, we can speak Spanish”. (oh hell. I really don’t want to buy any jewelry) So I switch to Greek and say “well my spanish isn’t very good, I prefer to speak Greek” thinking I would surely be able to throw him off. Well Hell, he answers in Greek and asks how many times we are going to have to change languages before I buy a bracelet. I start laughing and tell him in English I really thought I would be able to get away without having to buy one. We sat on the park bench and I learned that he’s fluent in 10 languages and just travels the world selling jewelry to tourists. Sheesh. He earned that sale.

26. A mirror is the best entertainment device, EVER. Maybe I’m conceited and self absorbed, but I’m serious here people. Stuck waiting for the goats to cross the road? whip out the mirror and start admiring yourself, or plucking your eyebrows. Also great for spying on the back of the bus…