A word on trust

Traveling, for me, is all about meeting new people and interacting with new cultures. As such, many times when traveling alone and leaving yourself open to the possibilities of the moment this requires you to trust in those around you and believe the best about people. I’m not talking about the blind naivety that can get you in trouble, but the real trust you give to others when you open yourself up to their humanity and allow them to help you in return.

Last time I was in Europe for my internship in Paris, I had one of these moments that came as a result of having literally nothing else to do but trust. I arrived in Paris with about 300 USD to my name after being scammed out of an apartment which, as you can imagine when converted into euros, can start dwindling very quickly. I booked a hostel, ate frugally, but even so after 4-5 days my money was running out. The day before my internship was to start I was down to about 10 euros—enough to last me one more night in the hostel. That morning at breakfast, I sat with a group of people from all over the world and ended up chatting with a man from Brasil and Saudi Arabia. They were very nice men—Vander and Abdullah, who invited me to walk around the city with them. And so we went and walked all around Paris together, eating grapes and cheap ice cream by the Seine and learning from each other’s worldviews. Because of my financial situation, the two generously gave me several metro tickets to travel around with them as well as paying for a delicious meal at the end of the day. Walking around and thinking about the gravity of my situation, I had picked out a comfortable bench near the Notre Dame that I would sleep on the following evening when my money finally did run out. Hearing this, the men refused and offered to help me out until my funds came in from school. Two complete strangers from two very different places, but two of the most genuine and kind souls I’ve ever met.

That park bench went unslept on the following evening as my school funds got deposited in my account, but I was overwhelmed by their generosity and genuine concern for my well-being and safety. Those first few days in Paris a year and a half ago was really my first indoctrination into truly trusting people and seeing with a third kind of eye: my heart.

I only mention this story because once again I am supremely blessed and amazed at the generosity of others. Last night in Fes while looking at my upcoming trip to Italy, I was told by a fellow traveler, an Italian boy from Naples named Daniele that the airport I had planned to sleep in to save money was, in fact, closed at night. Frantically, I searched for any type of lodging/transportation which could get me from Ciampino airport to Fiuminico the next morning for my flight to Catania (Sicily), a 7 hour window of time. Most everything I could find was closed for the evening, or wouldn’t accept check-ins past the 11:30pm time. Wandering around the streets of Rome, or at least crashing at Termini Train Station crossed my mind in a desperate attempt to work out all of the alternative solutions to the problem. Finally I got up the courage and decided to utilize this sense of trust again, asking Daniele if I might be able to stay with him and his uncle that night for a few hours inside of Rome.

“Of course of course!” he replied laughing, as if I had asked the silliest thing in the world. “You can stay with us for free, this is no problem!” Talking with his uncle, all of the details were arranged and it was agreed that I could in fact crash on their couch that evening until I had to catch the bus for my flight the next morning.

Though Daniele’s aunt and uncle spoke little English, their hospitality and warmth was magnanimous. After picking us up from the airport, they invited me in and immediately began to make me feel at home—offering me towels to shower, a bed to sleep on, and even a delicious Italian meal complete with all of the stereotypical yet delicious Italian cuisine—prosciutto, mozzarella, red wine, tomatoes with olive oil, bread, and tiramisu. We sat around watching the Italian version of The Voice while Daniele and his family caught up on events back home in Italy as well as our trip to Fes while I tried my hardest to pick up words here and there that sounded the same in French. In addition to their already overflowing care, Daniele’s aunt also called and reserved a taxi to come and pick me up in the morning to take me to Termini Train Station about 4km away to catch my bus to the airport. Finally around 12:30 in the morning, after making up a nice bed for me in my own room Daniele’s aunt and uncle said goodnight and we all went to bed. I slept for less than 3 hours before Daniele himself then woke me up to say goodbye and make sure that I caught my taxi and had everything in order.

“I will wait for you in Naples” he said, laughing again as I tried to express my love for his family’s last minute accommodating hospitality.

Sitting here in Fiumicino and thinking about the course of the past 24 hours, safe and full of both delicious food and gratitude, I can’t help but be blown away by the generosity of others. Of “strangers” that I’ve come to know are anything but strange. I have firmly come to believe in my travels that these “strangers” are merely friends I have yet to make, and I’m amazed at how much this attitude is internalized and appreciated by others. How one coincidental meeting, several conversations, and one new friendship developed over the course of two days could turn into a welcoming invitation into a safe place for me to stay for a few hours in an hour of desperation.

It’s times like these that I’m reminded again of why I travel—the people. Making these connections with “strangers” and learning about the deeper way-of-being behind the relationships we make. Trusting in others and learning the power of adapting to the moment that makes for the best stories and memories. I’ve heard it said that it takes an hour to like someone, a day for you to love them, and a lifetime to forget them. I know that I’ll never forget the kindness that’s been shown to me in my travels, and especially this past experience with Daniela and his family, and I hope in turn try to look for opportunities where I can extend that same arm of friendship to those in their hour of need. These people have been guiding lights helping me through some of my most difficult and scary times, complete strangers who help restore my faith in humanity and once again begin to trust and know that peace is indeed possible.

Trust is a gift, a doorway to understanding and being understood.

 

What a great way to be welcomed into Italy.

 ----------

Strange is not a word

I allow myself to know

Aloud, I say friend.

Fes

Well, I'm alive. I did it: I accomplished another new years resolution by coming to Africa. And I'm absolutely in love with Morocco.

I arrived here yesterday afternoon after thoroughly overthinking things/freaking myself out about traveling here alone. Got off the plane and was SO happy to hear people speaking french rather than straight arabic, which I knew they would but even so. A safety net there. Got through customs no problem, took out 500 dirham to get me around the city for the next couple of days, and headed outside for my first real challenge: finding a way into the city, and finding my hostel.

If you're my mother, skip to the part where I get to my hostel otherwise don't freak out. I had a basic idea of how to get to fes from looking at the internet, and decided that although it was more expensive I was going to take a taxi into town rather than busing it. But even so, with the initial culture shock playing upon my institutionally engrained negative cultural stereotypes I was nervous. So I headed outside right outside the airport into the throng of Moroccan men who I assumed were taxi drivers. After hesitantly asking around in french, a man lead me into what I could only assume was a taxi into town. I was so glad that I could speak french, otherwise I would have been much more nervous about navigating the city/transportation (not that they don't speak a basic level of english to get by). We spoke along the way in french about the city and what to see in the medina. The ride from the airport was actually rather lovely, and not that long--maybe 15 minutes. 

When we finally got to R'Cif Square near the heart of the medina my driver asked another man to take me to my hostel, but I didn't have the right amount of change to pay the man 150 dirhams for the ride (about 16 USD--still very overpriced rip off for tourists but I didn't care to haggle on the first day when I had no idea how else to get there). The man said he would get me change, and so I trustingly gave him 200 dirhams to break for me at the local store. He came out within a minute with my exact change, which I then paid to the driver and followed the other man down an alley. From the surface, following random Morocoan men into cars and down alleyways may seem a little sketch, but these people were so nice and helpful and really I don't think I would have been able to do it by myself.

He took me to my riyad, Dar Llall Kenza, where I met the hostel manager--Ben. Ben is super interesting character, if not a little bizarre to take in. He sits me down,puts some warm mint tea in my hand, and immediately strikes up a conversation about various things. Normally I HATE mint with a burning passion, but this tea was absolutely to die for. Not supper strong, very sweet and full of flavor. And who can refuse such generous hospitality, no? 

Beautiful architecture looking up in the riyad

So I ask him if Ben is the western name he is adopted, which he then goes on to tell me he chose because of its connection to the american movie 'Seven Pounds.' He said he wants to be like Ben, who gave everything he had selflessly to help other people. He wants to be like that, and so his name is something to work towards in becoming the type of person he wants to be. He then goes on to tell me that he can tell when a person wants to sit and get to know him and Moroccoan culture, and when they just want to go up to their room and be by themselves. Essentially he was talking about interpreting way of being, being so spot on about intuitively picking up on people and their attitudes. He's also a big rap/Tupoc fan,  immediately putting on some "gangsters in paradise" and blasting it through the riyad.

Couches to lounge in in the common area

The riyad itself is beautiful, an old home that Ben was born in that he recently converted into a hostel. The home dates back to the 13th centrury, but I sware it looks older than that.

After chatting with Ben for a little bit, some other people staying in the hostel began to congregate so I wasn't alone. Turns out a girl I noticed on my flight from Barcelona was actually staying in the hostel, basically my Australian doppleganger--tall, blonde, solo traveler/free spirit. Ironically enough, we are both named after places in each other[s countries--I, Sydney and she, Georgia. We hit it off really well, and after putting our stuff away decided to explore the city together. Wanting to kind of get our barrings, we decided to start off on our own before taking a guided tour around. Which, if you know anything about Fes, is not something you do. This city is crazy complicated.

Stemming from the 9th century, there are over 9,000 streets in the old medina alone and it is VERY easy to get lost. With so many sketch alley ways/corridors, I was glad that the guy who showed me to the hostel showed up and put us in the hands of his friends--Youssef. At first we were very hesitant, as its easy to get ripped off here in Morocco from people trying to take you every where/make you buy things--but he was very genuine and kind. He guided us through the medina, stopping to show us several shops where they make bread/make scarfs before guiding us to one of the palaces in Fes--all the time filling us in on Moroccan culture/history. It was crazy how much we would just walk into this little room, the craftsmen would look up and notice us there, and then continue about their work unperturbed. 

After wandering the streets for a bit we ended up at the palace with the most beautiful view of Fes. 

Youssef guided us through the palace and gardens, stopping to tell us the best places to take pictures and grabbing local herbs for us to smell. When we got to the bottom Georgia, Youseff and I sat in the grass and talked about life and philosophy. Youseff again spoke about way of being, being very open minded and curious to hear our opinion on things. It was one of those moments, lounging in the grass of a Moroccan palace that you sit back and can't believe life is real--it just seems too good to be true. Good company, good conversation, beautiful places--that's all you need for the simple and peaceful life. Youseff then goes on to tell us a joke I swore I heard forever ago, but it still caught me off guard.

Youseff: "How do you put a camel in a fridge?"

Me: "Um....I have no idea." (thinking its something cultural...)

Youseff: "You open the door, put it inside, and close the door behind the camel."

                                                         Touche Youseff, touche.

After chatting in the grass we get back up and start heading back to our riyad. He keeps reassuring skeptical Georgia that he doesn't expect any money, but I can understand Georgia's concern. Last Friday when Georgia was still in Toulouse (South of France) a guy tried to rob her and then ended up punching her in the face. Yeah, it happens. Guess I'm just lucky that the most that's ever happened to me is being silently robbed in Amsterdam.

Youseff then invites us back to his place, where he shows us baby pictures and makes us some fresh tea. The tea here is to DIE for, and his was no exception. He lived in a very very humble little place with his brother and mother, with his brother and polish sister in law living downstairs. We took our tea up to the roof to enjoy the beautiful view of Fes once again. Youseff wanted us to stay for dinner, and his mother pleaded with us as well to join them but Georgia was just a little too scared so we decided to head back to our hostel.

Get back, put our stuff down, and head out for some much needed dinner. Run into Youseff again who leads us up onto this terrace restaurant where we eat delicious pastilla and cheese omlette. There were a billion men gathered around the television downstairs watching the Real Madrid match, which is so funny because they're so into football here but don't have a team for themselves. Seeing big groups of men together is so common here--walking through the markets, its a testosterone fest. Not many women out and about wandering.

View off the roof towards the medina during the day time

After dinner we came back to the hostel and met some of the other people staying her from Austria, Italy, and England respectively. The englishman (surprise surprise) had brought some gin from England since it's illegal to drink here, so we sat around drinking gin and tonics and getting to know one another. Turns out the Austrian couple is from Innsbruck, the graduate school I'll probably be going to so that was fun to ask a little bit about what to expect. Everyone was very lovely, and after it started to get late Ben asked us to go onto the roof to continue our conversation. Sat up there, overlooking the old medina, and soaking in the good conversation.

Our guide: Gandalf.

Next morning we all woke up, had a lovely breakfast, and headed out on our walking tour through the medina. Its generally good to do your first day there to get your barrings, since the medina is very complicated. the guy who led us around was a friend of Ben's, and the tour for 4 hours only cost us 50 dirham (about 6 USD).

I was amazed, and am still amazed, at how easily the moroccan people pick up languages. Our guide spoke English, French, Arabic, and a bit of Korean, Italian, and German. The first three languages are taught in school from a young age, but through talking with others and engaging them in conversation people pick up langauges very fast here. I'm very impressed. We were on a tour with three travelers from South Korea, who he was able to talk to here and there in their own langauge. He led us up and down streets and alleyways for a while, all the way to the blue gate for our first introduction to the marketplace.

The Fes Tannery

We went through the marketplace pretty quick and ended up going to one of the religious madressa school's here, which was so gorgeous and intricate in its architecture (like much of morocco). Afterwards we kept on waking to the tannery where they clean, cut, dye, and dry the animal skins--a major tourist attraction when visiting Fes.

The oldest tannery in all of Morocco, and now a UNESCO World Heritage Site it was absolutely humbling to see these people's hard work and intricate craftsmanship. The entire process of making the hide ready to be made into goods takes about a month, but the leather made here is world famous and very good quality. It's crazy how much people in the West think we work so hard, but these people are doing SO much more for only a fraction of the cost--and in the unbearable animal death stench! Really makes you sit back and evaluate your work ethic. These people are such hard workers, and so kind and genuine. I wish I had more money/space in my bag to support this local artisan work.

Usually a mans job, here he weaves together over 4,000 strands of thread to make a scarf. He can usually make about 2 a day, and has been doing this for over 40 years as his father did before, and his son will continue to do. This man has never been to school, but he still speaks 6 different languages and is picking up more every day talking with people. So nice!

We kept walking and went and visited a place where they make scarfs on the loom as well as their own  thread from the agave plant. They then invited us further inside where they dressed us up in caftans (traditional moroccan clothes) and served us delicious black tea. Again, very hospitable and nice and I was devastated that I couldn't buy anything. The caftans were really gorgeous--something I would love to have as a wedding dress.I found the most gorgeous white one with lace that I would have loved to buy. Another day, another day.

After visiting a place where they make their own famous argan oil our guide took us to a nice restaurant with another great view over the city. There I had my first couscous, which I was actually surprised wasn't spicier. Still--delicious. So many great fruits and vegetables at that meal--definitely the place to come if you're looking to ge tin shape. Between all of the uphill walking in the medina, to the delicious nutritious food--the pounds will melt away.

My little baby

After trying to explore by ourselves for a bit, Georgia and I ended up going back to the hostel to relax for a bit. Hooked up with the englishman on the roof while I played my ukulele and Georgia and him read.

I should also mention at this point all of the stray cats around Fes--they are everywhere. Sometimes, little baby kittens that just make me want to die of happiness (even though they're all sad looking and dirty). The one who hangs around our hostel is so pushy--constantly meowing and jumping on our laps until you agree to love it. Which is no problem for me since I love cats, I finally gave into her temptation and passed my ukulele off to the englishman, just sitting there taking in the view and chilling out after a long day of walking/exploring. Probably have kitty herpes now, but I don't even care. Worth it. After that the three of us decided to go for a bit of dinner, a lovely chickpea soup which we had around the corner for only 15 dirham (2 USD).

Such a beautiful design, complete with Fatima

Today Georgia and I set off to explore the medina unguided, and after a little bit of a rocky start we worked it out. Bought some postcards, and on the way back Georgia and I decided to indulge in a little henna from the nicest woman on the street. Only costing around 2.50 USD, it was so worth it as she was really talented.

Now I sit here in the hostel, waiting another hour before I head out to the airport with the Italian boy from Naples, Daniela, to the airport in a shared taxi. I so wish that I had allotted more time to Fes but also Morocco in general. I'm so impressed with the people, the culture, and the experience in general though that I know this won't be the only time I'll be in Fes. Made some great memories here, met some fantastic people.

Lets see what Italy has in store for me now.

The 5 Hardest Lessons I've Ever Had to Learn

It's been a while since I did a more serious post that wasn't about my travels, and since I've woken up to rain in Barcelona for the 4th straight day in a row I figure I can do with a bit of intellectual reflection. Been thinking a lot about the reasons why I travel, both things I run to and from, and while that topic is not for today's post I have been thinking a lot about lessons I've learned in the past year. Ones that have allowed me to be able to enjoy life more living in the moment, take advantage of my relationships, value the ones I do have, and work harder to becoming the type of person I want to be.

So, here are 5 things I've come to learn (almost always the hard way, as any lesson should be learned to really solidify its meaning):

1. To be ok with stillness

Being raised Mormon, there is this huge push towards the earnest, hardworking protestant work-ethic. You're always moving, always planning, always thinking. When I was in high school this meant clubs, sports, college, high school, seminary, two jobs, church callings, friends, and family commitments. It felt like I was always moving towards something. And I don't regret it--they were great times. But I missed so much by trying to overly prepare myself for the next leg of the journey, which I was never quite sure how that would pan out. I equated movement with progress, whatever kind of movement that might be. But it was only a distraction.

It took me a long time to break this work ethic and family tendency for OCD. Not to say those won't always be a part of me--I still love being busy and making lists of things over and over again in my head, but this idea of progressive movement no longer rules over more. I can progress in different ways, or I can simply be. Not every task is a race to the finish, sometimes its ok if you take the leisurely route towards accomplishing a task. We've all got this crazy perception that you can save time, but in that thinking you actually lose more time than you gain. There are different ways of knowing, of working, of progressing, and I've finally learned there is much to be said for stillness. Just let it be.

2. Money is just paper

This is hard to fully grasp in our society, and this is one that I am continually having to re learn. One of my favorite quotes goes "today, everyone knows the price of everything and the value of nothing." Today, we obsess so much about what dong something will cost us instead of looking at the reverse--what it will cost us not to do it. There are some experiences that cannot be bought, some moments that cannot be replicated. The fact is, sometimes it takes money to have fun and that's ok. You can't let paper rule over the course of whether or not those things are going to pan out.

But money also isn't happiness. I assure people that the happiest times in my life are when I'm poor, and I truly believe that. That's when I'm most generous, most friendly, more innovative, and most open to new ideas--because I'm not being limited by my idea that happiness has to or can be bought. Getting outside of this social constructionist concept of money is one of the greatest things that has lead me to be able to do the things I want to do with...less, fear. I have a backpack full of memories I'll be able to look back on in my old age with no regrets--memories I may otherwise never have had if I let money constantly dictate every part of my life and what I was capable of accomplishing. Carpe diem!

3. Some people are meant to come into your life for just a brief period of time. That doesn't make them any less special.

This is by far the hardest, letting people go. I have this theory about soul mates--I don't believe in just one. I believe that, trying hard enough, you can make it work with just about anyone. But I do believe there is a finite amount of soul mates you have that are perfect for you in that time, place, and moment. Some of them are temporary soul mates, there to teach you a lesson, wipe away a tear, or hold you in their arms. And bless those people and your separate paths that brought you together. These people can make an impact that will last a lifetime, but that doesn't mean they have to. We have to stop trying to make eternity happen with every person we meet and accept this simple truth that people change and not everything we want to work out will work out. Even if we keep beating that dead horse for years--doesn't mean sheer will will make it stand on its legs once more.

Consequently there are people who will come into your life who are meant to stay. Whose plans, personality, spirit, and timing are right in step with your own. And these are the lifelong soul mates--the ones we can sometimes end up shutting out by trying to (for lack of a better analogy) make fetch happen. Fetch isn't going to happen guys, but it doesn't mean that relationship is any less important. Just cherish them for what they are to you in the moment, send them lots of love and well wishes when they leave, and don't look back with sadness. There are more lessons for you to learn in the future, and people who are going to come into your life to teach you about them. Be ready to receive.

4. You attract honest open people in relation to the amount that you are open, honest, and trusting in them.

At my graduation from BYUH, in meeting all of my close friends my grandmother kept on leaning over to me and saying "You attract good friends Sydney because you are one." I'd never really thought about that truth before, but after saying goodbye to some of the greatest people I've ever met I couldn't agree more.

I spent a long long time being depressed at school--putting everyone into a stereotypical box, victimizing myself and trying to live anywhere else whether physically, emotionally, or spiritually. The thing was, my final year when I finally decided to own who I was and be open about that part of me I was absolutely astounded by how much positive feedback I received in return. People who I thought would immediately judge me were now offering me a hand, a shoulder, a heart. I made some amazing soul connections this last year with classmates, teachers, and housemates that I wouldn't have made any other way than in first trusting them with an honest and open Sydney. It was a risk, but it had a huge pay off. So have faith in people and don't waste your time with the ones who aren't truly connecting to you. Go out to make those amazing friends you deserve.

5. Do what makes you happy

This is an overly cliched however totally true statement I wish someone had emphasized to me earlier. In trying to be a strategic, confident person in my youth I thought I had it all figured out what I was going to do. I used to make 5, 10, and 15 year checklists (Stalin, you'd be so proud) for what I was going to accomplish. A lot of this was routed in pride--I wanted to be successful, I wanted to be that "one" youth that had it all figured out early and got what she wanted. But the fact was deep down I wasn't doing it because it made me happy, I was doing it because it either made people jealous, made me feel powerful, or made me rich. I never explicitly owned up to these innermost motives because I didn't want to face the fact that ultimate happiness wasn't my main motivation and that at the end of the day the goal I was racing towards might leave me unfulfilled.

There are many things I love now that will bring me absolutely no money, which I do for myself and I do with complete contentment. Poetry, music, feminism, travel--these things echo back the song that my soul is made of. Doing them makes me happier than any internship, diploma, or career--and even though I'll probably never end up doing them to put bread on the table, they make me so happy. I'm not going to stop singing/playing because I don't have the greatest voice. I'm not going to stop writing poetry because it won't cut a paycheck in today's times. I'm not going to stop talking about women's rights and feminism just because some person is uncomfortable with the word patriarchy and tries to put me in a bra-burning effigy. They are a part of me--the part I do that gives no tangible reward back but happiness. I'm taking advantage of time and talents in this short amount of time allotted to me on Earth. And frankly, that's reason enough for me.

Barcelona: the bigger picture

So this post has been a long time coming, but its been so go-go-go here for the past week that I've hardly had time to really sit back and record anything. I'll try to get it down now before I forget any more stuff.

We are basically caught up through to Monday. After a crazy night on the town (refer to previous post) Daniel and I woke up feeling less than great but eager to start seeing the city. Headed up to the Sagrada Familia first thing, a really cool but weird cathedral that has been under construction since the late 19th century. Both Daniel and I agreed it was weird in the sense that they couldn't make up their mind how they wanted to go about using the space. The outside under construction is both a mix of old culture and new architecture, while the inside looks more like a cool art gallery than any type of religious building. After a nice look at the building we decided to head back to the hostel for a little afternoon nap. What started out as a half hour nap though soon turned into a 4 hour REM session, which looks like a waste of time in Barcelona but was actually really great considering how much Daniel and I agreed we love napping.

Woke up for our 2 euro dinner at the hostel consisting of pasta and pesto. There around the table we met fellow travelers from all over the world at our hostel--Australia, England, Colombia. Turkey, Germany, and the US. Moments like these, exchanging culture and travel stories, is my favorite part about traveling and staying in hostels. Up until this point Daniel and I had decided to be old farts and take a night off by staying inside (mainly to conserve money) but as soon as we met up with these guys the game plan changed. Suited up and headed out with Colombia, Germany, and England to a bar to meet up with some girls from Sweden. Finally meet up with these girls and they are GORGEOUS as only Scandanavian girls can be (kicking my ancestors the entire time for ever leaving). We stay there for a few hours, having a few drinks and just getting to know one another. A guy at the bar had a ukulele, so I went over and chatted with him while playing a few songs. After the bar we headed out to the girls' favorite night club which ended up being pretty lame so Daniel and I left early.

Courtyard off of La Rambla

Lucky for us neither of us were very pissed, so we took a rather leisurely walk back to the hostel. Stopped right around the corner for a nice little chat, when a sketch looking spaniard walks up to us and starts asking if we want to buy a variety of assorted goods and (naturally) drugs. After telling him no to weed and cocaine, he finally responds with "sex for cocaine?" As if he thought that would be the selling point. No, no thank you crazy.

The next morning we packed up and headed out to our new hostel right on the beach. We decided before coming that we wanted to split our stay here up between two locations to get two different experiences of Barcelona: city and beach. We headed out to our hostel by way of La Rambla, stopping along the way for a much needed starbucks (seriously, what do you expect from us washingtonians?) and discovered that it was the Spanish holiday of Sant Jordi.

So basically, once upon a time there lived a princess who was locked away and guarded by a ferocious dragon. The prince who then went to save her slew the dragon, and the blood that spilled forth turned into red roses which he then gave to the princess. Now, every year on April 23rd men give their women a red rose and in return the women buy their men books. I'm not sure where the book deal comes from but I couldn't help from dissecting the gendered narratives :P

Because Daniel is a gentleman and a romantic he first ended up buying me this:

Spanish meat roses

Which was brilliant because as anyone knows, the way to my heart is through my stomach. Spanish meat or jamon is also DELICIOUS, definitely a highlight of this trip.

After starbucks and jamon, we then continued to walk around La Rambla and explore, looking to kill a couple of hours before we could check into our next hostel. It was a hot day, and since we were carrying all of our stuff we were really interested in finding a little parc we could just chill in to pass the time.

Ha ha, neener neener neener...

Finally we found a cute little courtyard, complete with a fountain and overhanging orange trees to hang out in for a couple of hours. We were also attracted to it because of the oversized chess and checker games in the courtyard, which we immediately proceeded to play. I'm not a super competitive person when it comes to most things, but when it comes to games...I lose it. I was so ready to win, the adrenaline pumping. And after a long and difficult game, which many spaniards and tourists stopped to watch, finally I got the check mate. Which was probably for the best since I'm not a good sport about losing and didn't want to make a scene in public.

Pretty good, eh?

After the high of winning we parked it close by and decided to indulge our artistic qualities. Daniel has been drawing for as long as I've known him and is really great at it. Since I brought my ukulele along as well to Europe we decided to play off of each other's art and draw/play the afternoon away. So I serenaded Daniel while he sketched me playing, which ended up working out great: a nice way to spend a long hot afternoon. We sat, watched the little puppies running around, and drank in the beautiful architecture and fragrance from the trees. In my opinion, his drawing was far superior to my playing/singing but we were a good tag team inspiring each other to go on.

I was spoiled

In this time many men were passing selling red roses for Sant Jordi, which Daniel finally indulged me in. Seriously: this guy knows how to woo a woman. Pictures in the park, roses in the street, speaking spanish in the cafes, taking care of my sad drunk ass. The package ladies.

We reluctantly left the park after our relaxed afternoon to set off to our hotel and rid ourselves of our bags. After more confusion and aimless wandering (I really need to get my ish together and start writing down directions to hostels), we finally found it and got rid of our things. The hostel was cute, literally right across from the beach with free breakfast included.

Next stop was to satisfy my craving/need for some authentic catalan food: paella. Basically its spiced rice with an assortment of sea food deliciousness. Being right on the sea I was expecting to eat sea food at least once while in Barcelona. I'd first heard about paella from my friend at the embassy Brittany who had it when she went to Spain. Decided on a spot down the strip from our hostel right near the beach and went to town. It was expensive, but it was worth it.

For our final adventure of the day we headed out to Montjuic Park up on the hill to overlook Barcelona at sunset. Little did we know that it is THE MOST CONFUSING HILL EVER so we ended up walking all over trying to figure out exactly how to get to the top castle part for the best view. It was crazy, because in Hawaii it gets dark so early and the last time I was in Europe it was the same. But this time of year it doesn't get dark until like 8:30-9, so we actually had more time to get to the top than I thought we did. With like 15 minutes left to spare before the castle closed and the sun set we made it to the top.

The long walk up was ultimately worth it, especially since at this time we basically had the park to ourselves as everyone else was heading out. When I say to ourselves, I mean except for the 456786567 gay and lesbian couples who went up for the romantic view as well. Seriously, Barcelona has got to be one of the most progressive cities for that kind of thing. We saw two lesbian couples up there and 4 gay couples on the way up. Attention LGBTQ people of America: head to Barcelona. Forget about San Fran.

On the way out we stopped to chat with this guy who was playing the coolest little instrument. Turned out he was from Afghanistan and the instrument was the citar, which he graciously played for us on the way down. Even though the guys' english was broken at best, you could tell he just had a hard life but a genuine heart. Walked down the hill and discovered a little zip line which we played on for a bit until it started to get a little too dark and sketchy for me. Heard a group of guys' talking and a woman scream out, at which point I grabbed Daniel who was trying to play hero and got us the hell out of there. Turns out they were just joking around, but even so.

After a long day of walking we just wanted to veg, so we went back to the hostel and watched Silver Linings Playbook. Next morning we got up, I did laundry and showered and packed and cleaned while Daniel tried for 2 hours to get his ass out of bed. After many tries, he finally did and we set out to cycle Barcelona. Having now walked, taken public transport, and biked I would definitely say that biking is the best bet for getting around here. And only 9 euros for 11 hours! Very affordable. So we picked up two bikes and headed off to ride both along the beach and into town. First road all along the docks up by Paral-lel before weaving back around to crash at the beach.

Barceloneta beach

While it wasn't the warmest weather, it was perfect for just lounging. At this point crazy Daniel decided he wanted to go for a dip in the Mediterranean. Now I'm all for living life to the fullest, but I was far from agreeing to go in after him. So I ate a few snacks left over from the previous night's veg session and waited for him to get back before we continued biking. We also ended up seeing another lesbian couple kissing and tanning topless on the beach which is ANOTHER thing you would never see in the states. (Seriously, gays. Get over here. This is your motherland.)

The most awesome fountain

Which brings me to one of my favorite parts about this trip: Parc de la Ciutadel. We really came upon it accidentally after giving up riding to Sagrada Familia (since it was up a hill), and it was GORGEOUS. Located right next to the Barcelona zoo, it has the most gorgeous fountain you ever did see as well as a whole bunch of really cool ancient and modern sculptures. Lounged some more in the grass to take a break from all of our riding and then headed on out again to visit the Arc de Triomf (which apparently are all over Europe because I was confused too).


Rode down the strip to the Arc de Triomf and back towards the city. At this point both of our asses were hurting something fierce from all of our riding so we decided to go and turn them in and try to find something to eat. No, not anything to eat. Colombian food. Since Daniel is Colombian and far from any type of homemade colombian cooking it was paramount that we find a place to eat at. We had been asking out entire trip if anyone knew where a good Colombian place was, but none did. At this point it seemed like a conspiracy: there had to be some food somewhere. And Daniel was determined to find it.

Consummation at last.

We headed back to the area around our last hostel to scope out a recommendation we had finally gotten from a woman at the money exchange place. As is tradition here in Barcelona, we got lost yet again and  had to ask people again and again for directions. I was trying to be supportive of Daniel's mission (which took him into hyper alert mode walking at least 10-20 paces in front of me, like a rabid dog on the hunt), but I was also hungry and nearly doubled over from laughing at Daniel's earnestness. At least we reached the Colombian place and feasted on some damn delicious food. My favorite were the empanadas, but I'm not sure you could get a favorite out of Daniel. He was emotionally orgasming from the entire experience, a wealth of knowledge filling me in on all things Colombian. The owner of the restaurant I think was so proud of himself for bringing Daniel such joy that he gave us a massive discount. Only ended up being 20 euro for the shit ton of food we got.


Our last day in Barcelona was very lazy, as it was the first overcast/rainy day we had had in Barcelona thus far. Walked a little bit more around Gotica, spending a good amount of the afternoon at the Traveler's Bar trying to motivate ourselves to keep walking. We returned back to the Colombian restaurant for our last supper (not even 24 hours since our last visit) for some more delicious food. With all of my luggage in tow moving to the next hostel, and Daniel's to return back to Sicily we parted ways at the Catalunya metro stop which was sad. This was my first time travelling with someone in a long time and Daniel was a great travelling partner, not to mention a great friend.

Today was weird being back on my own, but also lovely. Went to Gaudi park more on the outside of the city to see some of his famous artwork/architecture. The artist Gaudi got a lot of his inspiration from shapes in nature, so it was beautiful to see that all getting played out in this space. It was also set up on a hill that overlooked Barcelona, so there was that added wow factor. Didn't stay for too long as the weather was crap and I was quite tired, so I headed back to find the metro. That's my one biggest complaint about Barcelona, is that their metro system is so spread out. It's so easy to get lost/walk forever until you find the next metro stop. So I ended up doing a lot of unnecessary walking, but I'm back at the hostel and all is well.

Barcelona has been great thus far, but I'm definitely ready for my next leg of the journey. Barcelona is one of those cities you can see in 4 days, so being here 9 is kind of superfluous. And if this rainy weather keeps up much longer I might just end up vegging these next few days, playing my uke and avoiding spending any more money (Daniel and I went so far out of budget). Can't wait to hit up Morocco next week and hook up with Julie and Zach!

Barcelona shit show

This post will be my first ever co-authored event, as a simple night out on the town turned into one of the biggest shit shows to date and I can't fully remember everything for that night. And so I've invited Daniel Felipe Pardo Medina, my savior for the evening and traveling bud to break down the sequence of events.

The suave Colombian turned European

So a little break down before we get into the evening's events, just so you don't get the idea that this is the only interesting thing that has happened in Barcelona.

On Sunday I met up with Daniel at Barcelona El Prat Airport. Grabbed the next Airport bus into town where I had a vague idea of where or hostel was. Whereas my last trip to Europe I was still ovecoming my family's affinity for OCD, this time I am the exact opposite--probably too laid back with finding/planning things. In the end finally Daniel (a man) spoke spanish to ask for directions. Having Daniel here to guide us along and talk with people has been a GODSEND. I highly recommend picking up your own Colombian when you go to a spanish speaking country--very useful.


After a little adventure walking up and down streets we finally checked into or hostel and went out again to explore. Most of Barcelona meets up along the main focal point of the city: La Rambla. La Rambla is beautiful because unlike the rest of the city which can be harsh with the constant buildings and concrete, Las Ramblas is a beautiful strip lined with huge overhanging trees providing a bit of shade from the Spanish heat. Walking down Las Ramblas, we were on the hunt for the Hard Rock Cafe, since that's one of Daniel's "things" when traveling--he collects Hard Rock guitar pins and tastes the local burger. Nice conversation, nice meal, after which we returned back to the room to get ready for a night out.

We had three options, but in the end decided to go with a pub crawl we found on Las Ramblas which would take us to a bar and three clubs right on the beach. I was a little nervous because I hadn't fully drank since New Years, and it had been over a year since I had done so out in public with Harley in England (4 months man....4 months...). I was excited because I had bought that new dress at Free P Star in Paris which perfectly encapsulated Barcelona in my mind so I could wear that out and look cute.

We got to the Irish pub early, the meeting point, where I introduced Daniel to Strongbow cider which is my personal drink of choice. I was shocked and a little embarrassed at how much I started to feel it after just one pint, already nodding along and getting glassy as Daniel's tipsy-nerdy side started to come out as well. Also each took shots and got a mixed drink before it was time to move on. You know how they say women speak 6,000 words a day and men speak only 2,000? Think of the reverse for Daniel and I, and you get a picture of what Barcelona and this night in particular was.

Calm before the storm

Outside of the pub on our way to the first club we met a lovely pair of friends from Liverpool, she a nurse and he the cutest little gay boy you ever did see who worked in a hotel. We got off nicely with them and they became our new drinking/socializing companions for the evening. At the first club we had two glasses of free champagne as a welcome drink and Daniel got us shots of...dun dun dun! Tequila. We started dancing, having a great time. I didn't plan on drinking much more as I was already feeling it and didn't particularly like tequila shots anyways. (Last Tequila experience with Deja for Cinquo de Mayo was also a shit show...I should have learned).

But we did. Took another tequila round soon following as a gift from the English couple, followed by a round of shots from a bottle that I still don't know exactly what it was, but it definitely had skulls on the bottle. We were having a great time, there was a woman there with a mustache and a flamenco dress on that we fell in love with who donned us with red cotton bow ties and mickey mouse ears. Dance dance dance, fun fun fun. Up until this point I remember the basics and it was a pretty nice night out on the town.

Until I went to the bathroom and didn't feel like getting up from the nausea.

At this point: I pass the gauntlet over to Senior Daniel Pardo.
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What Really Happened:
by Daniel Pardo Medina

Walking Sydney to the outside of the bar was the easy part, getting her home was the real challenge. Immediately after I walked her outside she sat down beside the bar and was overwhelmed with nausea. She sat to the side and became helpless due to the awful drink. As she laid there unable to move I began to look around helplessly, hoping to figure out a way to get to the hostel safely.

Things were not looking up as I realized our options were getting slimmer and slimmer as the subway was closed, the bus system was too unfamiliar, and I myself was drunk. To the left of us I noticed a long row of black and yellow cars lined up in front of the clubs. I walked Sydney to a place on top of stairs where she would be in greatest view and sat her down as I ran from taxi to taxi hoping one of them would be able to aid us.

I walked up to each cab and politely asked the cabby if they were able to take us home. Each one I went to gave the same response -hoping to rid themselves of us- following the phrase, "shes too drunk, I do not want her to puke in my car." When I reached the sixth cab I finally became cross with these cab drivers and decided it was time to get serious. I approached the sixth and said, "My friend is in trouble and I need to get her home, can you please help me?" he gave the same response as the rest but I wasn't about to have it anymore. "Look I understand but she is in trouble and I have no other way to get her home. Unless you have another suggestion, I'm going to have no other option but to keep asking." Finally after agreeing that if she were to vomit again, I would pull the cab over and lean her head out the door as to avoid soiling his vehicle.

When I was in the car I had no memory of the street name so when I told the cab I asked him to take us to the metro stop nearest to our hostel, Paral-el. in order to further persuade the cab to take us home I  had agreed to pay him 20 euros even though our trip only cost 8.

Finally arriving at the metro, we only had a ten minute walk before reaching our destination. Easy right? Wrong. With Sydney's condition it might as well have been a mile walk. The moment she stepped out of the cab she was stricken yet again with nausea. I immediately sat her down and tried my hardest to calm her as the world spun around her. I said to her, "Sydney, I'm not going to leave you and everything will be fine." She then responded with a loud, "JUST LEAVE ME TO DIE!" Needless to say, she was of no help to me. When I was finally able to get her to get up and walking around I made it ten feet before being stopped by Spanish police. "Hey is she okay?" asked the Spaniards  "She's fine, I'm taking her home and shes going straight to bed." They asked for my both my military and civilian ID and for our hostel key to verify that I wasn't some random guy trying to get his way with a tourist. After a couple minutes of persuading these guys that we were friends and that I was just trying to get home they finally decided to release me and allow me to go on about my business.

At this point we were five minutes away and i was tired. she was unstable and too nauseated to walk so I threw her arm over my shoulder and helped her walk. Soon after as we started walking we reached a big white base containing a small tree and the moment Sydney laid eyes upon it she dipped her head and began to heave. As she leaned over I grabbed her hair and looked up and coming our way was another couple. This couple seemed to be in the same predicament as we were, with the girl drunk and the male doing everything in his power just to try and get her home. I looked at him and he looked at me and we both shared a look as if to say to each other, "I feel your pain bro, I feel your pain." With two bottles of water and Sydney unable to drink any of it I decided to give him a hand and throw him one of my un-opened bottles. He looked at me with gratitude and continued to lead his woman home. The odd part was when I looked back after he passed us I noticed him shushing everyone that walked by.

When i finally got her home I felt as if i had just walked a marathon, but the endeavor was not over yet. The final challenge of the night was getting her two flights of stairs. When I got her in the bar we were greeted by an array of fellow travelers and roommates. The asked us if she was alright and I simply explained that she needed rest. I managed to get her up the first flight with easy, but the moment we made it up she was greeted by another huge wave of nausea and became best friends with the sink and stool conveniently placed before her. After another round of heaving and begging for the life to end her misery I was finally able to get her up another flight. When she stood up off the bench she ran with all haste up the stairs yelling, "I feel great! i have to get up the stairs before it comes back!" at this point the whole building was aware of our arrival and condition. Constantly being asked if she was fine I fended off as many curious eyes as I could handle as she was yet again struck by nausea and was forced to yet again another convenient sink, but at least we were finally next to the room.

Finally the long trip was over and i was finally able to steady her into the bed and lay her on her side. I had a garbage bag ready in case she decided to hurl again. The moment her head hit the pillow she was out. I sat there and watched her sleep for another hour to make sure she didn't aspirate before I too was unable to hold my drunken head up. All I could think was - it's finally over, shes finally safe.

And that was the story of how I, Daniel Pardo, got Sydney home in one of my longest nights ever experienced.
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Needless to say, that was my introductory experience to Barcelona night life. Literally the craziest night of my life (right after Prague, nothing will beat that Jacob). I'd add more pictures of that night but Daniel broke his camera at La Sagrada Familia the next day so we are SOL for that now. Our time here has been much more tame since, but all-in-all: I'm glad I'm alive. Hasta la vista!

Au revoir, Paris

After a nice, albeit short, three-day stint in Paris I’m back on the road—or should I say skies—again to meet up with an old high school friend, Daniel, in Barcelona.

A lot has happened in these past few days. After passing into a catatonic state Friday night and sleeping for a straight and undisturbed 13 hours I awoke confused and angry that I had slept through my lunch appointment with Akila at the embassy. Trying to stay on the positive side, I rushed out to Paris as soon as possible to try and salvage what was left of the day. Headed out to the Marais again, going to my favorite chocolate shop in Paris       and once again to Free P Star to see if I couldn’t find some cheap second-hand treasure. Wasn’t disappointed at Free P star, got the CUTEST dress I’ve probably ever owned in my life for only 10 euros which will be a perfect dress for a night out on the town with Daniel. Since it was also freezing cold and I hadn’t packed a jacket anticipating being in warmer climates in the Mediterranean, I also bought a cheap sweater for 1 euro which has really come to save me these past few days. Leaving the Marais, I decided to walk back to my old apartment in Republique just next to Pere Lachaise (the famous Parisian cemetery). When I lived there I never took any pictures of my actual street, which is actually quite famous for having a lot of great bars (Rue Oberkampf), so I wanted something to remember the place by.

My door was the blue one on the street, and the view across the street to a bar/restaraunt

Along the way to my old apartment a man from Morocco named Momon started to talk with me, which I welcomed because I was looking for an excuse to practice French. He wanted to go and chat at a café, but I had a strict itinerary for things I needed to accomplish in Paris and so I suggested he follow me to Montmartre for some delicious gourmet ice cream overlooking the city. Had it been someone I was actually interested in, the outing would have been romantic, but as it was it was still nice to have company since traveling alone can be re5al quiet at times. Wasn’t too bad either as he actually ended up buying my ice cream as well (amarena…mmmm). Nevertheless he was very kind and we spoke about a variety of subjects from our families to religion to hobbies and food in French for about 3-4 hours while sitting in the sun/rain (Parisian weather is bi-polar this time of year).

                   Sacre Coeur, ice cream, conversation...you were creepy, but you were fun MoMon

Coming back to Paris this time I kick myself for going about language acquisition all wrong last time. I think I was too young and self conscious to really have the confidence in myself to speak in French. It didn’t help that I was speaking English all day at the embassy, but even so. I’m very independent and introverted which can be to my detriment in practicing a foreign language.

Towards the end of my internship, and again here on this trip I realize that you just have to put yourself out there. And I really do think that when you’re trying to pick up french in Paris, it’s a great idea to begin speaking with other immigrants who are more patient with you as you potentially stumble over words and conjugations since they too are a second language speaker. After an awkward goodbye with Momon in which he went from nice to creepy in 0.000007 seconds, I was approached by another foreigner from Mali. I was sitting in the park across from the embassy waiting for Akila to be done with work when Ibrahima walked by in his business suit and big smile and started chatting with me. I was a little bit more nervous this time speaking with a native French speaker, but for the most part everything went well and we had a nice chat.

I don’t know what it is about men over here in Europe, but they just go for it man. Within 5 minutes of talking to Ibrahim and Momon both of them asked me out on a date. Now I’m not getting down on myself about anything, but I couldn’t get that kind of attention in the states if I tried. And here they are, chatting it up and straight out offering to take me out. It’s very flattering, even if I wasn’t particularly interested in either except for practicing my French.

After Ibrahima left and I met up with Akila we sought shelter in a snazzy little restaurant in Opera where I—an American, introduced to Akila—a French woman, French onion soup. French onion soup, or soup d’oignon is my favorite dish in Paris and is pretty cheap in comparison to other plates. She ended up loving it, and we spent about an hour just chatting and catching up on life. Akila was the French intern working with me in the Cultural Affairs department at the embassy in Fall 2011, and only recently got hired as a permanent local staff member working over women and gender issues. Super proud of her, and super jealous of her job. She’s very qualified though, so no surprise she was first of the interns to get a position with the State Department. Trevy and Alessandro on the other hand will probably skip that entry level job and go straight into being ambassadors I expect.

                                    The beautiful Akila being introduced to her own culture

After dinner I went home exhausted to Tram’s place to get to bed early enough to wake up early for the Saturday market the next morning. At 9am the next morning we set off for Centre Ville in Rueil, a quaint but beautiful city that was in full bloom from all of the new spring flowers around the various parcs and town center. We walked through the market, with all of its beautiful smells and aray of food and wared before heading further out to visit the summer palace of Josephine. This has been my first time visiting the suburbs of Paris (minus once with Harley for a football match) and it was wonderful. The people are so much more real and down to earth, far less intimidating than some of the stuck-up Parisian insiders. Tram was also a lovely host, and it was sad to part ways after lunch.

                                                             The beautiful Rueil

Coming back into Paris for my last few hours, I mainly dedicated my time to the Latin Quarter. Since it was a shining beautiful day, like most people in Paris, I headed off to Jardin du Luxembourg to lay in the grass and soak up some of that beautiful heat. When it finally started to get a little colder and most of us were in the shade, I went back to warm up in the Notre Dame. To mu surprise, Catholic mass was going on so I sat in the pews and quietly observed that. Following mass there was a organ recital by a local musician, which hundreds of people also came to enjoy. The music was beautiful, the view was incredible, and above all it was warm and free. Despite the fact that you were not supposed to eat in the Notre Dame, I snuck in some of my chocolate which I stealthily ate while listening to the organ recital to round out the overall bliss of the evening.

                                              Lounging in the Jardin Du Luxembourg

When that finished, I headed out to Shakespeare and Company across the street to kill another hour before catching my bus to the airport. Much less crowded than earlier in the day, I grabbed Pearl S Buck’s ‘The Good Earth’ and headed upstairs to read on one of the cots. Last time I started the book, I thought it was quite dull, but this time I fell in love and the hour passed quickly. Think I’ll have to pick that up again when I get back to the states.

Which brings me back to here: Paris Orly airport. Managed to sleep for a few hours in front of starbucks by pushing two chairs together (actually not that uncomfortable) but still looking forward to a potential siesta in Barcelona this afternoon after I hook up with Daniel. Thank god for the Spanish and their naps!