carnivorous capitalist

10 Things I Hate Being Asked About Turkey

2011-01-26T12:36:00.005Z

After more than a year away, I'm going home in a couple of days for a holiday.
It's always exciting, albeit a little strange, and I am expecting another dose of reverse culture shock which, in some ways, is more difficult than the shock of moving to a new country.

You adapt to the rhythm of a place; its pace; its mannerisms; in some way, its language- you begin to merge with the culture. And then suddenly you're home, and the familiarity of it all is strange. Your wild, Mediterranean style gestures and blatant disregard for road (and most other) rules are suddenly out of place. You feel like a foreigner all over again.

And then come the questions. Now, in no way do I expect people to know the ins-and-outs of Turkish culture, politics and history, but there are a few basic questions which I am frequently asked which I thought were worth tackling prior to departure:

Isn't it Dangerous? Compared with every other nation I have been to, I can honestly say that I feel safest in Turkey. Violent crimes are few and far between and apart from the odd bag snatch, Istanbul is generally a very safe city. That said, of course it's wise to avoid certain areas at certain times.
What's it like to ride a camel? I wouldn't know. Apart from the rather odd camel wrestling competition on the Aegean coast of Turkey, one would be hard pressed to find one of these fine beasts here.
Aren't the men creepy? On the whole, no. Just like anywhere else there are some notable creepers, but on the whole I find Turkish men kind, generous, honest and respectful of women.
Do you have to wear a burqa/headscarf? No. Turkey is a proudly secular state, and only a portion of the female population wears a headscarf, which certainly does not include me, apart from if I'm entering a mosque. And they are banned from most state institutions.
Aren't you sick of kebabs? Despite what the many 'Turkish' kebab joints all over the world seem to suggest, there is much, MUCH more to Turkish cuisine than kebabs. And it's delicious.
How are your belly dancing skills coming along? They aren't. Belly dancing didn't originate in Turkey, nor is it really even possible to see- apart from at exorbitantly priced tourist shows.
How's your Arabic? Non-existent. Turks speak Turkish, a unique language which has its origins in Central Asia and adopted a Latin script following the foundation of the Turkish republic.
So you've been to the ANZAC Day commemoration at Gallipoli? No, and I don't intend to. Hanging out with a bunch of loud and drunk Commonwealth country backpackers while they trash a stunningly beautiful area of Turkey is not at the top of my list.
You mean it gets COLD in Turkey? Yes. Istanbul has a Mediterranean climate, which means cold, rainy (and occasionally snowy) winters. And out east, well, that's a much chillier story.
? Well, I confess to getting tired after 9. You tell me.

Having a haircut in a strange land

2011-01-25T20:11:00.005Z

I don’t quite know where my almost-phobia of hairdressers began, but my memories of trips there seem to merge in a gush of small talk from women with grating accents and hair as parched as a hungover tongue.

Perhaps it was hairdressers’ love of cutting, because it seemed no matter how many times I told them I wanted a ‘trim’, they would take to my painfully slowly growing hair as one would to unkempt hedge. And, once again, I would be left with mid length, dead mouse coloured hair, greasy with product I never asked for.

Whatever it was, I would avoid going at all costs, even if it meant going the DIY route which, as every teenage girl knows, NEVER ends well. First there were the temporary dyes, which either never worked or stained the hair with a tinge of pink. And then there was Sun In, whose promise of ‘sun-bronzed and kissed by the sun’ locks was woefully understated- translating into, well, yellow hair.

Venturing past the borders of New Zealand hairdressers left me with new problems to contend with, the biggest of which was trying to make myself understood in a different language. Unfortunately ‘gul’ (yellow) and ‘guld’ (gold) are much too similar in Swedish, and I was left with stripes the shade of a wedding ring.

In Ireland, lack of funds led me to a bunch of Koreans who had set up shop above a seedy looking internet cafe, whose apparently untrained, non-English speaking staff left me looking like a less peaceful and consistently coloured version of this girl:

It was with trepidation, then, that I traipsed off to a hairdresser in Istanbul following the return of my trusted hairdresser friend, Ellie, to the USA.

Within minutes of entering the salon I had their finest whizzing around me in every direction, offering me tea and making up the foils. I have to say that there’s something strangely disconcerting about having two good looking, presumably straight men attending to matters of beauty, but I took considerable pleasure in the fact that I could read my book or contemplate the wall colour in peace without having to be disturbed with news about the finale of Lost or of Lindsay Lohan’s latest downfall.

With all the lack of distractions I could finally attempt to relax and lose myself in the atmosphere of a Turkish hair salon which is, well, pretty much like any ordinary salon, save for the music being turned off for the duration of the call to prayer. There are the same uncomfortable hair sinks which leave you feeling that you’ve been pinned down by the neck by a professional weightlifter; the same walls of mirrors which leave you stuck as to which way to look; and the same overwhelming scent of hair products and bleach which result in a not-so-pleasant dizzying effect.

Three hours and too much hairspray later, the result was surprisingly positive. Good looking hairdresser #1 chivalrously helped me with my coat while good looking hairdresser #2 gave me the Turkish compliment- “Güle güle kullan”- roughly translating into "I hope this brings you joy". Unfortunately I confused this with the Turkish goodbye- “Güle güle”- and, with my phobia of hairdressers waning ever so slowly, I wished them both a nice evening and walked away as fast as I could.

Today

2010-09-23T15:26:00.006+01:00

I've touched on three seasons since my last post, and this murky autumn day seems like a fitting time to resume. I'd like to think that writing is only worth doing when you've really got something to write about, but that's just an excuse for apathy, or lying, or both.

In four months I've seen things, I've done things, I've felt things. Vietnam, London, Bursa. Beaches, cities, parties, food, food, food. Frustration, anger, success, failure, delight, anxiety, elation, expectation, disappointment in people, disappointment in myself, alienation, belonging.
I've farewelled old friends, made new ones, sweated from places I didn't know you could sweat, tasted food I never knew you eat, discovered bars I thought only existed in dreams.
I would like to have read more, written more, travelled more, doubted less, doubted more, said more, said less, drank less, stood up for myself more, slept more, loved more, lived more.

But that's life, and I'm still here to write about it.

Istanbul Waning

2010-05-11T21:14:00.004+01:00

I don’t like quiet mornings in empty places.

Dusk is my favourite time of day; the light is different then, special. Dusk captures the essence of Istanbul- its temper, its force, its raw sense of life. The light bleeds then like spilling gooseberry juice, and as the air cools the city sighs.

I was on a ferry a few evenings ago, doing the cross-continental hop between Beşiktaş and Kadıköy. There’s something wonderful and slightly terrifying about being stuck in a vessel in the middle of a darkening sea with 500 strangers who just happen to be sharing the same linoleum with you.

Often the strangers are the most interesting part and I love to observe those few minutes of their lives; to watch the graceful tea sellers doling out steaming çay to sleepy commuters and to try to spot a real newspaper in between the comic strips and sports pages.

As the ferry edges closer to the dock, most get up, too quick to crowd and form a panicky queue. But a few stay behind: the old, the bored and the melancholic, stepping slowly onto the plank and taking a last look at the lemon light before resuming life outside the ferry.

Becoming A Little Turkish

2010-04-25T18:34:00.004+01:00

I rarely see being an ex-pat as a term of endearment. It usually conjures up images of loud-mouthed, mono-thinking English teachers who spend most of their time outside their native country drunk and complaining about the food, stuck in a whinge-worthy, cringe-worthy purgatory halfway between their two hells of home country and host country.

I find myself dearly trying to distance myself, to desperately not want to be an 'ex-pat', 'alien' or 'foreigner'. To not want to be a 'yabancı' anymore. Yet there's always that tugging pride in being a more objective observer, in being able to see the faults in people and place as much as you can appreciate the strengths, even if voicing those thoughts in an accent will automatically deem them void in the non-foreigner’s mind.

From the age of eighteen months, I’ve been a foreigner, and from that point on I always was. No matter how well you master a language, an accent or certain cultural norms, as an immigrant or foreigner or tourist your opinion on a place is seen as different, and it is. Whether it’s valued more or less depends on who you’re talking to, but it’s never viewed as equal.

Where you’re born, where you grow up, where you choose to live or where you’re forced to live, all reflect on who you are. ‘Where are you from?’ is a lot more complicated than it should be for me, because I want to answer ‘what does it matter?’ But it does.

There’s a little part of everywhere I’ve lived and travelled within me: the best, the worst and the most mundane of it. And part of life in a new place is about embracing these parts, or at the very least being able to laugh at them.

‘Integration’ in cultural terms is a word I will never like. But by living anywhere you start to take on the energy of place by some kind of wonderful osmosis, and I’m happy to say a few of the below have stuck during my last seven or so months in Turkey. I like to term it my ’10 Ways of Knowing You’re Becoming A Little Turkish', though the list surely goes on...

10 Ways Of Knowing You’re Becoming A Little Turkish
• When you start feeling panicky when you don’t have wet wipes, hand sanitizer, tissues AND lemon cologne in your handbag.
• When you don a scarf in 20°c weather, for fear of ‘catching a chill.’
• When you start believing that yogurt is indeed the cure for all of life’s problems. Or ayran (salted buttermilk).
• When, after far too many beers at 3am, your craving for McDonald’s is replaced by a desperate need for Iskembe (tripe) soup.
• When you learn that obeying pedestrian signals are only for the slow or stupid and crossing a busy intersection becomes part of your subconscious.
• When you stop giggling at Turkish soap operas and find yourself being slowly sucked in. And kind of enjoy it.
• When deciding whether to call the slightly elderly woman on the bus 'abla' (sister) or 'teyze' (aunt) sends you into a cold sweat.
• When you start realising that lemon really does compliment every dish.
• When you opt for ayran instead of cola at a lokanta.
• When switching to another foreign language, you answer ‘evet’ instead of ‘si’, ‘ya’ or whatever ‘yes’ should really be.

The Philosophy of Team Sports

2010-03-13T21:04:00.003Z

Despite a lifelong ambivalence to team sports, I feel it’s necessary to keep challenging your ideas, fears, likes and dislikes. So it was that I ended up at my first Turkish football game the other day. The result? I took up smoking for one night only. It was either that or kill myself more quickly.

But through the damp plastic seats, fluorescent lights and biting cold I wanted to dig deeper into my phobia. Where did it come from? Why don’t matching scarves and cleverly rhymed chants instil excitement and the burn of patriotism in me?

Did I suffer some team sports related tragedy? Was I hit by a ball at birth? Did my parents lock me in a cinema and play the Football World Cup on repeat for hours on end, Clockwork Orange style?

No.

So then why is it that my eyes glaze over and my soul starts to whither whenever sports come within sight and sound?

To start with, it’s the balls. I just can’t fathom how it can be possible to find the throwing/passing/bouncing/kicking of a ball back and forth interesting. Sure, there’s some variation in the speed, height and power by which it can be moved, but it’s still a ball. Being propelled back and forth. I have more fun on a see-saw.

But more than that, it’s the mentality I find the most difficult to stomach. Sport develops some of the most intense anger, hatred and jealousy. Sure, there’s love there too, but it only lasts as long as one team’s winning and the other’s losing.

Affiliation to a team is rarely based on logical factors such as reasoned judgment about who is the best team, but almost always on inherited or circumstantial factors like who your father supports, where you are from or which team can afford the most talented players.

And so they trudge, the ‘supporters’. Decked in identical colours, with a similar mindset, ready to jump and clap and hug and cry for the team. As they gather, they begin to evoke old songs and chants which reinforce their love and devotion to a group of people they have never met and will never meet.

The team are intrinsically linked and dependent on each other. They are brought together not because of a genuine and mutual love and respect, but for the purpose of working towards the ‘greater good.’ Yes, an individual’s efforts are acknowledged, but it’s always done in the context of the ‘team.’ Sound familiar?

So there we have it: sports involve socialism, nationalism and patriotism. My most detested ‘isms’.

I knew it was more than just the balls.

Back to School (just another brick in the Istan-WALL)

2010-03-02T19:47:00.006Z

I had my first Turkish lesson today.

It was rather like being teleported back to school days, only without the sadistic P.E. teachers, uniform coloured hair ties and boys calling me "Clown Face" (in reference to my overly rosy cheeks) or 'Tapeworm'' (not in reference to parasitic crawlies in my stomach, but because I ate more than everyone and was still the lankiest, skinniest girl in my class). Hrmm... seems things don't change much...

We don't even have a siren-like bell to startle us back to life. Instead we get Turkish pop music played at full volume until the break is over. There are no lunch ladies to growl at me as they slop processed cheese muck onto my plate, but a wizened old man offers steaming glasses of tea to dazed students.

The lessons are relaxed but packed with information. Turkish is interesting in that the language was completely overhauled by Mustafa Kemal Ataturk in 1928. The founder of the Turkish Republic went about swapping the Arabic script to a Latin one and purging the language of most of its Persian and Arabic words; within a few months it was forbidden to use the old language.

The Turkish of today has no genders and a very logical grammatical structure. It's a designer language of sorts, kind of like the Milton Keynes of linguistics...

Still, that doesn't make it easy. Things like suffixes, pronunciation and vowel harmony are enough to induce a tequila flashback headache. There are so many 'formulas' to master that it's more than a little daunting.

Learning a language is like mathematics with a bit of history, politics, geography and sociology throw in.

And right now I have all the colours of a Rubik's cube whirling around inside my head.

My Istanbul Info

2010-02-13T17:26:00.004Z

For those of you who are wondering why my blog went dead for awhile, I blame this:
http://www.myistanbulinfo.com/

I've spent the last few months furiously writing and editing this online guide to Istanbul.

So if you've visited or plan to visit the city, check it out! Feedback welcome...

For the Cat

2010-02-08T15:50:00.003Z

Winter has come to Istanbul. Before you see it you can smell it- in the plumes of roasted chestnut-pricked smoke that whirl down Istiklal Street and float into the blue-black sky.

You can taste it in the hot helva melted into sweet kebabs which are rolled up for easy access as you hunch over with hood on, munching through the January rains.

You can hear it in the howls of my feline neighbours, who moan at each other and the world as the snow keeps falling.

And you can feel it in the tips of your fingers and toes as the cold creeps in.

But as I sit here, peering out at my damp, dark garden, I know that cold or no cold, returning to Turkey was an easy choice; I chose to live life as it should be. Or at least try to. I’m now lost in a world of words… editing, writing, teaching words in a crazy, chaotic city which pulses with endless energy and torments.

Not long ago I witnessed a cat in its death throes: hit by a car and flinching its last bloodied flinches in the most undignified and horrifying way. I was on a bus, heading home after a long and draining day, full of equally drained workers on their way to collapse into an armchair and make a brief peace with their sushi-train lives.

But something sparked in that bus and as we passed the almost-corpse of the cat I felt a nauseated gasp shiver through. The whole street had paused; gruff looking mechanics paced up and down in helpless horror and teenagers glanced numbly at their feet.

So next time someone asks me why I moved back to Turkey, maybe I'll say, "for the cat."

Working the Street

2009-11-04T14:27:00.001Z

Convenience Store, Sultanahmet
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

I’ve had some unusual jobs in my time. Somehow I was never content with McDonald’s, KFC or the local fish and chip shop.

No, my first real whack at employment in my school’s summer holiday involved standing for eight hours a day on hard concrete, my hands in cold water, shuffling asparagus on a long assembly line to the tune of Britney Spears’ latest single.

I still don’t know what my title was. Asparagus Services Representative? Asparagus Operations Assistant? Asparagus Shuffling Operative? If it wasn’t for Britney, it would have been a great job. But when I ran out of daydreams to amuse myself I decided it was time for fresh inspiration. Off I went to the local Swiss chocolate factory, where I spent every Saturday for the next two years poking a tea towel at rodent shaped chocolate moulds and developing a nauseating aversion to the smell of cocoa.

Then came the call centres, where I was coached on sales techniques by a bunch of highly charismatic Indians, whose cutting humour and ability to sell anything to anyone at any time made for one of my favourite jobs of all.

After a few more serious jobs I decided to take it international. After the stint in Dublin I needed a decent, real Turkish trade. It was without qualms, then, that I took up the offer of a one day trial in the world of carpet selling in Istanbul’s old town.

I have been sworn to secrecy on the details of this ancient trade, but I will say that carpet salesmanship is an art form and involves an intricate understanding of geography, politics, human psychology and mathematical probability. Unfortunately I was not blessed with the necessary depth of understanding and so had to look for other employment opportunities if I was to live my dream of working and living in Turkey’s largest city.

After my weeks in Georgia and the Middle East my funding and stamina for travel was running low. I was fed up with packing, unpacking and repacking my backpack on a daily basis. I was tired of thin mattresses and was looking for some stability in my pillow situation. I considered it fate then, that within two hours of being back in Turkey, I was offered the job of any insane traveller’s dream: touting for restaurant customers on a bustling street in Istanbul’s old town. The day had come to tackle 84 hour weeks, endless treks up and down flights of stairs, and setting up permanent camp in a sardine tin dormitory. In return I had free accommodation, restaurant prepared meals, and the chance to see backpacking culture from the depths of a 20 bed basement, on a crowded street side and from a rooftop restaurant and bar. Perfect.

For the next month I would have first-hand insight into the permanent and not so permanent relationships of travelers and develop some lasting friendships of my own. I would discover the answer to such complex philosophical problems as ‘Why do the French always drink such small beers?’ and ‘Why do New Zealanders always insist on wearing hiking clothes, even in large European cities?’, along with ‘Microfibre towels: to use or not to use?’

My day would start at 11am and end when the last beer was drunk, usually well after midnight. Most of my time was spent on the street, trying very badly to entice passers-by to brave the three flights of stairs to reach our sea-view restaurant terrace. The phrases, ‘Are you looking for something to eat?’… ‘We have a beautiful roof terrace’ … ‘Cold beer, good view’… ‘Delicious Turkish kebabs’ started to permeate my psyche and my dreams. I liked to observe the reactions of passers-by, who were mostly used to being accosted on every street corner by carpet sellers, waiters and lonely men with expertly crafted pick-up lines such as ‘You must be an angel… can I be your Charlie?’ By the time they got to my corner, a few would give a weary head shake, some would utter a brief ‘no, thanks’ while the majority would pretend I didn’t exist. They would pass, tight-faced and tight-lipped, looking like they’d rather be anywhere but on this sunny, cobbled street in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I had sudden urges to yell ‘BOO!’ or tickle them.

When I wasn’t watching the street I was eating from it. It’s universally agreed on that one of the best things about Turkey is the food, especially the roadside stalls and mobile carts, which sell such delights as hand squeezed pomegranate juice, hazelnuts, ripe figs, stuffed mussels and sizzling corn-on-the-cob. So in the interest of cultural research I felt it was my duty to sample each new food item I was brought- with the exception of some very suspicious looking fried liver at 2am. I developed an addiction to Frigola, a cheap, chewy, chocolately ice-cream which became a compulsory mid-afternoon escape from workplace tedium.

There were of course many boring—painfully boring—moments along the way, and the irony of working directly opposite one of Istanbul’s most notorious former prisons (now a five star hotel) didn’t escape me. Every Tuesday, on my one free day per week, I was bursting to get out of my self-imposed incarceration.

But when it came time to leave this job and city I knew I would greatly miss this country, this city, this food, these people- and, of course- this street. Being witness to the life and energy of a street is a special and energizing gift, and I regretted having to hand it back.

City streets have lives like no other; they become a medium through which a myriad of interactions take place. Though I’m far from it now, this street- my street- in a little corner of an ancient city, can still hear the cats pat-pattering on steamy cobblestones, see the young barber hang damp towels on a small white rack each morning, taste the tobacco laced spit of overweight and overbearing men, and feel a melancholic calm replace daytime chaos each evening.

Georgia

2009-10-28T15:27:00.001Z

In a dusty corner shop in downtown Tbilisi, amongst the cute but useless souvenirs, Stalin beamed back at me. The Man of Steel, butcherer of countless millions, 'Uncle Joe', had been reduced to a label on a wine bottle. I suppose I could think of worse ways to be commemorated, but it seemed cheerfully fitting that this champion of Marxist revolution should now be used as a marketing tool in his home country of Georgia.

Nausea was setting in thanks to my traditional Georgian breakfast of Katchapuri, a colossal boat-shaped hunk of bread, knuckle deep in melted white cheese and fried eggs and drowned down with a large glass of coca cola. I wasn’t sure if it was the heartburn, lactose intolerance or a sudden urge to vomit, but for a brief and miserable moment I was forced to consider the benefits of veganism.

On all my travels, I had experienced a few moments where my life could have ended rather absurdly- falling from a pirate ship at a rickety theme park in northern Syria; a bad case of food poisoning- not obtained in a third world country, but rather in a quaint little Indian restaurant in central London; and falling into a drain in a nondescript village in Guatemala. I began to wonder if Katchapuri would be the end, and how it would look on my gravestone: ‘Died (not so tragically) of gluttony, somewhere in the southern Caucasus.’

Luckily Georgia’s other famous dishes managed to save me from certain death. Ken, me and two Swedes that we had met at the border (Viggo and Jens) were recommended a local restaurant by our hotel owner. In the basement of a shop in central Tbilisi, we found heaven. Though the waitress couldn’t speak a word of English and the menu was in the completely undecipherable Georgian, we pointed at a variety of dishes which were translated in the guidebook. With no idea of the prices or food quality we ended up stuffed to the brim with melt-in-your-mouth juicy dumplings, eggplant with walnuts and garlic and shashlik, skewers of marinated, grilled pork… all washed down with a litre of fine local wine. We received the bill with trepidation, wondering what this ‘top five best meals of our life’ would cost us. $30 for the lot brought it swiftly to the top of the list.

As we had crossed the border from Turkey, I noticed the roads degenerate and the skirts get shorter. Now that I had spent some time wandering the streets of Tbilisi, the contrast in cuisine, religion, landscape, language and culture became much more obvious. Georgia stands out for all of these reasons- a mountainous, mineral rich country with varied landscapes and climates- from sub-tropical to continental- making it ideal for everything from skiing to wine making. Although Muslims make up a sizeable minority (around 10%), Orthodox Christianity remains dominant and is widely practiced. The Georgian language is blessed with a beautifully curvaceous script and unique pronunciation, making it virtually impossible for travelers to understand. I did learn the Georgian word for ‘thank you’- ‘madlobt’ (თჰანქ yოუ) - although I still managed to forget it so many times that I would accidently merge it into an indecipherable blend of Turkish, Russian and Arabic phrases.

I only had two days in Tbilisi so I wanted to make the most of its fantastic food, cold beer, cobbled streets, hilltop cathedrals and suburban markets. Although the country’s capital and home to close to 1.5 million inhabitants, Tbilisi seems very small. We were told that Georgians love to flock to the Black Sea coast when the weather warms up, and as it was the height of summer, it may explain why the city centre felt eerily empty at times.

While strolling past the parliament, we somehow ended up in the middle of a protest. It seemed the entire police force of Georgia had turned out in rather severe looking riot gear for this day. It turned out that US Vice President Joe Biden was in town, and the Georgians weren’t happy. Since April the opposition had been gunning for the resignation of their president, Mikheil Saakashvili, and they wanted to make it clear to Biden that their authoritarian, warmongering president was guilty of human rights abuses and a failure to initiate promised democratic reforms. Mock jail cells had been erected across the front of parliament, protesters lined the streets and police had closed areas of the city and the central city metro line. We waited around for awhile but in the end the protest petered off undramatically.

We spent the last night in Tbilisi at an English pub, of all things. Sitting outside in the balmy evening air, talking to a homeless Chechnyan woman and listening to some young Georgians attempt karaoke, it couldn’t have felt further from England.

The next day Ken and I said our goodbyes to Jens and Viggo, the two Swedes whose black jeans and even darker humour I would miss. They were heading to Armenia while we were off to Batumi on the Black Sea coast. I’d had my fill of monuments and museums, my money was running out, and I was looking for a relaxing seaside end to my eastern journey before heading back to Istanbul.

Thanks to another unfortunate food poisoning incident, my lasting memory of Tbilisi’s bus station was of lying half conscious and crumpled in a stifling minivan waiting for it to fill, and finally on the sidewalk, begging Ken for a quick death or at least a pretty toilet. So to McDonalds we went, where I emptied my stomach before making my way back to the hotel to sleep off a raging fever. By nightfall I was feeling human again, so we headed for the railway station to take the night train to Batumi.

I woke to the morning light and soft drizzle tapping at my cabin window. Peeking through the curtain, I was greeted by a verdant collage of sub-tropical rainforest and the dark mass of the Black Sea looming forth.

Batumi is the last stop on the Transcaucasian Railway and is the largest port in Georgia. It’s also on the Baku Pipeline, making it an important player in the oil industry. Less than 30 minutes drive from Turkish border, it’s an interesting mix of local and Turkish vacationers and businessmen who come to stroll along the palm lined promenade and painstakingly tan themselves while standing upright on pebbled beaches.

I’d read about Batumi’s botanic gardens, a spectacular 111km mass of flora and fauna on the shores of the Black Sea. A lush wonderland of species from across the world, I was surprised to find it had a New Zealand Garden, even if it did consist of a few randomly placed ferns next to the gum trees that made up the Australian Garden.

It’s a compulsory cultural experience to see inside the depths of a nightclub in an ex-Soviet country. As much as I detest these manmade abominations, I felt it was my duty to endure a night on the town for the sake of research and bizarre entertainment. Batumi’s nightlife is centered on its beachfront clubs blasting dreadful techno music to vodka fuelled teenage girls. It could have been the music, hefty entrance fees, lack of sleep or jealousy at the ability of Georgian girls to totter through sand on six inch heels, but I didn’t last long on the town that night. Maybe I’m just getting old.

Ken and I parted ways the following day. After a week of Ken’s heroic rescue attempts from starvation, sickness and strange men it was time for me to find a home and a job back in Istanbul, and for Ken to continue on his way across central Asia. I’d miss my dear travel friend, whose unfortunate travel experiences and cheesy grin outdid mine hands down.

The rain was falling with unwanted vigor the day I left Georgia. Soaked to the bone and still full from my last dumplings, I said my last goodbyes to this strange and beautiful land.

Going East

2009-10-18T09:59:00.007+01:00

It had always been a dream of mine to travel the length of Turkey and to make it right to the far east... the Wild East... where few travellers have the time or will to go. Virtually impassable for parts of the year due to heavy snowfalls, the east remains a mystical place, with its rugged, desolate landscape, dramatic mountain ranges, sparkling lakes, ancient castles and centuries old Armenian ruins. Although my grand plan was to take the exotic sounding Trans Orient Express train from Istanbul to Tehran, unfortunately time, money and the violent post-election riots meant I'd sadly have to miss the sands of Persia for now. Instead I took the decidedly less romantic (but infinitely more practical) long distance bus from Hatay on the Syrian border to Van in the far east of Turkey.

It wasn't long ago that it was virtually impossible to backpack here due to violent political clashes between Kurdish separatist fighters (PKK) and the Turkish military. The situation has calmed dramatically since the 1999 capture of PKK leader Abdullah Ocalan, and the area is now largely peaceful and easy to travel in. The military presence is still obvious, especially on the towns bordering Iran and Armenia- right where I was heading- and I passed through a few military checkpoints on my travels, one of which had a pack of rather scary looking dogs watching on.

Van
I arrived in Van, a city on Turkey's largest lake, Lake Van. Its mouthwash blue waters are out of this world; as if a part of the Caribbean had magically landed here. The town itself- with beautiful scenery, a large student population and a number of key historical sites- is a good base for exploration of the Lake and its surroundings.

I booked in at Hotel Aslan- 'Hotel Lion', which I can only hope was named for its jungle coloured interior... though perhaps the New Zealand bush would be a better comparison- brown and damp, with some rather strange inhabitants. The good thing about backpacking out east is that there's a severe lack of backpacker hostels, so I was free from the suffocating confines of dorm rooms. The flipside of this was the difficulty in meeting other travellers, so for the majority of my eastern Turkish experience I was either alone or sought out by locals.

Van's culinary claim to fame lies in its breakfasts; they are so famous, in fact, that they have a street aptly named Kahvalti Caddesi (literally, 'Breakfast Street'). My first stop after the harrowing bus journey was a genuine Van feast. I packed into a restaurant on a narrow alleyway to enjoy a delectable assortment of morning goodies. Fresh herbed cheeses, wild honey, boiled eggs, tomatoes, olives, fresh bread and an odd honey sponge... delicious.

All fired up, I got the first bus towards the lake for a day of sun and ancient history. Lake Van also boasts a series of islands, the most visited of which is Akdamar Island, homeplace of Akdamar Church. This Armenian cathedral, constructed in the 10th Century AD, is perched on a rocky outcrop in the middle of the tiny island. Once the seat of Armenian patriarchs, it was abandoned in the late 19th century due to conflict between the Ottomans and Armenians. It was recently restored and reopened as a museum by the Turkish government.

It's fairly easy to get to the Island from Van- just a short dolmus (shared taxi) ride followed by a ferry crossing. Getting back to Van proved a little more difficult, and the three hours I had to wait to led me to a group of Iranian hippies who were staying at the nearby campsite.

While on my way to the local bus station I had made friends with a local student, Adnan, who offered to show me around the town and its castle that afternoon to practice his English. When I finally got back to the town we met back up and he took me to see the castle. Van Castle is a surprisingly large hill-top fortress, and settlement is said to have begun here around the 8th century BC. It took a couple of hours scrambling over steep, dusty paths at sunset to see the fortification in its entirety. Adnan was a perfect guide.

It's unusual to see many women alone on the streets, so not many foreigners get a chance to talk to local women. I felt very lucky, then, to be invited into the home of a local family while waiting for my bus out of Van. I was shuffled in by hoards of children and their mothers to a little roadside house beside a stagnant river in the town centre. The house, with its low ceilings and silk flower packed living room, felt cozy and familiar. With television blazing, the matriarch fed me tea and bread on faded mattresses on their living room floor.

The girls crowded around my camera, posing for photographs, and excitedly began to tell me the life story of their family, all in the Kurdish language, of which I understand next to nothing and which has no real relation to Turkish. Still, it's amazing how far gestures and spontaneous sign language can get one in such a situation. I was graphically recounted the story of the death of one woman's brother. Whether it was murder or suicide I couldn't quite get, but the grief was obviously deep and fresh. All I had on me to give was an old packet of very melted chocolate biscuits, so we munched away until I had to catch my bus.

Dogubeyazit
I felt that it would be a sin to come to eastern Turkey without seeing Mount Ararat. Ararat, with its surreal looking peaks and year long snows, lords over many lands. Now Turkish territory, it's also the backdrop of the Armenian capital of Yerevan, and its summit is a mere 16km from the Iranian border as well as an enclave of Azerbaijan. A militarized zone for most of the 20th century, the mountain was only opened for tourists in 2001, and takes a lot of money and bureaucratic nonsense to gain permission to climb. I didn't have the patience, fitness or desire to tackle the mountain, so I took to eating and watching instead.

I nabbed myself a cheap hotel in the town of Dogubeyazit with panoramic views over both the town and Ararat, and for the first time in months I had the use of a kitchen. As nice as it sounds to have meals cooked for you everyday, I was in desperate need of something other than bread and meat. To say I was 'Kebab-ed out' would be an understatement. I cooked up a giant bowl of tomato pasta and spent the rest of the evening on the top floor lounge gazing at the majestic mountain, which is said to be the resting place of Noah's ark.

Dogubeyazit's famous man-made landmark is Ishak Pasa- a spectacularly beautiful 18th century hill top palace and administrative complex, undoubtedly one of the best castles I have ever seen. Its location, in full view of the majestic Mount Ararat, and with fields expanding in all directions, defied all my expectations.

When I came out of the palace it didn't take long before I was approached by groups of teenage girls, apparently confused by this tall, gangly blonde girl going solo by the Iranian border. Cellphones were whipped in flurries from leather handbags and I became the subject of the most remote photo shoot of my life. I wasn't quite sure if they had mistaken me with someone from Hollywood or outer space. To avoid seeming rude, I posed with women, children, young and old men. It was not uncommon to have random babies thrown at me, either. To this day I still wonder what percentage of the Middle East population has my photo, and I won't be surprised to one day come across myself on You Tube.

Igdir
Thanks to the infrequency of bus services and my dislike for very early starts, my next destination took a lot longer to get to than I expected. To get to Kars, not more than 150 km from Dogubeyazit, it's necessary to first take a bus to the town of Igdir, change buses, then go onto Kars. What I didn't realise was that there would be a 3 hour delay between changing buses, and so I ended up Igdir, a town of about 120,000 on the border with Iran, Armenia and Azerbaijan. Thanks to my Igdir friends- Hakan, Kurban and Ali- whose friendliness, generosity and apricots I will never forget.

Kars
I arrived in Kars as the dusk was setting in. Despite having near perfect weather for the entire duration of my time in the Middle East, it decided to rain in Kars. I had just finished reading a Turkish novel about a town cut off by heavy snow falls, providing the perfect environment for a gruesome coup. The town was Kars. And as I approached the town centre, I was greeted through the drizzle with mud, military barracks and buildings as grey as decaying teeth

The rain only got heavier and colder and it took some time before I finally found Hotel Kent, the 'best budget option in town.' Tucked away on a side street with prime views of rain sodden footpaths, it looked more like a low end brothel than anything else.

Just when I was beginning to question why and how I ended up in this godforsaken town, I was saved by the only foreign inhabitants of the hotel- an ageing British sometimes-journalist and a wide-smiling Australian dentist named Ken. Within minutes of introduction, tensions were already rising between the journalist and the dentist, the latter of whose Indian origins seem to prompt the Brit into enacting a painful slowing down of speech and movement while in his presence.
Despite this, and at risk of starting our own coup, we decided to join forces the next day to tackle the town's most important gift, the medieval ruins of Ani.

Ani is an abandoned former capital of an Armenian kingdom and is said to have once been inhabited by an incredible 100,000 – 200,000 people. Due to its rather remote and desolate location about 45km from Kars, we were lucky to be one of only a handful of tourists, so we had free rein to wander through the crumbling remains of this ancient place. Most of the site has been left to the elements is in various states of disrepair and it's hard to imagine that this former city once rivalled Cairo and Baghdad in importance.

On my last day in Kars I still had no idea what to do next. All rational signs were pointing me back towards Istanbul- to a job and the comforts of slightly settled life. However, when Ken suggested I join him on a detour to Georgia, I thought... why not?

We set off early the next morning, heading for the most remote border crossing in Turkey.

Lebanon

2009-10-12T09:03:00.006+01:00

Entering Lebanon was just like any other day in the life of a traveller: get in the queue. Wait. Step. Wait. Step. Wait. Smile at facetious official. Fill in pointless form. Pay money to corrupt government. Smile. Stamp. Welcome to Lebanon.
We got back in our waiting shared taxi and continued on our short journey from the border to Beirut. Our vintage American taxi wound up and down the mountain range surrounding the city, along the increasingly urbanized highway until finally coming to a stop at a concrete yard. We only had the name of a hotel suggested to us which was supposedly only a few minutes walk from this 'bus station.'

Talal's was not easy to find; hidden up a few flights of stairs in an otherwise unremarkable grey apartment block off a main road. The tiny reception also functioned as a lounge, which was to become the site of many cramped but enjoyable evenings spent drinking cold beer with an eccentric mix of travellers.

Once we were settled in at the hotel we took an afternoon walk around Gemmazye, the nearby bar hub famous for its western themed nightlife and restaurants. Beirut is indeed the party capital of the Middle East, and it was obvious from the first encounters with locals that we had strayed far from the conservative culture of Syria. Everyone is just so damn cool. Girls giggling over Cosmopolitans in a lounge bar; guys reclining with a Heineken listening to jazz- and even at a whopping seven dollars a drink, who's counting? The locals switch effortlessly between Arabic, French and English in a country where its universities bear names such as the American University of Beirut; Lebanese Canadian University; and the Ecole Superieure des Affaires.

Beirut is a dazzling city, surrounded by verdant mountains on one side and the jade waters of the Mediterranean on the other. Construction is ongoing and rapid, and for every pile of war ravaged rubble there seems to be a new sushi bar, gelato shop or glittering hotel looking on. The energy and optimism is palpable as the city undergoes yet another reincarnation, and the feeling of being witness to this re-birth was electrifying. Any preconceptions I had faded into the dusk and I was overcome with child-like excitement.

Our trip was organised at such last minute that I hadn't had a chance to let my family know I was even going to Lebanon. I sent off a quick email to my parents that night:
Hi guys, great to hear from you. We are in Beirut now! Not nearly as scary as it sounds.''
I had an email from my father not long after:
''This trip has certainly taken you to places that you hadn’t necessarily intended to visit. Have you witnessed any live shelling yet?''

There was no shelling for us on that trip, although we heard our share of horror travel stories from other backpackers from our hotel. One evening, while meeting up for a drink and water pipe at a clifftop restaurant, we caught up with two dazed looking young travellers- one from Northern Ireland and the other from Canada. They had been walking around the Hezbollah dominated refugee camps that day, merrily taking photos of their surroundings, when they were forced into a car and taken to Hezbollah headquarters.

Their interrogation lasted a couple of hours and took much ego boosting along the lines of ''Hezbollah good. Israel bad. Canada likes Hezbollah'' (two thumbs up). In the end, ''the guys,'' they said, ''were kinda friendly, and offered to drop us back at the hotel.'' We were more concerned about the power cuts, however- each day, for several hours at a time. Nothing can really prepare you for a cold shower in the early morning, no matter how much you try to rationalise it in the context of a war-ravaged developing country.

Back at the hotel we were lucky to meet a journalist who offered to take us on a three day tour of the rest of Lebanon. We rustled together a group consisting of myself, Kristin, a kiwi mechanic named Kerry and Torry, an American girl who had just finished working in Jordan. We piled ourselves into the car and headed south along the coast towards the border with Israel. Driving through the quaint fishing villages of Tyre and Sidon, past the sparkling (though predictably polluted) waters of the Mediterranean, it's easy to miss the war-shattered buildings, sandbag checkpoints and martyr posters honoring those who have killed and been killed.

Along with Beirut, southern Lebanon has seen its fair share of bombings, gunfire and landmines, often due to its close proximity to the Israeli border. Standing right next to the fence between Lebanon and the border, in a seemingly tranquil spot, I asked our journalist guide what would happen if I tried to jump the fence to the Israel side. ''Well'', he started, ''Firstly you would have to get past the landmines in the strip below. Once you got through those you would have to dodge fire from Israeli snipers hiding in the the hills above us, who are watching us as we speak. There will also be people hiding in the grass below. All follow a shoot to kill policy.''

Recent Lebanese history is violent and complicated. Following independence from France in 1943, Lebanon maintained a largely calm, stable and prosperous economy. However, when the Lebanese Civil War broke out in 1975, 15 years of violent warfare followed with an estimated 150,000 killed, 200,000 injured and up to 900,000 internally displaced. Despite extensive rebuilding in the country, violence again broke out in 2006.

This is a country where the state, rather than distance itself from religion, has instead used it to define its political makeup. In a bizarre attempt to minimize sectarian violence and correct ideological religious imbalances in parliament, the Lebanese government has embraced a system called Confessionalism whereby the government is strictly divided on religious lines. The President, for example, must be a Maronite Christian, the Prime Minister a Sunni Muslim and the Speaker of Parliament a Shi'a Muslim. While guaranteeing representation from all of the major religions in the country, it's easy to imagine the paradox effects of such a system.

The religious divisions are often obvious, with many grouping together geographically into majority towns or suburbs. On a simpler level, dress can be a clear indicator of religious affiliation, such as a headscarf or length of skirt on women, while Druze men tend to have moustaches and wear white hats. Bad feeling runs deep and in southern Lebanon, none is so obvious as hatred for Israel.

It was fitting, then, that we visit Al- Khiam Prison Museum. This former prison, once a Lebanese army base, was taken over by the South Lebanese Army (SLA) and purportedly used by the SLA and Israeli soldiers as a brutal prison camp until the Israeli withdrawal from Lebanon in 2000. Following the withdrawal, Hezbollah converter it into a museum, but it was destroyed by the Israeli airforce in 2006. It has been resurrected as a museum again, although it is now mostly just piles of very disturbing rubble. There is little doubt, though, that hideous torture was commonplace and included methods such as electrocution and long periods of solitary confinement.
http://www.hrw.org/en/news/1999/10/27/torture-khiam-prison-responsibility-and-accountability
Walking around the former prison, it feels more like a theme park from a horror movie. Tattered Hezbollah flags wave eerily in the breeze. Children, on an educational Sunday outing with their family, play on the disused tanks and peep at eachother through bullet holes. Old rockets have been shuffled around so that they all point in one direction: towards Israel, a blatant 'fuck you' to the neighbours.

But Lebanon is not all tanks and terror. After our day of political history in the south, we took in some highlights of the north and east, past the spectacular seaside ruins of Byblos and onto the cedar forests which Lebanon is famous for, despite extensive and badly managed deforestation. These woodland jewels rise out of dramatic hills dotted with wildflowers, ancient hermit caves and Christian monasteries. The fact that so few cedars remain somehow make them all the more beautiful.

It's also no secret that Lebanon has some of the best wine in the Middle East; its Mediterranean climate, French influences and liberal leanings lend itself to wine making. Heading east from Beirut, the natural landscape is interrupted now and then by grand vineyards and their accompanying restaurants.

On our final day in Beirut we headed to Sabra and Shatilla, open refugee camps housing mostly Palestinian refugees who fled the conflict in Israel. The camps are often remembered for the massacre that took place there in 1982, when up to 5,000 inhabitants were brutally slaughtered over three days. The massacre was led by a Christian Phalangist militia following the assassination of their leader, Bachir Gemayel, the recently elected President of Lebanon, and carried out with the knowledge and protection of the Israeli Defense Force.

The majority of camps' inhabitants have been refused citizenship by Lebanon. Unable to return to Israel or to integrate properly into Lebanese society, they remain as unwanted aliens with little chance of getting out. Access to property is severely limited due to a law which forbids those with no recognized state (such as Palestine) to own property outside the camps. It's of little surprise then that Islamic militias and terrorist organisations have moved in, using its inhabitants to further their religious and political causes.

The narrow streets of the camps are overshadowed with dilapidated apartments blocks and tyre weighted shanties. Pictures of fighters, martyrs and even Saddam Hussein are pasted on bare, sometimes bullet scarred walls. Children ride on rusted bicycles in the dust, or pack into darkened internet cafes to play outdated warfare games The local market is bustling, selling everything from freshly squeezed fruit juices to leather boots while a corner pizza shop churns out fresh and delicious treats.

As we were leaving the camps a group of men approached us to ask us the usual questions: where we were from; did we like Lebanon; what were we doing here? When they discovered Kristin was from Norway, one broke out into fluent Norwegian while the other, when he found out I had lived in Sweden, excitedly started speaking Swedish. It turned out that both had lived in Scandinavia but had returned for their family- they'd come home.

From the camps we headed to the public beach, to sunbathe, swim and try to make sense of our day. In many ways it had summed up the week we'd spent there. Lebanon is mad, maddening, sickening, friendly, disgusting and beautiful. It's familiar and alien all at once, and it doesn't take long before the checkpoints, guns, guards and bullet holes start to feel unexceptional; part of the routine of everyday life in Lebanon. Its bizarre contrasts give it an edge like no other, but by the end of the week I felt as educated as I did confused.

I left Lebanon on a Monday. Kristin was flying back to Norway and I was heading back to Turkey. As there is no practical way to reach Turkey by water, the only way to get there by land is to transit through Syria. So I packed myself into a shared taxi with Kerry the Kiwi and two Lebanese businessmen. Arriving at the border, Kerry and I were told that the free transit visa for Syria (which was promised at the Ministry of Immigration just four days earlier) no longer existed and we would have to pay US$85 for less than twelve hours in Syria. Two weeks earlier I had paid almost half of that for a 30 day visa.

One of the Lebanese men in my taxi who spoke both Arabic and English helped us to argue with immigration for an hour, but we were not successful. Despite this, our new translator-cum-engineer on his way to work in Syria reached into his wallet and paid for my visa, refusing any offer of compensation. 'Enjoy your travels', he said with a smile, and got out of the taxi to begin a new day of work.

Syria

2009-07-11T22:04:00.001+01:00

Donkey & Cart, Palmyra II
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

Twenty hours, several food stops and countless cups of cay later and I had finally reached the Turkey-Syria border. It took US$60 and some stockmarket style negotiations on the part of the bus driver to get past the border bureaucracy and gain my Syrian visa. Validity: two weeks; entries: one.

Suddenly I was in the Middle East. The real, Lawrence of Arabia Middle East, which is difficult to find in much more westernised Turkey. Bearded, turbaned men in long white tunics, reminding me of a child putting on a doctor's coat, strolling brown sandalled on dusty paths in the Syrian semi-desert; flat roofed concrete housing, made off-white by years of dust.

Reaching Syria's second largest city, Aleppo, by midday. I dumped my backpack in the nearest hotel and set off for the town's claim to fame: its very, very friendly tourist office which routinely greets its visitors with gifts of dusty calendars, large posters and its key phrase: 'Welcome to Syria: The Cradle of Civilizations.'

Cradle of civilizations aside, the imperative stop for any visitor to Syria is one of its numerous and delicious falafel shops, which fills the stomachs of locals and travelers for a mere 25 Syrian Pounds, equivalent to less than US 50 cents. Upgrade to a Shwarma, the chicken version, for only a little more.

Once full I wandered the streets and souk (market) of Aleppo, the largest covered souk in the Middle East, which sells everything from dates to car parts and everything in between. Aleppo's citadel is another beautiful sight, best seen in the evening, when the town comes out to flirt, drink tea, smoke nargile and people-watch. We were (un)lucky enough to be the main subject of people- watching that evening; groups would just stop and stare. A few came up to introduce themselves and welcome us to Syria, others shuffled closer and with big smiles proudly dropped the few English words they knew within earshot; still more just stared drop-jawed and motionless for several minutes until the novelty of having two young western women in their town wore off.

We dragged ourselves out of bed early the next day to tackle Syria's so called 'Dead Cities'- ruins dating back to the 11th century AD. While the ruins were of course spectacular, it was with thanks mainly to the bilingual skills of an Egyptian/Australian friend that we struck up a fine friendship with our Kurdish taxi driver, becoming one of the highlights of the trip. It wasn't long before he had his leg out the door, holding it open with his foot and had us all dancing to Arab love ballads at high volume.

He took us to a Bedouin community in the semi-desert, about 100km from Aleppo. The men of our group were instantly offered a sheep for slaughter, which was gently refused, followed by introductions to the children, women, men, cats and donkeys of the family. A generous dust coating and a few marriage proposals later, we headed off a little overheated and overwhelmed.

By the end of the second day we had his wife and child along on our adventure, squeezing all seven of us into a hatchback on the way to dance on dusty roads and end the day on a pirate ship at a seemingly abandoned Syrian theme park.

After missing the stop to Hama, we got off at Homs, described in guide books as simply an 'ugly city.' While it would be difficult to describe as the most stunning city of Syria, Homs was charming, friendly and lacking in tourists. Unfortunately our backpacker budget could not stretch to the town's five star hotel, so we had to settle for 'no stars', which by Homs standards extends to grimy sheets,
stained walls, morose staff and one of the worst toilets in the Middle East. At the risk of catching any number of physical and mental diseases, we fled the city as soon as we could the next morning for Crac des Chevaliers, described as 'one of the most beautiful castles in the world.'

Like every experience in Syria, even the castle was made more special by a bizarre combination of circumstance. So it was that we stumbled on a film set and I had the chance to ride Ahmed the acting horse in an ancient castle on the hilltop amidst fake fog.

With all hopes of 'Sollywood' fame fading with the sun, we headed for the desert, to the ruins of Palmyra. With its barren landscape, swaying palms, concentrated tourist population and one of the most notorious prisons in the country, Palmyra is a contrast to the cities of western Syria. Most visitors come to see the ruins, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ archeology museum and perhaps to ride a camel, before moving on quickly.

There was a distinct buzz in town, and it didn't take us long to figure out that one of the country's richest men had booked a two night wedding celebration amongst the ruins. We put on our best outfits and tried, unsuccessfully, to enter. On the way back we were hit by a sandstorm, so we left disheveled and rather dusty....

From Palmyra we took the bus to Damascus, the lively, chaotic and charming capital of the country. In the five minutes of waiting outside a shop for my friends I was fed with dates, dried apricots and figs by shopkeepers eager to pose for photos and welcome me to Syria, again. The days were spent following the sweet scent of nargile smoke through narrow streets packed with antiques, 'real fake' watches and sizzling kebab. It's easily one of the most exotic capitals in the Middle East- a city easy to love and difficult to leave... rather well in tune with its country.

Istanbul

2009-07-11T21:36:00.002+01:00

Fishing on the Bosphorous, Istanbul
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

Forget first impressions. I spent my first hour in Istanbul lost in pouring rain, trying to negotiate myself around hooting taxis, maniacal tour groups straight off the cruise ships, and touters of every kind.

When the drizzle cleared and my backpack was finally dry, I found the nearest kebab shop and sat down, relaxing my limbs and nose to the senses of the city. The first hit wasn't what I was used to. Not a tepid sewerage, acrid sweat, South-East Asian kind of hit, but more like a shrieking mosquito in strike mode, approaching from every corner to try to suck me into its carpet shop.

Once I was fed and somewhat closer to human, it didn't take long for the carpet sellers to figure out that I had the greatest repellent of all- a backpacker budget- or for me to find the best way to deal with the one-liner conversation starter, 'Where are you from?' when the repellent wore off. Somehow, every man in Turkey seems to have a relative in New Zealand, Australia, U.S.A, Ireland, South Africa, or whichever other country I tried to convinced them I'm from. It was 'Iceland' when I was in a bad mood, and 'Space' when I was in a good one.

The hair also helped. Being blonde in Turkey is preferable to having a diplomatic passport, as long as you don't mind your boyfriend/husband/father being offered camels for your livelihood. After visiting the main (and truly magnificent) sights of Sultanahmet- the once Christian-church-turned-mosque-turned-museum of Aya Sophia; Topkapi Palace; and Istanbul's stunning landmark, the Blue Mosque- I gave up on royalty and religion for awhile and decided to do what I do frequently and well- get lost. Descending the steep and ancient alleyways towards the sea, I was followed by a harem of well fed and friendly street cats. There's a story in Turkey about Mohammad who cut around his tunic to avoid disturbing his cat, and it's easy to see that this reverence of felines prevails, even in the cities.

By the time I reached the Galata Bridge over the Bosphorous, my stomach full with fresh fish and Turkish cay (tea), it was difficult to imagine a place I would rather be.

If you don't mind being woken by wails from the minarets at sunrise, or the occasional terrorist insect in your hotel room, it's easy to give a little of your heart and even your blood, to this city.

I fell for Istanbul, and even almost for its mosquitoes.

Sofia, Bulgaria

2009-06-14T14:26:00.001+01:00

Alexander Nevsky Orthodox Cathedral, Sofia
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

Thanks to Easyjet's bargain basement prices, I found myself in Bulgaria's capital, Sofia.

When coming in to land at Sofia International Airport I was thinking, what do I know about Bulgaria...? All I could conjure up was Cyrillic script, bagpipes, wine and spies. It was a good excuse to find out more.

5 minutes out of the airport and I wondered if I was in the shantytowns of Johannesburg... or the slums of Bangkok. It seemed to be populated mainly by Sofia's Roma community living in row after row of sheet-metalled squalor, with a few chickens here and there.

10 minutes later I arrived in the city centre. Surrounded by snow capped mountains which serve as a thriving ski resort during the winter, and packed with ancient and communist style buildings, it was quite a contrast to my first impression. Sofia is one of the oldest cities in Europe, over 7000 years old, dating back to Thracian times.

Bulgaria has endured numerous seizures by the Macedonians, Romans, Byzantines, Huns, Slavonic tribes, Ottomans and Russians, and later the Allies during WWII, during which time Bulgaria sided with the Germans. Finally, the Russians came in, and Bulgaria was subjected to decades of communist rule.

It didn't take too much querying to reveal the disdain many Bulgarians still feel towards their communist history, and a mix of disgust and humour about the way revolutionary socialism has been popularised in the west, especially by those who have little or no experience or knowledge about the ideology and practice.

I had 2 days before my night train to Turkey so I asked the owner of my hostel about tours. It turns out he has a nephew who has worked as a guide so I was lucky enough to get a 3 hour private guided walking tour for about €10. He was very well educated in Bulgaria's ancient and more recent history and politics so I got a unique insight into the country.

Despite its current ethnic tensions,(http://www.alertnet.org/thenews/newsdesk/L16241089.htm )
Bulgaria has had a history of ethnic and religious tolerance. During World War II Bulgaria took a strong stand against Germany in relation to the holocaust, and managed to save every one of the over 50,000 Jews living in the country at that time.

It's of little surprise, then, that some of Sofia's most impressive buildings are religious in nature. I had a glimpse inside a mosque, the Sofia Synagogue and the Russian church. As far as tourist sights in Sofia go, one of the city's most well known and beautiful is the Eastern Orthodox St. Alexander Nevsky Cathedral, one of the largest of its kind in the world. With its gold plated dome and marble interior, it's a beautiful sight.

When I was all churched-out I wandered around the markets, which sold everything from fresh cherries to books to religious icons. 8 hours later and I felt I had seen most of the city. After a feast of roasted garlic potatoes and Bulgarian wine I boarded the night train for Istanbul. It was time to go East.

Spain

2009-06-04T17:43:00.001+01:00

Seagull over San Sebastian
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

I decided to concentrate my visit to Spain on two regions: the northern Basque country and Madrid.

I was interested in checking out the north for both its beauty and its people. Home to the Basque people, a unique ethnic group which inhabit part of France and Spain. Interestingly, the Basque possess the last surviving pre-Indo European language in Europe (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Basque_language ) , and are still fighting for greater self determination and, in some cases, a separate state. The name is commonly associated with ETA, the Marxist-Leninist paramilitary group responsible for much of the organised political violence in Spain.

San Sebastian
I put aside museums and tourist sites for awhile and went in search of good food and and stunning beaches in San Sebastian, on Spain's Atlantic coast. I arrived by train from France in the evening, dropped my increasingly burdensome backpack at a hostel, and headed to the Old Town in search of a culinary adventure. At the heart of the Spanish Basque country, it claims to have the best pinxtos (tapas) in Spain. The food really is an art form. Wandering around the historical part of the city, pub after pub serves a stunning array of colorful, tasty morsels, using gourmet smoked hams, fresh seafood, pickles and vegetables from long wooden bars. From around lunchtime to late into the evening you can stand by the bar, serviette in hand, sampling as you wish.

Apart from the food, San Sebastian's beaches are long, pretty and wild and seem to have become a big draw card for bleached haired Australian surfers who flock here for the good waves, cheap beer and decent nightlife. And despite the 'mild' (i.e. rainy, cool) climate, the atmosphere of San Sebastian more than makes up for its weather. It's the kind of place you don't want to leave.

Bilbao
Perhaps it was my lack of map or tourist guide to point me to all the good things about Bilbao, but this largely grey and industrial looking city, situated an hour from San Sebastian, didn't have too much to offer than its Guggenheim museum which houses some spectacular modern art in a very unique building. It's worth visiting just for the museum.

Pamplona
I couldn't let a trip to the North end without a trip to Pamplona, the town made famous by Ernest Hemingway's novel, Fiesta. There are still several restaurants named after the writer, and its easy to imagine him wandering around the town, wine skin in hand, ready for a fiesta. It really is a gorgeous town, and quintessentially 'Spanish', if not made more so by the hordes of backpackers who flock to the town each year to get mindlessly drunk and sleep in the town's parks for the duration of the Running of the Bulls Festival. I was glad to miss it, and instead enjoyed wandering the streets of the old town.

Madrid
From San Sebastian I took a 6 hour bus journey to Madrid. Great weather, good friends and cheap flights east attracted me to the Spanish capital and if anything it was better than I imagined. The second leafiest city in the world, Madrid's trees are a welcome haven from the heat. Often reaching into the mid 40 degrees Celsius in summer, I was delighted to finally feel some real heat on my skin after a year of Irish weather. Some of the main tourist highlights:
-Reina Sofia Museum- Madrid's GIANT modern art museum, boasting thousands of works including Dali, Picasso and Francis Bacon. It's also home to Picasso's Guernica.
-Housing an equally impressive collection of older art including Michelangelo. My favourite was the Sleeping Beauty.
-El Museo de Jamon- Madrid's museums of ham deserve an honorable mention. Not really museums, they offer a colossal array of smoked hams and cheeses, all of which can be consumed on site or taken away.

However, the real heartbeat of Madrid is heard at nighttime, when the whole city comes alive. From about 11pm onwards until sunrise, the streets are packed with partygoers, in search of a tasty meal, music, dancing or pubs which cater to almost any preference.

I left tired, tanned and full of world class food!

Death by Baguette

2009-05-26T21:07:00.001+01:00

France
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

Baguettes, baguettes, baguettes. They come to me in my dreams, stalking me along the Paris streets under the arm of every French man, woman and child. The cliché is true, and inescapable. Everywhere I look I see the baguette in innumerable forms: baguette sandwiches; baguette with sausage; baguette with nutella. I fear death by baguette.

Disappointingly, the baguette carriers did not wear berets. And I had no-one spit on my shoe. In fact, I found the French generally friendly, welcoming, and very willing to put up with my complete lack of French.

I started in Paris, arriving on the Eurostar train from London in under 2 ½ hours. Despite a rather bad bout of food poisoning, after a long sleep and some food I was ready to explore the city.

Paris is a perfect city to get lost in. I avoided paying the hefty entrance fees to the main tourist sites (Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Arc de Triumph, the Champ Elysees), although I did see them from a distance, and instead wandered the streets aimlessly. Montmartre was a definite favourite, with its mixture of cobbled leafy streets, shamelessly seedy strip (site of the Moulin Rouge and an long, long, long row of sex shops) and site of some of the best views of Paris. After a compulsory taste of escargots (snails), I grabbed a few cans of beer and dragged a friend to the top of the steps of the Sacre Coeur basilica, which overlooks the whole city and we happily enjoyed the drizzly sundown after a long day of walking.

I went through the well stocked but easy to get lost in Picasso museum and the quite disappointing Jewish museum with a few cafe stops in between.

I left the hectic and rainy streets of Paris for La Rochelle, on France's Atlantic coast. It's a pretty, well- monied but quaint yachting city, with a beautiful old city wall and tower facing the coast.

Fouras was the next stop. A smaller coastal town with a charming village centre, it boasts an impressive seafood market, packed with fish, crabs, lobsters, sea snails and the region's famous oysters, all gleaming fresh.

I seem to be making a habit of visiting famous liquor towns, so this time I visited Cognac, home of the world famous luxury tipple. Like tequila or champagne, cognac can only be called cognac if it is from a select few provinces in France and according to a very strict distilling process. Made from a combination of grapes from certain French regions, it is then blended and double distilled before undergoing an aging process to produce the final product. The town of Cognac is in itself a very pretty, with many of the buildings dating back to the 15th and 16th centuries.

From Fouras I was incredibly lucky to have the chance to stay in a medieval chateau, set amidst the wheat fields and woodlands of Sansac, Western France. Complete with winding staircases, banquet rooms once used by knights, turrets, secret passages and books dating back centuries, much of the time it was difficult to believe I was actually there. Largely uninhabited, the chateau produces delicious handmade goat's cheese from the cellar factory.

It would take too much time to describe all the quaint villages I passed through and stopped in- all very old and beautiful, but the enduring images I will have of France are vast barley and wheat fields; spectacular, almost surreal castles set dramatically on hills surrounded by emerald woodlands; countless medieval villages with rambling gardens; and amazing cheese.... even the local Spar (a European convenience chain store) had its own, extensive delicatessen!

Many thanks to Gerhardt & Annie, who housed, drove and fed me very well!

Belfast

2009-05-15T10:47:00.001+01:00

Anti- British signs, West Belfast
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

Despite living just two hours from Northern Ireland's main city, Belfast, it was only my second time there after 1 year in Dublin.

The overriding question of the visit, asked of me by at least a dozen locals was 'Why would you come to Belfast?' They seemed genuinely perplexed as to why anyone would chose Belfast as a tourist destination.

I was there for the politics.

The Northern Ireland conflict has always fascinated me, especially because it's so recent and perhaps will never really be over. Its historical roots go back to the 1600's but became especially relevant following the civil rights movement in the USA in the 1960's and led to renewed conflict over various injustices such as gerrymandering, as well as over the constitutional status of Northern Ireland.

When peaceful protests by Catholics and some Protestants in the 1960's were met with violent force, the conflict turned increasingly violent and parts of Northern Ireland became virtual war zones with places like The Falls Road, in a staunchly republican area of the city, morphing into a tense and bloody front line of The Troubles.

With both sides denouncing the media as propaganda machines, the people of Belfast and (London)Derry turned to painting the walls of the streets with large murals to say what they wanted to say, much like today's blogs have responded to mass media. These murals remain in the more partisan areas of the cities, and while many still relate directly to the conflict, present day issues such as the Israeli-Palestine conflict and that same gnawing obsession with Che Guevara are also represented.

I was always a bit confused about the terms 'Catholic' and 'Protestant' in relation to the conflict. It took me awhile to realise that they are related more closely to heritage than religion. In many ways it's all about your surname. As a Simpson, descended from Scottish heritage, I would be a protestant, even though I am agnostic.

Even now, when you apply for a job in Northern Ireland, you have to fill out a form declaring if you are a) Catholic; b) Protestant; c) Neither
But, according to a friend who lived in Belfast, even if you pick neither, depending on your surname or what school you went to, you could still be classed as one or the other.

Both West and East Belfast are dominated by rather grim looking housing estates, militant murals and men stalking around with shaved heads and tracksuits. Both are a little scary to walk around, and I was questioned on one occasion as to what I was doing there.
I decided to chance it and walk into the local bar on the Falls Road. For a moment it was like a scene out of a western movie, where all the men (only men) stopped drinking mid pint and I could almost hear the imaginary wooden doors swinging behind me. I left quickly.
Stormont- Northern Ireland's parliament. Despite Northern Ireland's small population, its parliament seats 108 members. It's worth visiting just for its beautiful location, surrounded by acres of parkland. It's much harder to see anything inside the parliament, and I was refused access to the most interesting looking area after being told it was ''top secret''.
Crumlin Road Prison- completed in 1845 the Prison closed in 1996 and is now open to the public for tours. Although a hoard of pigeons has now replaced prisoners, the prison is an interesting architectural specimen and housed many of the most infamous political prisoners such as Gerry Adams and the Rev. Ian Paisley. It's an eerie place.

The Troubles officially ended in 1998 following the Good Friday Agreement. Controversially, all paramilitary prisoners were released, including notorious mass murderers such as the Shankhill Butchers, who indiscriminately murdered around 30 people, many on a random basis.

Many former IRA and UVF members now have large stakes in the State, including Martin McGuiness, former IRA commander, who holds the post of Deputy First Minister and the current Lord Mayor, Tom Hartley, who was incarcerated at Crumlin Road Prison.

I was lucky enough to get a ticket to a The Chronicles of Long Kesh, a play which looks at what happened at the former Long Kesh/Maze Prison, where most political prisoners were held during The Troubles. It was also where the 1981 Hunger Strike happened, during which 10 men died. The acting was brilliant and it's a novel way to learn about the history.

Aside from all the politics, there are a few other sites worth seeing in and around the city.

Belfast Castle, situated high on a hill overlooking the city, is beautiful, as is much of the surrounding area. I'm not usually a fan of tours, but Paddywagon Tours does it well- very well informed, local guides, comfortable buses and very reasonably priced. I took the Belfast–Giants Causeway-Derry day tour, which gave me the opportunity to see some amazing natural sites around Northern Ireland. Dramatic cliffs, rolling green fields, ancient castles and bizarre rock formations can be visited within an hour of the city.

Derry (or Londonderry, depending on your political persuasion) is a pretty little city on the North coast. It's Europe's last walled city, and remains very militant.

It's also worth following your stomach around Belfast's old Georgian food market, held on Fridays and Saturdays, near the main train station. It's packed full of stalls selling a wide ranging and delicious range of foods, with scores of free samples. I had a delicious Lebanese wrap with falafel and chili sauce. Sadly, no hot dogs in sight.

If you are looking for an exciting night out in Belfast it's a little harder to find. Even on weekends, most of the bars seemed to shut at 12pm, leaving you with little else than terribly bad nightclubs with 18 year olds dancing to Beyonce, or pretentious suit wearers swirling house chardonnay under fake chandeliers. As with most Irish bars, the best time to go is late afternoon, when you still have a seat and conversations are audible.

I left the city on a Saturday afternoon on the last flight to London. On the short flight over I was trying to sum up what I thought of the city. In the short time I was there I had developed a kind of love-hate relationship. If imagined or not, it felt tense and restless, as if something could snap at any moment. In many ways it was boring. Walking around the city at 8pm on a Friday night, even convenience stores were closed and the streets oddly empty. But I admired it as a reluctant hero or survivor, a rough and tough but straight-to-the-point type; the kind who would save your life but tell you to get lost for wasting their time.

Going West

2009-04-14T21:58:00.002+01:00

I spent the Easter weekend in Sligo on Ireland's West coast, home to wild and dramatic scenery, neolithic sites, surfing, and shockingly bad boy bands such as Westlife and Boyzone...

It's a good place to do much and nothing at all, so in between long lie-ins and reading on the cane sofa looking out at the sea I managed to fit in horse riding, a boat trip, shopping, bar-haunting and a few decent walks.

Sligo is somehow quaintly rugged. A very short drive from the rocky, windswept beaches will take you to a 200 year old stone and thatch pub, where the decripid looking picture of Jesus is barely visible in the dark, damp inside. You know you're in a 'real' pub in Ireland when there's no stereo system, only silence waiting to be filled by singing old men red with whiskey, or the sound of fiddles on an occasional Trad session.

There's another rather old pub near Sligo which (at least in theory) simultaneously serves as a convenience store and undertakers, and the hooks from the ceiling serve as a reminder of its old days as a butcher shop. I was a little disappointed to find that the can of condensed milk that had been tempting me all night on the shelf was actually not for sale, but rather for decoration. Still, the Guinness was good.

It had been awhile since I last rode a horse. There's nothing quite like galloping along a beach at full speed, even with a creeping hangover and the realisation that this is the first time to do real physical exercise in actual years.

I left feeling very relaxed and happy to have seen a bit of this beautiful part of Ireland.

Four Seasons in a Strange Land

2009-04-08T13:35:00.007+01:00

Spending a year in another country is a unique experience.

I did it the first time when I was 17, in Sweden, and although there were huge differences between my experience there and here in Ireland (namely, level of freedom and especially the language), it roughly followed the same pattern and timetable of reactionary response.

Sentiments about place, people and distinctive cultural differences seem to fit neatly into quarters like a seasonal cycle cliché as the year unfolds.

Stage One, or ‘The Photo Stage’ begins before you arrive, with ideas of what one thinks the place will be like. Arriving is always a slightly surreal experience. The images and stereotypes present like aged photos; they fade, destroy, or are restored to a brighter and more brilliant image.

Stage One fluctuates between the exciting, disappointing and exhausting. It’s like Groundhog Day centered around first impressions, and you find yourself answering the same 3 questions so many times that your revised answers even stretch to include a joke or anecdote. As a New Zealander these days it usually leads to a well versed Lord of the Rings reference (‘My cousin’s cousin’s little sister was an extra in Lord of the Rings’).

My least liked but inescapable stage is Stage Two, the ‘Superior Comparison Stage’. It plagues one like a nervous tick after 2- 3 months in the country, and no matter how much you try to stop vocalising it, you find yourself making countless references to how much more efficient/cheap/friendly/warm ‘your’ country is. Time seems to go slower than a leprechaun on sedatives. The excitement of tasting the local cuisine wanes and you find yourself daydreaming about kumara. You miss your family, friends, and perhaps even your pet goldfish. You resent the tourists, who never pass Stage One and can be overheard talking about how much they love the country, and who rarely retreat beyond the borders of such places as Temple Bar, the Dublin Disneyland of clichéd ‘Irishness’.

By Stage 3, ‘Spring’, annoyances start to abate. Friendships are firmly established and you’ve been long enough at work to be able to pre-empt tasks and cruise along nicely. If you are learning a language, the grammar finally starts to make as a whole at this point. If it’s still in your native language, you find yourself throwing in local colloquialisms without realising it, leaving you looking like a foreigner who is trying just a little too hard to be a local. As a foreigner in the Emerald Isle this means throwing the word ‘grand’ into sentences at every opportunity. You now look at the tourists with a gleeful superiority because you know the secret to the ‘real’ Ireland.

By Stage 4, the 'Summer' you don’t want to leave. You even find yourself showing symptoms of the Superior Comparison Stage, only in reverse, as all the good things about the place become exaggerated with blind nostalgia. Time seems to go faster than an Ethopian runner on Speed.

Things that previously would have induced extreme irritation become ‘quaint’ or ‘charming’, to the point that when the bus driver pulls over for 10minutes to pick up his drycleaning you laugh instead of grind your teeth (this actually happened today). This is a sign that it’s time to leave, before the worst part of the last 3 quarters ome back to haunt you.

Leaving is as surreal as arriving. It's hard to really come to grips with the fact that your life as it is has expired its term. It will always bring some regret for the places never visited and the friendships that will never be progressed due to lack of time. But it's also liberating, because you can leave behind all the things you don't like. And exciting, because new adventures are coming.

I have 2 weeks left in the country before embarking on new travels.

Slan go foill!

Amsterdam

2009-03-23T21:11:00.001Z

IMGP3268
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

I put aside my fear of clogs and a language which resembles the sound of regurgitating steak to go to Amsterdam.

In many ways it way just as I imagined: winding canals, a slightly disturbing obsession with cheese and giant Dutchmen and women on a murderous mission to flatten unassuming stoned tourists with their bicycles.

Throw in Anne Frank's old house and Eastern European prostitutes beckoning from windows and you're almost there. Almost, but not quite.

The three of us took the 6am flight Dublin to Amsterdam, arriving in time for a sausage and chips breakfast and a wander around the city centre, jumping from shop to shop to avoid the misty rain.

3 days was a nice amount of time to see all the main sites while still having time to get lost in the cobbled streets and many canals. We checked out the Amsterdam Dungeon, Anne Frank's House, The Sex Museum and some bars and coffeeshops in between. The Van Gogh museum was a definite highlight, with an impressively large collection of his paintings.

The Red Light District was a bizzare experience, and, during the day time, more disturbing than I imagined. I was expecting a few windows with prostitutes, mainly for intoxicated tourists, but it was a much larger and more efficient operation which was operating in full swing at lunchtime on a Sunday. We were warned not to take photos, with stories of the large, rather well aged sex workers beating culprits with sex toys successfully putting us off.

It's a pricey place, with a 1/2 litre (the 'extra large' size in Dutch terms) glass of beer setting you back €5, with very little variety in beer types. The museums will all cost you, and the hostels aren't cheap.

In a city with otherwise quite bland food, the hot dogs deserve an honourable mention, with one of the largest topping selections I have ever seen including many sauces, pickles, fresh vegetables and crisps.

It's a strange mix of the pretty, quaint and colourful with a seedy side. It's somehow laid back and buzzing at the same time, and is full of alternative little boutiques and markets selling tulips, vinyls, cheese, quirky clothing and garage junk.

It was a beautifully sunny final day in the city, and as we had seen the main sites we spent it wandering around and somehow wishing we could stay longer to do very little. It's easy to see how people get stuck there, throwing in their clean hair and jeans for hemp pants and dreadlocks. It was time to leave...

London Calling

2009-03-08T21:44:00.001Z

Speakers Corner, London
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

After almost a year of living in Ireland, and as it's soon going to be my new home, I decided it was time to visit London again. My friend and fellow Duff admirer, Sam, who I met in Belize and traveled with in Mexico, invited me to his 30th birthday party.

After a long day at work, a 1 hour bus ride to the airport, the Dublin- Gatwick flight, a train then a tube ride later I was finally in London. It was near midnight by the time we got a long dreamed-of curry in Soho then back to Acton.

I had seen most of the tourist sites on my last visit to London, so it was great to just wander around on Saturday.We also had a fantastic lunch with a view from the Oxo tower. Saturday night was the party at the Proud Bar & Gallery in Camden, with live band a horse stable rooms, and it was great to meet all of Sam's friends, most of which he had met traveling in random places around the world, and who had come from across Europe for the party.

Sunday was a day of more great food and markets. Brick Lane was the highlight, with it's long line of Indian restaurants and markets. We also made it to Speakers corner, where an eclectic mix of the eccentric and insane united to reveal to London their secrets to the meaning of life. Suffice to say, I didn't become a fundamentalist Christian, British nationalist or free-hugs hippie, although I did ponder the idea of taking to the soap box myself and seeing if anyone would join my self-invented cult, which I am still working on.

London's a world in a city and I'm looking forward to living there. As long as I never become one of those Kiwi/Australian/Canadians who spend their nights at the Australian chain bars, getting nostalgic over Pineapple Lumps and Vegemite...

Egészségedre!

2009-03-06T13:44:00.001Z

Ice skating by the castle, Budapest
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

From Vienna I took the train to Győr, a medium sized city halfway between Vienna and Budapest in Hungary’s Northwest. I met my friends there and took a stroll through the darkened city centre, taking in the baroque buildings. Then it was off to Tata, Gergo’s hometown. With a beautiful old castle and lake (which was entirely frozen), it’s a pretty town and I took in most of the sites the next day.

What stands out most about Hungary is its hospitality, with the beautifully cheesy irony that you will never be hungry in Hungary (Contrary to local claims that ‘hungry-Hungary’ jokes are overused and not amusing, it is quite clear that they are=) ). From the moment I arrived I was fed food and endless shots of homemade palinka (a strong brandy made from fruits, similar to schnapps).

I was thoroughly educated in the benefits of palinka, as related to me by my friend’s parents: a shot to prepare for the meal; a shot to compliment the meal; a shot to finish the meal; a shot to help the digestion; a shot to aid sleep; a shot to warm one up; and, my all time favourite, the breakfast shot, to wake one up. It’s good for your health, apparently. I also got to try some interesting dishes, all good: rabbit stew with macaroni and sour cream; the strangely addictive duck fat on bread with salt and spicy paprika powder; and, of course, Goulash.

From Tata we took a trip to the very Soviet looking Tatabanya, a town dominated by grey apartment blocks. It boasts a brilliant giant bird statue though, which looks out over the town.

On the way to Budapest, we took a road trip along the Danube to some towns well worth visiting:

Ezstergom- Ezstergom, the very beautiful former capital and one of the oldest towns in Hungary. Ezstergom has a fascinating history based on its many battles and invasions, and has a stunning basilica (the largest in Hungary).

Visegrad- most famous for its ancient hill-top castle, the remnants of the summer palace of King Matthias. Thankfully not a taxing climb to the top, which gives a stunning view over the Danube.

Szentendre- is a very pretty and arty barqoue town close to Budapest.

Budapest
I arrived in Budapest on New Year’s Eve. Budapest is a top city, and I was lucky enough to see it with locals. The two sides of the city, Buda and Pest, are split by the Danube river. It’s a city packed with history, culture and nightlife. It’s also very cheap by European standards. New Year’s Eve began with a trip to the horse races, and ended with a house party. I was given a ghetto tour the next day, to see the ‘underside of Budapest’. With endless grey apartment blocks and the overwhelming presence of dog faeces, I almost felt like I was in North Dublin.

Highlights; the cellar dive bars, Hungary’s version of a Wild West saloon; general wanderings around the city, taking in the architecture, parks, castles and giant outdoor skating rink; paprika.

Downsides: Unicum

I left Budapest bruised, exhausted and with the longest running hangover of my life, but it was worth it.

Many thanks to all my hosts in Hungary, I’ll be back =)

Back to the Blog- Part II

2009-03-04T21:01:00.001Z

Brno main square
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

Gothenburg, Sweden
After returning from the Baltic, my next stop was Gothenburg, Sweden's second biggest city.

It was great to catch up with my friend Lotta and to meet her boyfriend, Daniel. They were perfect hosts. Gothenburg (Göteborg) is a cosy, pretty city with canals winding through. I had a great time shopping, bar hopping and reviving my Swedish again. And I can't forget the Swedish hot dog: korv med mos, which is a hot dog with or without the bun with mashed potato and special Swedish spice. Definitely in my top 3 World Hot Dog list. (Guatemala is still #1.)

Dresden, Germany
I spent Christmas with my niece and family in Dresden. It was great to see them all again, and to visit Dresden. Dresden is a breathtaking city, with a sufficiently alternative other side to make it artsy, edgy and interesting as well as beautiful. And I finally lived my dream of ice skating outside =) Christmas was a lovely time to be there, with its holiday markets, gluwein and roast goose.

Brno, Czech Republic
I took the train from Dresden- Brno. Since I've been to Prague, I wanted to see something else of the Czech republic, and I'm glad I did. Apart from a couple of Germans, I think I was the only tourist in the town. I have consistently found that the second cities are always worth seeing as they are usually cheaper, friendlier and somehow more 'real'. I saw the city on foot, wandering its cobbled streets, visiting the castle, churches and shops. The highlight was trying to order at the local Chinese restaurant, where they spoke mostly Mandarin, a little Czech and about 3 words of English. My body language was so appalling that it took about 3 minutes to ask for rice (although I have yet to come up with a successful 'rice' sign).

Vienna, Austria
Vienna is beautiful, but expensive. It's a grand city, with stunning architecture and packed with culture. I didn't spend long enough here to get a real feel of the city past the endless Mozart paraphernalia.
I tried to see as much as I could by foot, ducking into cafe after cafe to prevent hypothermia. The market was a highlight.

Part III: Hungary.... coming soon

Back to the Blog- Part I

2009-03-03T22:31:00.002Z

Abandoned military base, Paldiski
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

After a (very) long hiatus for no good reason other than laziness and extended procrastination, I'm attempting to revive the blog.

It's been a crazy few months since September... starting with a Baltic trip to Latvia and Estonia... then Gothenburg, Sweden for a friend's birthday... Christmas in Dresden with my niece + her family... Brno (Czech Rep) for the hell of it... onto Vienna for Mozart and schnitzel...then a very full time Hungary for the New Year, finishing up with London last weekend for Sam's 30th.

Here's a quick rundown of some images, thoughts and observations of it all, beginning with the Baltic. I took this trip at the end of October with 4 Hungarians and an endless supply of vodka. We rented a car and took in the sights of the region.

Latvia:
All roads lead back to Riga: this odd city was the start and end point of the trip, and unfortunately we didn't have time to see much else of Latvia than Riga. However, it's a city worth visiting for its art-nouveau architecture, dumpling buffets, Russian market and cheap vodka. The only place I have been when the hostels advertise tours to fire rocket launchers in World War 2 bunkers. Ethnic conflict between the Russians and Latvians is still rather raw, in a country which has suffered so many occupations they even have a museum dedicated to it. Downsides: its popularity as a stag party town. And Black Balsam, a horifficly bitter tar-like liquor, invented by Latvians to torture tourists. Pure evil.

Estonia:
The majority of the trip was spend in Estonia and included:

* Parnu- a Baltic sea esort town in Western Estonia. We only spent one night here and the weather was incredibly bad, but it's supposed to be beautiful in summer. My addiction to metal-tubed Baltic mustard began here.
* Tallinn. It was my second time in Tallinn and it was as beautiful as the first time. Built on the banks of the Gulf of Finland, it is one of the prettiest cities I have been, with cobbled streets, stunning Russian Orthodox cathedrals. The hometown of Patsy the stuffed Dutch cat and Vana Tallinn (the sweeter and better Baltic rival to Black Balsam). Also home to the worst hot dog I have tasted in my life: soggy bun, cucumber and mayonaise! My coat still bears the scars.
* Paldiski. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paldiski .... One of the most bizarre towns I have visited. A former Soviet submarine base, it was nicknamed the 'Soviet Pentagon' as it was the most important nuclear facility in the Soviet Union. So important that the whole town was sealed off until 1994. Driving through the town is an eerie experience. Many crumbling relics of the Soviet past remain, grey and decaying. The town has little else than a pizza restaurant and more grey Soviet apartment blocks. The town has starred in 2 of my favourite movies- Lilja 4 ever and Tarsk pa Tallinn.
* Narva. Narva lies right on the Estonia-Russia border, and it's population is almost 95% Russian speaking. Most of the signs are in Russian and the supermarkets sell vodka by the crate. Narva's castle is mirrored across the river (the border) on the Russian side by another castle. Worth checking out, if only for the giant Lenin statue.
We found a hostel in the nearby Narva- Joesuu, where we enjoyed a 3am sauna, Estonian style.
* Tartu. Estonia's famed university town, and the second largest city in the country. A very pretty, quaint town, with a fantastic hostel, Hostel Terviseks! It also houses the toy museum (better than it sounds) and the KGB cells museum, where you can track the history of occupation in Estonia. Tartu was definately a highlight of the trip.

Verdict: The Baltic is beautiful and bizarre all at once. I would like to see it again in summertime.

Edinburgh

2008-09-25T10:50:00.001+01:00

Me below Edinburgh castle
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

I had a fantastic weekend away in Edinburgh.

I had been to the city once before, and really loved it. Its so close to Ireland that my flatmate and I decided on a whim to visit.

We arrived late on Friday night, dumped our bags and headed off to some of the city's bars. I was suprised by how much cheaper it is than Dublin, and everything is just so... pretty. We spent most of the evening wandering around the old town pubs, which have a backdrop of a lit Edinburgh castle. The bars were great and we ended up finding some cellar rock bars, frequented by heavy metal fans and students enjoying the music and cheap Absinthe.

We got up early on Saturday, feeling too well the effects of the Absinthe and went for a wander around the city in daylight. Edinburgh has a very arty feel to it which is probably why its host to some of Europe's largest festivals including the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.

We walked around the Castle for a couple of hours, checking out the crown jewels, tiny chapel and tunnels. Its easy to imagine how it was a few hundred years ago, minus all the tourists.

After a terrific meal of haggis we headed up Carlton Hill with whisky and Iron Brew for a real Scottish experience and checked out the city skyline by night.

We ended up at a Judas Priest tribute band near the end of the night before heading back to the hostel for much needed sleep.

We had a few hours left in the city on Sunday before our flight home and its a great place just to wander around, especially in Autumn through the tree lined streets and parks.

I'll be back!

A Very Irish Weekend

2008-09-05T19:55:00.002+01:00

Ever felt like you were living in a movie? Last weekend was definitely one of those moments, where every good Irish stereotype came together in the form of Banagher town, County Offaly. Banagher is a very small town, population 1636, with 6 pubs, several churches and a very bad takeaway store and where everyone knows everyone.

I was invited as part of my friend Agnieszka's birthday celebrations. Her flatmate, Ger, from a family of 10, hosted us. We stayed next door to the family run pub, which has been in the Hough family for 4 generations and is really a spectacular pub. Famous for its nightly renditions of songs like 'It's a long way to Tipperary' and 'Danny Boy', sung by a wonderfully eccentric woman playing the piano, its something of an institution in Banagher.

The Hough family own a plot of land in Offaly countryside, so we checked out their bog where they collect and sell peat logs. I had never seen anything like it- it was quite strange holding something which was thousands of years old. Apparently one of the daughters found an ancient shoe once, which is now in the National Museum.

We stumbled on a medieval fair and game show while we were there. I managed to accomplish one of my 100 things-I-have-to-do-before-I-die.... I had a falcon on my arm! It was really amazing.

One of Ger's friends works for a boat touring company on the river Shannon and took us for a twilight cruise. It wasn't quite the bikini-clad, champagne glass in hand sunset cruise, but we had a great time.

Saturday night was another party night, celebrating Aga's birthday with yet more renditions of 'It's a Long Way to Tipperary.'

We left very tired and full from Mrs. Hough's home cooking. Definitely an Irish experience to remember!

A Bit of Culture in Dun Laoghaire

2008-08-28T13:34:00.003+01:00

Last weekend was another busy one, with most of it spent at the annual Festival of World Cultures in a quaint seaside suburb called Dun Laoighaire on Dublin's South Coast.
It's become rather popular in Dublin, mostly for it wide variety of food stalls selling delicacies from all over the world, as well as free outdoor concerts overlooking the sea.

For this reason, it is of course preferable to have a nice, sunny summer's days to wander the stalls and watch the concert. We weren't so lucky, and from the moment I set off out of my front door to the late afternoon, it really rained. Then there was the mud.

Fortunately it cleared in time for some great concerts and an impromptu Brazilian jam session by the sea....definately one of the highlights.

We caught an amazing West African family band on Saturday night, then headed home for some sleep before returning on Sunday.

The weather cleared up on Sunday and I experienced bright, warm sun for the first time in awhile. 23 degrees and it was even described as 'boiling'- funny how quickly we adjust!
One of the best bands of the weekend played on Sunday night at a local loft pub- Balkan Beat Box. Definately the most original band I have heard in a long time, they were really fantastic.

All in all the weekend was really great. I tried a variety of foods, the strangest being Polish 'pate'... not really pate at all, but pork lard mixed with onions and spread thickly on bread. Hmmm....fat on bread. This is only one of many festivals to come in Dublin. The International Theatre Festival and Fringe Festival are coming up soon. I'm hoping to catch a bit of Oscar Wilde-a compulsory Irish experience.

I will post photos soon.

Hasta la vista

I Love Brussels

2008-08-15T13:32:00.001+01:00

Escaping Vesuvius
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

This became the phrase of the week after an endlessly hilarious trip to Brussels last weekend with my friend Agnieszka.

Why Brussels? I wasn't too sure. It's close enough to Ireland to make a good weekend trip and it rhymes with the mussels Belgium is so famous for.

We arrived in the city late on Friday night, dumped our bags at the hotel and headed straight for the bars. Unbeknownst to us we happened to be staying right near the Red Light District, home to seedy looking cinemas and Eygyptian boy racers. So after an eye opening trip down the main street we headed to the bar quarter on the look out for some of that famous Belgium beer.

I was never a great fan of Belgium beer, and the Krieg (cherry flavoured beer) reinforced this. Basically its bright red, sickeningly sweet and if it was up to me should be banned from existence. After repeatedly refusing the very common Stella Artois, I did try some other (better) varieties, although I still think German beer trumps them all.

Anyway, after a very late night/morning, we headed back to the hotel for some much needed rest before getting on one of those terribly tacky hop-on, hop-off tour buses with recorded commentary. Despite beginning the tour very seriously, this degenerated quickly when we realised that the English version of the tour wasn't working, so we decided to listen to it in Japanese instead. We got off at the first stop, which was the Atomium, a famous Brussels landmark in the shape of an atom which you can go to the top of to get a great view of the city.

While up there I looked down to see the Eiffel Tower, Mt Vesuvius and the Leaning Tower of Pisa. No, we weren't in Space looking down at Europe, but we were looking at.... Mini Europe! By far the highlight of any trip to Brussels, it contains miniature versions of all EU member states.

Mini Europe prompted a very serious Mini Euro Tour photo shoot (see left and http://www.flickr.com/photos/24491659@N03)
during which we morphed into Japanese aliens.

During a walk around the very quaint city centre, we visited the main square and Mannikin Piss, the famous statue of a little boy peeing which, according to legend, was erected in honour of a boy who put out great fires of Brussels while doing his business.

After a compulsory waffle eating mission, we headed in what we thought was the direction of our hotel only to end up at a fun fair. We took a quick ride and headed back to the hotel before going out to the Delirium Bar, known for its selection of over 2000 beers.

On Sunday we finished off the bus tour, catching a glimpse of the EU district, beautiful cathedrals and the palace.

Before leaving we finally had a bite of Brussels Mussels before heading back to the airport.

All in all a fantastic trip!

I love Brussels.

A Very Irish Road Trip

2008-08-08T13:49:00.001+01:00

Gergo, Max, Veronica, Martin, me at The Burren
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

Armed with raincoats and tequila, the Five Foreigners (Me, Gergo (Hungary), Max (Australia), Veronica (Mexico) and Martin (Spain) ) headed off on a 3 day road trip to the West Coast of Ireland.

It all began with a much too early start on Saturday morning, followed by a 5 hour drive to Lisdoonvarna, a small village near The Burren, a famous area of lunar-looking karst landscape along the coast (pictured).

After arriving at our fantastic hostel- Sleepzone The Burren (highly reccommended!) we set off on a bit of sightseeing of the surrounding area, exploring megolithic tombs and ancient ruins, which seem to pop up almost everywhere you look.

The Cliffs of Moher were another highlight, also one of Ireland's most visited destinations. We had a tip from the hostel staff to go in the evening in order to avoid the crowds and the entrance fees, which we did. We got a partial sunset (a miracle for Ireland!) and headed back to the hostel for some much needed beers in the downstairs bar complete with traditional Irish music which went on deep into the night.

Saturday was a bit of a slow start but eventually we made it to Inisheer, the smallest of the Aran Islands, after an incredibly sickening boat trip. Every time I go on a boat I swear it will be my last, and this was no exception.

It took awhile recover from the sea-sickness but eventually we made it up from the sand and walked around the very small island. It really was like being in a different land and everything had a tinge of surreality to it.

The first thing that hit me when I got off the boat was the vast criss crossing of ancient stone walls across the island which didn't seem to serve much of a purpose. The island is littered with old ruins overlooking the water and all the houses are so quaint they could be mistaken for a movie set. The islanders pedomidently speak Irish and horse and cart seems to be the favoured transportation method.

While on top a ruin we noticed a huge, heavily rusted shipwreck looking very foreboding on the pebbles of the far beach. We decided to navigate our way through the wall maze and animals to check it out. When we got there there was almost no one around so we decided to climb up inside the ship and check it out.

It was a very eerie feeling being inside the ship, like walking through a ghost town in the middle of nowhere. After a Wikipedia check when we got home we discovered that it was shipwrecked in the 1960s and the entire crew saved by the Inisheer islanders. Quite an amazing feat.

Inisheer was definately one of the best parts of the trip despite injuring my foot by jumping onto a stone!

We played a few rounds of Texas Hold 'Em poker that night and left early for Galway city the next day. It was a pretty town, but very small.

It was a fantastic trip but all too short, and had left me with many more ideas of places to explore in Ireland.

2008-07-31T13:27:00.002+01:00

Last weekend I had an old friend, Kristin, visit from Norway. It was so great to see her again after 3 1/2 years.

Following my theme of untraditional Irish sightseeing, I took her on the Sinn Fein Rebel Tour of Dublin. Run by the Sinn Fein Shop, a very enthusiastic guide leads a 2 hour tour around the old revolutionary haunts of the city, most of which you would otherwise just walk past without knowing how much history it holds. Although I got a bit lost in the dates it was a really fascinating tour, and the very small group combined with the glint in the eye of the guide really fires up the enthusiasm. We had a journalist stop by to take some snaps, and we were hoping to make it into the national newspaper as participants on a 'Terror Tour' of Dublin. Alas, the paper was rather kind, and I'm hoping that more people are encouraged to take part in the tour, despite the political leanings of Sinn Fein!

It was a rather lazy weekend from that point on, although I threw a Mexican party on Friday evening followed by a trip to the North coast of Dublin on Saturday. Saturday night was dominated by a spontanenous 'Homeless by Night' tour, followed by a rather classy trip to Eddie Rocket's Diner for dessert as everywhere else was closed. Suffice to say, we couldn't find a creme brulee, but the booth jukeboxes were a nice touch.

The weekend went all too quickly, but I think I managed to show Kristin the highlights and lowlights of Dublin. I even made the ultimate life sacfice: I took her to a vegetarian restaurant! Medals welcome.

This weekend I'm hiring a car with a group of friends and heading to the West Coast, home of rugged cliffs, wild waters and Gaelic speaking locals. We'll be staying in a small town called Lisdoovarna, home of Europe's largest matchmaking event! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lisdoonvarna

More photos here http://www.flickr.com/photos/24491659@N03

A Very Irish Weather Forecast

2008-07-24T10:48:00.001+01:00

Over the weekend and for the start of next week temperatures will not be as high and the weather will gradually become more unsettled. Fairly cloudy on Friday night with scattered outbreaks of rain but most of the night will be dry. However it may be foggy as well. Saturday and Sunday will be two fairly cloudy days and there may be rain at times. However the rain will generally not be that heavy and there should be long dry periods during the day. Highest temperatures will be around 20 or 21C at most. Then during the first couple of days of next week the weather looks like turning back to its very wet pattern of the early summer as heavy thundery rain once more sweeps up across Ireland from the south.

I think they're trying to cover all bases...

2008-07-22T18:43:00.003+01:00

On Sunday me, my flatmate Gergu and his father hired a car and did some sightseeing.

It was a great feeling to be in a car again, not tied to bus timetables and destinations, and we managed to pack a lot in.

The first stop was the site of the Battle of the Boyne, where George of Orange defeated the Jacobites, thus laying the foundations for English dominance in Ireland over the following centuries. Its also known as the battle in which the protestants defeated the catholics, and is celebrated on 12th July (see last post)

Next stop was the Neolithic passage graves of Knowth, with hundreds of beautifully decorated stones. Knowth has more than a 3rd of the total number of megalithic art works in the whole of western Europe, and it was well worth seeing, even if it just looks like humps of earth from a distance.

After Knowth we drove through some storybook Irish villages, with coloured houses and, of course, lots of traditional looking pubs and the odd fish and chip shop with nackers slouching outside. We walked through Kells (origin of the book of Kells)- a really pretty town- and drove past some similarly quaint looking places.

We dropped Gergu's father off in the tiny town of Glenlough, right on the Northern Ireland border, where he will work on a farm, and headed back to Dublin.

Belfast on Orange Day

2008-07-16T20:26:00.003+01:00

It's been awhile since my last entry- I haven't had much time for computers lately.

Dublin was becoming a bit too... peaceful... for me, so last weekend I decided to jump on the train and go to Belfast. What I didn't realise until the day before was that it was 12th July, which in Northern Ireland means Orange Parade- formally a celebration of William of Orange, the Dutch Prince of Great Britain and Ireland in the 16th century.

Informally, its a chance for Protestants/Loyalists to agitate the Catholics/Republicans and vice versa, and usually ends in some sort of violence.

So I stumbled onto the 7.30am train from Dublin, and woke up 2 hours later to the sounds of marching bands and crazed screeching teenage girls draped in British flags with an incredible penchant for fake tan. They must have really been going for the orange theme.

I walked through the marching bands which took over the city centre, and onto Falls road for my 3 hour political history walking tour. I'm not usually into tours, but this one was something different. There were only 5 of us on the tour, and it was led by a Republican who had endured 16 years of jail as a political prisoner during The Struggles. He had 200 stiches in his head to prove it.

The tour, although 'unashamedly republican' was really fascinating. The entire tour took place on one very famous road, Falls Road. It began with an apartment block which is a former base for the British forces, and ended at the cemetary where famous IRA/republicans are buried, including Bobby Sands, one of the hunger strikers.

I still find it quite incredible how divided the city still is. A wall runs the length of Falls Road, where Catholics and Protestants still live on their respective sides. There are separate schools for both sides and relatively little interaction by all accounts.

Despite this, the city has come a long way in just 10 years. It's hard to imagine where I was walking was a literal war zone, with frequent bombs exploding and gun fire from both sides. One interesting, bad side effect of peace from this type of war is that there has been a dramatic rise in suicides since the ceasefire. According to the guide, suicide and hard drugs were virtually unheard of during the conflict, but now they are a very serious problem in Northern Ireland.

I walked back from the tour into the city, hoping there would be a lot going on when the parades finished. Alas, it was like a ghost town. Almost everything was closed, including bars and restaurants and it took me over an hour just to find something to eat in the city centre.

I took the train back to Dublin in the evening. The rest of the weekend was suprisingly sunny, although I wont hold my breath that summer has come!

Otherwise everything's going really well here. Tommorrow I'm going the theatre to see The Rat Pack, a Dean Martin tribute play and there's a festival on this weekend on the coast.

Radiohead at Malahide Castle

2008-06-14T16:21:00.004+01:00

I started my new job on Tuesday. Although it has been strange getting back to work , it's going well, and I like the university environment. My boss is the pricipal of the Engineering, Maths and Physics department (how did I end up there?!) and I havent met him yet because he spends mos of his time flying around the world first class. Lucky for some. However, I'm not here for the work and I've also managed to have some fun in between.

Last weekend I got a free ticket to the Radiohead concert, and went with my flatmate and a friend. They played at Malahide Castle, a castle North of the city. It was amazing! To get there, you have to walk through forest and come into a huge clearing which is the castle grounds, where they played. It started raining just before they were due to come on, which wasn't great until it stopped and a huge double rainbow came out. The concert itself was really good- I prefer their older stuff but it was also interesting to hear some of their new material.

Tonight I'm meeting up with 2 Irish girls I met in Guatemala for a BBQ and party, which should be good as long as the rain stays away!

Employed in Dublin

2008-06-06T13:22:00.004+01:00

After 3 weeks of searching, I finally found a job!

I've got a 3-4 month contract with possibility of extension, working as a PA at UCD University in Dublin. I start on Tuesday. Oh and its sunny again. Its funny how the weather seems to follow my moods. Anyway, it feels really good to be employed again, as strange as that might sound. Wait a few weeks and Ill be moaning about working again.

Now I just have to get a tax number and bank account and Ill be set.

I don't know what an 'Employed' photo looks like, so I thought I would stick to photos of my flat. My one is the first one on the right. Its not as grey inside as it looks!

Unemployed in Dublin

2008-06-04T15:11:00.002+01:00

Unemployed and resorting to cheap wine to keep me warm. Ok, so maybe its not so bad, but I do love this photo.

Its raining and I'm still jobless, but I'm beginning to like Dublin more by the day. The weather is terrible, its not exotic or particularly beautiful and there is an extreme lack of street benches! But it does have some sort of Irish charm that cant quite be put into words.

I like how easy it is to hop on a train and end up on the coast 20 minutes later, to rolling hills overlooking the ocean and small villages dotted around. My picnic was great- I went with an English friend who I met in Guadalajara who lives in Dublin. Today I ended up North of the city in a coastal village called Malahide at a meeting with a recruitment agency. It was quite quaint, if not for the rain.

Otherwise, I've got more recruitment agency meetings this week and am hoping they get me something soon! Ive also applied for a few jobs online, but the main problem is that my visa restricts me from taking permanent work. So its contract or temp work for me, which isn't the easiest to find.

No Longer Homeless

2008-05-31T10:23:00.003+01:00

I found a flat!

After 2 weeks of searching, I've finally got my own room in a 4 bedroom Coronation-street style townhouse. Im sharing with 3 guys and living walking distance to the city. Its a nice house, with a backyard and BBQ (perfect for those freezing Irish summer nights)

Actually, it has warmed up a bit and Im heading to the coast for a picnic lunch today, which is a short bus trip from Dublin city centre. Im looking forward to seeing the sea again- it's been awhile.

My job search is proving a little bit more difficult- I have signed up to several temp agencies and am awaiting their calls . Im hoping to find some sort of contract admin/reception job, which sure beats trying to sell things to people on the street, which Ill resort to if I dont find a job soon.

I had a crazy coincidence a couple of days ago. In Mexico City, I met a really nice Australian couple at my hostel.I got their email address but hadn't heard from them in awhile. Anyway, I was walking out of my hostel in Dublin when I saw two familiar Australian faces... they have turned up to work here for a couple of months before going onto the rest of their world trip! It was great to see them, and Im sure we will see a lot more of eachother here.

Its a long weekend here, so I'm sure the city is going to be crazy with revellers.

Bad Day/Good Day

2008-05-26T10:22:00.004+01:00

The last few days have been interesting...

Despite all the horror stories, during 3 months in Central America I never had one thing stolen. Yet after 1 week in Dublin my cellphone went missing out of my handbag at a bar.

Of course, it had to happen right after I had given my number to prospective employers and potential flatmates, plus any new friends I made in between.

So after the initial rage, and numerous phone calls to the said phone, I sort of gave up on the idea of getting it back. I was meant to be going to Cork city that day anyway. But I decided to try one last time though, just in case.... and someone answered! He asked me to call back in 5 minutes, so I did, and no one picked up. So I waited around in Dublin with all my bags, feeling the effects of too little sleep and too much Guinness the night before, tried another 30 times, and almost resigned myself again. I jumped on the bus bound for Cork (a 4.5 hour trip) feeling very dramatic about the state of the world.

Yet on trying again that evening (from Cork), the same guy answered again! He said I could pick it up when I got back to Dublin. The whole thing sounded a bit dodgy, so when I got back to Dublin from Cork on Sunday I took a taxi there. I was even more suprised to find it was legitimate, he gave me back the phone, and even refused some beer money I offered him. He never did explain how he came across my phone, or why he didnt turn it into the bar, but I was just damn happy to get it back. To make my day even better, the taxi driver offered to drive me back to the city for free (a half hour drive). Hilary Duff must have been watching out for me from her Hollywood heaven.

Anyway, my time in Cork was great. It was good to get away from Dublin and the crazy process of job/flat hunting for awhile. Despite being the second biggest city in Ireland, Cork is small but pretty. A must see for any visitor to Cork is Blarney Castle and its famous Blarney Stone. It's tradition to kiss the stone (which apparently is also the recipient of much male urine). The worst part is that you are dangled by legs from the top of the castle to kiss the side of the stone, with a view the whole way down to the bottom of the castle. My fear of heights did not help, and on my hurry to get back up to surface I hit my head on the Blarney Stone, something that produced much hilarity for myself and my Australian friend I went there with.

I also visited the old Cork jail which was well worth seeing. It really made you feel like you were back in the 1920s, trying to survive off stodgy porridge and a lack of potatoes with rats crawling over you. There were a few cool inscriptions in the jail walls from political prisoners fighting for a free Irish state.

Now its back to the job and flat search...

More photos here http://www.flickr.com/photos/24491659@N03/

A Day in the Life of a New Dubliner

2008-05-20T15:53:00.001+01:00

Dublin by the river
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

The last few days have been pretty hectic in my search for a job and a place to live. Flathunting is always an exhausting, weird, and sometimes hilarious process.

I've been to see a few so far, including:
- A 5 bedroom house with 10 people living in it
-A place that advertised 25 mins walk from city centre... actually about an hour, in the middle of old age homes, with concrete dog statues, brown couches and doilies in every crevace. Possibly one of the most depressing scenes I have seen in awhile. I started to imagine myself on a rocking chair staring at peeling wallpaper with a ticking grandfather clock in the background
- Rooms that were advertised that didnt seem to exist.. I turned up at the alloted time and no one pitched up.

Im seeing one more flat tonight, which Im hoping will be the right one. Ive also been in to see a couple of temp agencies with my CV... fingers crossed.

Potatoes and Guinness in Ireland

2008-05-18T13:11:00.003+01:00

I'm now in the land of potatoes and Guinness... I arrived in Dublin on Tuesday to begin my year of work and travel.

My first impressions of Dublin are pretty good- lots of pretty buildings and rivers winding through the city. The bars really fit the Irish pub stereotype- old, quaint and rowdy with people playing fiddles in the corner and drinking pints of Guinness.

The one thing that has struck me about Dublin is the lack of Irish.... everywhere I go I hear Spanish, Italian, German, French, Swedish, Polish etc etc. And the English I do hear is not that of the Irish variety. You can really see the money here, and the prices reflect it- 5.50 Euros for a beer (thats NZ $11!) It would have been really interesting to see the city 20 years ago, I imagine it would have been a much different place.

I also love how everyone pretends its not really cold here- there are girls wearing cocktail dresses at midnight- even worse than the Loaded Hog in mid-winter!

I'm in the process of trying to find a flat and job, which is proving more difficult than I thought. I'm going into a temp agency tomorrow to see what I can find, and flat hunting is sporadic.

Its hard getting used to being in one place again, although I think it will feel good to have my own room again after 4 months in dorm rooms. And my own pillow. Luxury!

I will post photos soon.

Me and Meli getting serious in Hamburg

2008-05-14T17:36:00.001+01:00

Me and Meli getting serious in Hamburg
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

Its always better to see a city the way a local sees it. I was really glad to meet up with my friend Meli, who I met in Guatemala, in Hamburg. She was kind enough to let me stay and introduce me to the city and her friends there.

The night I arrived she took me to an Electronic festival in a park near the city. At the time, there were several festivals going on, but this one was seriously lacking any tourists thankfully ( I dont count). We had a great time and I met many of her friends. Some of them live in a huge apartment overlooking the harbour, which had an amazing view of the water.

We passed through the famous red light district at night, which wasnt as seedy as I would have imagined. Just lots of bright lights, reminiscent of something out of Moulin Rouge.
The next day we took a boat trip around the harbour and saw some of the city centre, including a lake that could be mistaken for a river...

As meli is vegetarian I tried to go follow suit for the time I was there, just to see what it was like. I almost made it, but the shrimps got me. I did try hefe weisen beer and banana juice though, which was quite good.

I was disappointed that I didnt have more time in Hamburg but maybe one day Ill be back...

Berlin

2008-05-13T13:32:00.003+01:00

Berlin has made my list of favourite cities visited. I had a great weekend enjoying the history, politics and beer of the city, and only wished I had longer to explore.

On Saturday I took a 3 1/2 hour free tour of the main sites of the city, which was one of the best tours I have been on. The guide was a very charismatic Welsh guy, who was also a former politics student so knew a lot of in depth and random facts about Berlin. Sites included the Brandenburg Gates, Berlin Wall, Checkpoint Charlie, the German parliament buildings, Pariser Platz, the controversial Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe and Hitler's bunker. Berlin's history, both old and contemporary, can keep you fascinated for days.

Its a great place just to walk around, and to see the occupied apartment blocks which, although covered in grafitti and looking like crack dens, are actually occupied by artists and musicians and apparently have bars and restaurants inside.

The East-West divide is also fascinating to see, especially the clash of political ideologies and entire ways of living that were experienced in Berlin before the Wall came down. I also visited the GDR museum which, although not the greatest museum Ive seen, was highly interactive and had some hilarious relics of the GDR times. One of my favourites was the GDR made Trabant car, an incredibly small car meant to rival the evil Capitalist cars. East Germans were very proud of this cheap and economical invention, even if they did have to go on a 20-year waiting list to get one.

Another one of my favourites (in theory, not practice) is Vita Cola, the GDR rival to Coca Cola. Its still on sale in most shops in Eastern Germany but by all accounts its very, very bad.

I seem to have come across festival season in Germany. After going to one in Stuttgart and in Dresden, I also stumbled on the annual Cultural Festival in Berlin, which had a lot of great food, drink and music from across the world.

Definately a city which needs a return visit!

Prague

2008-05-09T17:15:00.002+01:00

Prague
Originally uploaded by simpsonatti

My decision to go to Prague was quite last minute. I had heard a lot of great things about the historic city, and its only 2 hours from Dresden so I thought I would pop across for a couple of nights.

Upsides: Prague really is a beautiful city, split by a river and full of castles, museums and, of course, very old buildings. It managed to escape destruction during WWII, so most of the city is still intact. And, of course, the Czech beer, home of the Pilzner and creators of the original Budweiser.

Downsides: Its expensive. Very expensive. You get charged for everything, even to use the bathroom at expensive restaurants.
Also the Czechs I met there were, on the whole, the most incredibly rude people I have ever met, especially when you are their customer, e.g. slamming your food/drinks down at restaurants, grunting at you when you ask a question about taking a tour, etc. It was quite baffling.

I did manage to see quite a bit of the city while I was there though, including Prague Castle (the oldest castle in the world) Vysehrad Castle, the Old Town, Charles Bridge, and a weird television tower with babies climbing up it, all of which were quite amazing.

I am in Berlin now where Im spending the next couple of nights, and then onto Hamburg.

More Prague photos here http://www.flickr.com/photos/24491659@N03/sets/72157604944711802/

Tschüs!

Dresden

2008-05-03T09:53:00.003+01:00

I arrived in Dresden after a speedy trip on the German autobahn. Definately the most efficient roads I have ever seen! The main purpose of my visit was, of course, to see my 2 1/2 year old niece, Miriam and her family.

Wednesday was Zoo day, a favourite of Miriam and Marens, and on Thursday we had a picnic in Dresdens park. It is truly massive and even has a castle and train track in it. Thursday also happened to be Mens Day in Germany, a public holiday in which men take backpacks full of beer and walk around town drinking all day. All in all it was suprisingly civil. On Womens day all the ladies are given flowers by the men, which doesnt sound nearly as fun.

Yesterday Marens father, Andre, took me on a tour of the outskirts of Dresden. We visited a beautiful old village called Meißen, and walked around the castle and its chapel which overlooks the town and the river Elbe.

I got an insight into the eccentric king August, who was a rather large bulimic who would eat huge amounts of food to look richer to his people, and then throw it up out of neccessity and keep on eating. He also heard that Venice was a great city that had a lighthouse so he decided that he needed one too, to show how great he was. So he had a working lighthouse built on his private lake, on which his was the only boat that travelled there.

We took a tour through the old army barracks and offices of the former German Democratic Republic (GDR) and the Nazis. Most of the old, grey buildings have been deserted now, and its a rather spooky sight, especially as a storm was brewing as we drove past. I also caught a glimpse of Vladimir Putins old house, where he lived as a Secret Service agent during GDR times. Its mind-boggling to think about how closed off East Germany was from the West- even bananas were considered a luxury during GDR times.

Tonight I will go to a festival in Neustadt, the old part of Dresden, with Maren and her sister Mareike.

More photos here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/organize/?start_tab=sets

Tschüs!

South Germany

2008-04-28T16:37:00.002+01:00

I have been in Germany for almost a week now, and have seen a lot in just a few days.
Southern Germany is very beautiful- filled with old castles, historic towns, modern cities, vineyards, and forests, with the Black Forest being the most famous of all. Gerhart and Annie have been very kind to take me to all of these, and I have some great photos to illustrate it: http://www.flickr.com/photos/24491659@N03/sets/72157604738180004/
On Friday we went to visit some friends of theirs and my parents, Harold and Ute, in a small village near the Black Forest. We took the day to walk in the forest and see some amazing castles which seemed to appear from nowhere from the trees. On the way home, we drove through the Black Forest and past some more beautiful old German towns.
I also visited the UNESCO World Heritage site of Maulbronn Monastery, founded in the 12th Century AD. It was truly amazing, as most of the buildings have been completely preserved, and its very elaborately finished for a monastery. It did make me sympathise with the monks however, who had to live within the freezing stone walls of the buildings with no heating and the vow of poverty, chasity and obedience. They werent allowed to eat meat either, but the cooks would sneak meat into big pasta squares, giving birth to the regions culinary speciality, the Swabian ravioli. I tasted it today and it really was good. South Germany also makes some great wines which I sampled today in a wine growing suburb in Stuttgart.
Tommorrow I will spend another day in Stuttgart and then its on to Dresden.
Tschüs

Germany

2008-04-28T16:37:00.001+01:00

True to German style, my time here has been action packed and really great so far.
Gerhart and Annie took me to the Stuttgart Art Museum yesterday, which was great, and we walked around the city. Its a really beautiful part of South Germany- many of the buildings have survived the War or have been reconstructured very well. They took me to a typical German market, which I have to say was a lot more civil than the Mexican ones (compare giant cheeses and olive sculptures with whole cows and pig heads sitting before you).
Today we visited the Mercedes Benz Museum, an amazing documentation of the history of the automobile, which was actually invented by Mr Benz of Stuttgart. The museum is an architectual feat in itself, and its really worth seeing.
After the museum it was of course neccesary to refresh with a real German beer. Luckily I made it to Stuttgart in time for the bi-annual Beerfest, a huge festival with copious amounts of food, rides and, of course, beer by the litre. I even managed to see genuine Lederhousen on sale.
Tschus!

San Diego Part II

2008-04-28T16:36:00.000+01:00

I arrived in San Diego on Thursday after an uneventful flight from Guadalajara to Tijuana, and bus ride from Tijuana to San Diego.
I didnt actually get to visit the infamous city of TJ, known for pestulant hawkers, violence, police corruption and as a haven for those seeking prescription drugs without a presciption and for underage US drinkers (the drinking age is 18 in Mexico, so they roll across the border to the all-you-can-drink bars). I wouldnt say its the Real Mexico (whatever that means), but the craziness and extreme contrast to just across the border would have been an interesting sight. Its just a shame that people think that that it is what the rest of Mexico is like.
The border itself was interesting enough though- it took about an hour just to get to the border in a distance which should have taken 15 minutes. Cars were banked up for miles. Once we got there, we were loaded off the bus with all our baggage and told to wait in the very long lines. There were huge signs everywhere saying that all conversations were being recorded, and anytime someone got out a cellphone (read: any Mexican), they were told to switch it off. It felt like some kind of space-age concentration camp.
A verbal screaming match broke out between some women while I was waiting in line- one accused the others of pushing into line, and was yelling at the top of her lungs for a long time.
Needless to say, I survived getting through without a hitch, although the atmosphere is of such that it makes you so paranoid that you start imagining that you might actually have hidden hard drugs/cuban cigars/Mexican child seeking better life in your backpack.
It was such a contrast coming back to the US. It took me awhile to get used to the fact that I can actually flush toilet paper again, and drink tap water without the threat of man-eating worms and amoebas growing in my stomach.It was also really great to see Angela again, and to share some great American beers (yes, beers other than Budweiser do exist). On the way home from the bus station we took a side trip to the Yardhouse, home of the largest selection of draft beer in the world. Its a great place.
I also met Angelas teacher friends at their Happy Hour(s)- a great bunch of people who were of course a little zany. Saturday night was spent watching dvds and then Angela very kindly took me to LA airport on Sunday morning.
The flight was long but not too bad, and I arrived in Germany yesterday to the very welcoming Gerhart and Annie, friends of my parents living in Stuttgart. Its a very beautiful part of Germany, and one I am looking forward to exploring.
Tschus!

Adios, Mexico!

2008-04-28T16:35:00.000+01:00

Its my last day in Mexico after a truly amazing 3 months in the region.
I have been in Guadalajara since Sunday. Its a great city, although after Mexico City I have to say its hard to find any city that lives up to it. Cabelleros (cowboys) dominate here. I dont think I have seen so many mostaches, denim and cowboy hats and boots in a long time.
The highlight of my time in Guadalajara has to be my trip to Tequila yesterday, a small, VERY Mexican town, where siestas and fiestas still reign, and if youre not wearing a cowboy hat you are clearly not cool.
I took a local bus there, and saw a Canadian man that I had met a few days ago on the bus from San Miguel. He was heading to Tequila with a French Canadian woman, so I tagged along. I expected the town to be very touristy (i.e. drunk Gringos with giant sombreros and ponchos roaming the streets), but suprisingly we were the only foreigners there. Even the tour of the tequila farm was dominated by Mexicans.
The tour was well worth it- we took a bus about 10 minutes out of the town to a really beautiful ranch. It was surrounded by giant mango trees and a blue haze of agave (the cactus used to produce tequila), and all the buildings were made of solid stone or cement. The tequila making process is quite simple- basically at the centre of the agave is a baseball sized pineapple-looking ball, which are baked in giant ovens to extract the juice which is then fermented with yeast and aged in oak barrels.
Tequila is like champagne in that to be able to call the drink tequila it must be produced in Tequila (or a select few other municipalities in the region), and undergo strict criteria.
Of course we also had a tasting session, and were able to try gold, silver, reposado (aged) and añejo (very aged) tequilas. Tequila is similar to whiskey, and the good stuff is sipped slowly. I have to say it will be difficult to go back to the bad and expensive Jose Cuervo now!
After another tasting at the ranches beautiful restaurant, we headed back to the town to catch a glimpse of the fiesta, the 478th anniversary of the Saint of Tequila. Everyone in the town came out to celebrate this bizarre day.
Here is the promised video from Oaxaca City- http://www.youtube.com/user/samdj1210
Tommorrow Im flying to Tijuana, and then taking a bus straight to San Diego to see Angela again.
Hasta la vista!

San Miguel de Allende

2008-04-28T16:34:00.002+01:00

Buenas tardes!
Like most places I have visited, I have stayed in San Miguel longer than intended. From the moment I saw the hotel Im staying in, I decided it merited a longer visit. I have a 2 bedroom apartment with private bathroom, fridge, huge balcony and rooftop access, all for $15! After almost 3 months of dorm rooms its a welcome break.
I spent most of the day getting lost around the town (fortunately its a perfect town to be lost in). The city is a strange mix of old and new, with sombrero-wearing expat gringos amongst the good old fashioned swinging-doored cantinas (saloons) frequented by cowboy hat wearing old Mexican men. The city has become a favourite for American retirees (and those sick of hectic western lifestyles). I have to say the city has a certain addictive quality, with all the great things about Mexico combined with the comforts of modern life. The city is packed with art galleries, artesan shops and delicatessans, but luckily still maintains fabulous markets with comedors (very cheap local eateries).
More photos here http://www.flickr.com/photos/24491659@N03/
Tommorrow I leave for Guadalajara and the famed town of Tequila.
Hasta luego

Guanajuato

2008-04-28T16:34:00.001+01:00

I arrived in San Miguel de Allende this afternoon after two great days in Guanjuato.
Guanajuato is a university town, famed for its cobbled streets, colourful houses and variety of plazas. I was lucky enough to stay with some Spanish and Mexican students there- friends of a Spaniard I met in Puerto Escondido. They were incredibly welcoming and helped to give me a local insight into the city.
I visited the Mummy Museum yesterday, which was a cool (but spooky) experience. Due to the mineral content of the soil and the extremely dry climate, bodies are naturally mummified in Guanajuato´s cemetaries. The museum houses incredibly well preserved bodies (most with their hair still intact) from over a century ago. It also has the world´s smallest mummy, a pregnant mummy, and mummys who were buried alive. Although somewhat grim, it really is a testament to the Mexican celebration of death. When children die in Mexico, it is the biggest celebration of all, with much music etc. to try to make the experience less terrible.
The best thing about Guanajuato though is just walking the streets and seeing the food stalls, shops and jacarandas. It has a unique vibrancy too, thanks to the huge student population and many foreigners which live there.
Another city which needs a return visit!
Hasta luego

Mexico City Part II

2008-04-28T16:33:00.000+01:00

Its my second to last day in Mexico City. Its a city which people either love or hate. For me, I will be very sad to leave what is for me the best city in the world.
My time here has been amazing, and the city provides constant suprises behind every street corner, like markets, museums and beautiful historic buildings. Yesterday I decided to walk around the city and see where it took me, and ended up stumbling upon a street square where hundreds of people of all ages were dancing salsa.
One of the highlights was definately the Leon Trotsky museum. Mexico was the only country which would accept Trotsky after he was exiled from Russia, thanks to a plea for asylum from artists Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. He lived in Mexico city until his death in 1940 by one of Stalins agents, who famously murdered him with an ice pick in his study. The museum is actually the entirely preserved house that Trotsky lived in until his death. You can still see the bullet holes in the walls from a previous assasination attempt, and even an old tube of his toothpaste...
I also visited the Blue House, former home of Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera, who were at one point good friends with Trotsky and part of the leftist intellectual circle in Mexico. Many of Kahlos paintings are on display as well as personal relics.
The museum of Anthropology was another highlight- one of the best museums I have seen. Its absolutely enormous. I also managed to go up one of Mexicos highest buildings, which gave a much needed perspective on this mega city (population 20,000).
On Friday night I attended a Mexican specialty, the Lucha Libre wrestling. Its similar to WWF, but with a twist. The fighters don colourful masks and costumes, and pull staged moves in the ring, with the odd midget thrown in. Its a hilarious spectacle, and the Mexicans really get into it.
You could stay here for years and still not see all the city has to offer, but unfortunately all good things have to come to an end. Tommorrow I will go to Teotihuacan, Toltec ruins dating back to about 200 BC, and then onto Guanajuato to stay with some friends of a Spanish friend I met in Puerto Escondido.
I have loaded a lot of photos on Flickr- http://www.flickr.com/photos/24491659@N03/
Hasta la vista

Oaxaca City & Mexico City

2008-04-28T10:00:00.005+01:00

My culinary tour of Oaxaca City ended yesterday, after managing to chow down some chili grasshoppers, Mole sauce, the famous Oaxacan hot chocolate and tortilla soup (made with tomato, cheese, avocado and tortilla chips. My friend Sam and I even made a video of the experience, which I will post in due course...

Oaxaca City was yet another beautiful Mexican city, littered with historic buildings, art galleries and stunning orange jacaranda trees. Like San Cristobal, it has a substantial alternative scene, with many interesting cafes, restaurants and bars.

After a grueling 9 hour bus journey from Oaxaca through the desert with no air conditioning or openable windows I arrived in Mexico City last night. At one point it was 35 degrees inside the bus! Luckily Mexico City was well worth the journey- it has exceeded my expectations, and I only wish I had more time here to see the endless and incredible sights. Its a surprisingly calm and cultured city, and very safe and manageable compared to many cities I have visited. Not at all the crazed and dangerous city as its depicted, with mustached kidnappers lurking behind every corner.

Today I visited the Palace and the museums of Modern Art and Anthropology. Both museums were some of the best I have ever seen, and the Diego Rivera murals depicting Mexican history in the Palace were incredible.

Tomorrow I will try to visit Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera´s old home, as well as the home of their dear friend Trotsky. I think you could spend months here at not see it all, but I will try to fit in as much as possible before going onto Guanajato.
Hasta luego

Youre Not in Guatemala Anymore, Dr. Ropata! - Puerto Escondido, Mexico

2008-04-28T10:00:00.002+01:00

It´s my second day in Puerto Escondido, a beach town on the Oaxaca (Pacific) coast- the last beach I will see for awhile. The main beach is apparently the 3rd most dangerous in the world, and unswimmable. I have never seen such enormous waves, it´s quite impressive. The beaches are quite similar to East Coast NZ beaches, only much warmer and lined with restaurants and bars.
I have had a great time so far, and a staying at one of the more eccentric hostels of my trip. Last night a group of us bought fresh fish and salad and cooked up a feast on the hostel BBQ.
I have also managed to try a Oaxacan speciality, Mezcal. Not at all like tequila, it tastes like a combination of dirt and cleaning fluid... quite horrific. I am looking forward to the market in Oaxaca, which is infamous for its fried grasshopper snacks.
Tommorrow I leave for Oaxaca City, and then onto Mexico City.
Once I find a fast internet connection I will post more photos.

Semana Santa in Guatemala

2008-04-28T09:59:00.001+01:00

!Hola!
I thought it fitting to write a post on Semana Santa (Easter Week), one of the biggest celebrations in Latin America, which just finished today.
I was in Xela for most of Semana Santa, which was a great place to be because there are very few tourists and very many religious nutters...
As the name suggests, the celebrations go on for a whole week, with most workers getting a part of the week off to join in or watch the religious processions. The processions are endless, with each church in the city parading around the town centre dressed in purple robes and carrying giant religious floats. On Easter Friday a crucifixion is acted out (and in some places, even goes as far as putting nails through the hands of the day´s ¨Jesus¨).I even hear that in some places a prisoner is used and pardoned after the crucifixion. My favourite part, of course, were the food stalls, which were endless and delicious. My addiction to Guatemalan hot dogs grew by the day- they are ordinary hot dogs, without cheese but with mayonaise and a hot green sauce.
I arrived back in Mexico yesterday, in San Cristobal de las Casas in the Chiapas region. It´s a really beautiful city with cobbled streets and quite an alternative feel to it. The only downside is that its bloody freezing!
Today I took a day trip into the surrounding villages, which have retained many ancient Mayan customs. It was one of the more surreal experiences of my life, beginning with the village church. The ground is covered in pine needles, and there are flowers and candles everywhere. I saw a Mayan family in front of me sacrifice a chicken, spit water over everyone, blow a musical horn on a child´s head, and, most bizarely, drink rum and coke to burp out the evil spirits. I kid you not. I have been assured that this is quite common, and from what I saw it justifies a lot of alcoholism! Unfortunately photography is banned, so I don´t have any photos of my experience.
I had heard that it was possible to visit and interview some Zapatistas, but after many taxis to the wrong place later, I finally gave up. I did manage to buy a guerilla doll though, complete with black clothing, a balaclava and a big gun, so I guess that will have to be my only political souvenier of the trip...
I have one more day in San Cristobal and then tommorrow I´m taking the night bus to Puerto Escondido on the Oaxaca coast.
I have update my Flickr account, so I have more photos on there (http://www.flickr.com/photos/24491659@N03/)
Hasta luego
Helen

Quetzaltenango (Xela)

2008-04-28T09:58:00.000+01:00

I have been in Quetzaltenango for 1 week now, and my brain is currently in overload with all the new vocabulary, grammar and those damn irregular verbs!
I am managing to (badly) form sentences now, and starting to understand conversations with my host family. They continue to cook me great food and confuse me constantly with new members of the family.
It's been a busy week, with plenty of activities on at my Spanish school. On Wednesday we had someone come to talk to us about Guatemalan politics and history which was very interesting. It's hard to understand the extent to which the Civil war has affected people here- millions were killed and the war went on for 36 years. Although a facade of ¨democracy¨ is in place, most Guatemalans have little power to change anything, and remain in dire poverty.
Thursday really illustrated this for me- I took a trip out about an hour from Xela to work on a volunteer project involving a Quiche Mayan village. Most of the poorer Mayans continue to use open fires in a hut as their source of cooking and warmth, which is extremely inefficient and unhealthy (many sleep in the same hut as the fire, breathing in smoke, and many children are killed or maimed by the fires). The project I worked on is building new, efficient fires with chimneys and has already build hundreds of fires. I worked on the final stage of the project, building a ramp for the smoke to escape and helped cement in the stovetop etc. It was very interesting to see how a rural Mayan family operates, and the countryside was very beautiful.
Yesterday was a protest day for students from around Xela. Every year on the same day before easter, students march through the streets with a variety of demands and complaints about Guatemalan politics. Protests range from anti-government satire to ¨We Hate the Gringos¨, ¨Save the Environment¨, ¨Down with George Bush¨ and ¨Vive la Che Guevara¨ (can we escape it?!). One of the more striking things about the protests is that most of the students wear masks to conceal their identity. This is in response to the number of massacres that occured against students in the past, particularly during the Civil War.
Today I visited an organic coffee finca (plantation) outside of Xela. It was fascinating to see the coffee growing (it looks like berries on the tree) and to see the complicated operation involved in making coffee. We also visited a lake and warm rivers (heated by volcanic activity in the area).
Next week is probably going to be my last week in Guatemala, and then onto Oaxaca in Mexico. I can't believe how quickly the time is going!
Hasta luego
Helen

10 Things That Drive Me Crazy About Guatemala

2008-04-28T09:57:00.000+01:00

Guatemala is a land of contradictions, and things that really don't make sense.
I've compiled a list of some of these, which either make you want to scream with frustration or laugh hysterically:
*Much of the country is starving, yet there seems to be an oversupply of ¨Pan de banano¨ (Banana bread) sellers, waiting to pounce at any moment.
*Signs advertising ¨Agua caliente¨ (¨Hot Water¨) at hostels and hotels are never accurate. I think I have only truly had hot water once.
*¨Happy Hour¨ is the biggest myth to hit Central America. It doesnt exist.
**The Nescafe conspiracy**(see below) means that every morning, without fail, one is woken by either one or a combination of howling dogs, crowing roosters or loud music.
*Religion is everywhere. Really. You cant escape it.
*When paying, no one ever has change.
*Sidewalks present a constant danger to pedestrians thanks to uneven paving and random holes. It's safer to walk on the roads.
*There is an oversupply of pharmacys, yet the only things they seem to sell are gauze and Pepto Bismo.
*Most big stores, including Subway and McDonalds, have private security guards armed with rifles. I am yet to figure out what they are really guarding--- hamburgers?
*¨Guatemalan time¨ is a unique phenomenom in which buses are always late and a group food order is never delivered as a group.
*The @ sign on Guatemalan keyboards is never universal. Its produced as a result of random combinations such as ALT G + 2; and my all time favourite, ALT + 6 4.
**The Nescafe Conspiracy is a global conspiracy by Nescafe to sell copious amounts of its coffee to sleep deprivated tourists. It does this in Central America via its secret breeding program aimed at producing an oversupply of loud, barking dogs and crazed roosters which wake up tourists extremely early in the morning. The outcome of this is a huge increase in the amount of coffee bought by tourists in the morning to combat fatigue.

Pacaya Volcano

2008-04-28T09:56:00.000+01:00

After a side trip to the legendary Pacaya volcano near Antigua and a very long and cramped trip by chicken bus, I am now finally in Quetzeltenango (Xela) to learn Spanish.
It was well worth it to climb the volcano, even if my fitness wasn't quite up to scratch.
It's the only volcano in the world where you can toast marshmallows on flaming, flowing lava. I thought it would be a bit of a gimmick until my shoes started to melt on the volcanic rock... It was really amazing- an almost surreal experience. The walk up was shrouded in fog, which opened up into a lunar-esque landscape of black rock and streaks of lava below.
I've enrolled in 5 hours of one-on-one Spanish classes per day, plus the option to get involved in volunteer work in the Mayan community, and learn more about Guatemalan history and politics. My host family lives a couple of houses from the school, and seem really great so far (if only I could understand them!)
Hasta luego
Helen

Antigua, Guatemala City, Chichicastenango & Lake Aititlan

2008-04-28T09:55:00.000+01:00

Its been awhile since my last entry, thanks to slow internet connections and many bus trips in between.
I am now in San Pedro, a small town on Lake Aititlan, surrounded by active volcanoes. Its a bit like Lake Taupo, only warmer...
I spent 4 nights in Antigua after taking a 7 hour bus trip through the night from Finca Ixobel. Antigua (the old city) is about 45minutes from Guatemala City. Its a very beautiful historic city, also ringed by active volcanoes, with cobbled streets and colourful stalls lining the streets.
While there I took a day trip to Guatemala City- supposedly the most dangerous city in Central America. Actually, I really enjoyed my time there. Its crazy, chaotic and colourful but full of life. I visited the palace, a museum of modern art and, best of all, the only Libertarian university in the world, Francisco Marroquin university (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francisco_Marroquin_University)
There were statues of Hayek and von Mises, and the bookshop was full of Ayn Rand and all my other favourites... The university itself was in a very beautiful setting, set amongst trees.
Yesterday I took a day trip to the famous markets in Chichicastenango. The bus trip weaved through the mountains, stopping along the way for cattle and dogs wandering across the road. Not to mention the thousands of Mayan men, women and children in traditional dress walking the roads with their wares. The market itself was huge (although nothing like the Bangkok markets) and sold anything from hairties to meat to hammocks. I came back with a heavier backpack and a suntan.
After San Pedro I am heading to Quetzaltenango, a smallish town set in the Guatemalan highlands, to learn Spanish. They have very cheap language schools and you can have 4 hours of one on one lessons per day, plus a homestay and 3 meals/day for around US$100 a week. Hopefully it will give me some grounding for my return to Mexico, and make every interaction with people that bit less frustrating!
Adios
Helen

Tikal, Flores & Finca Ixobel

2008-04-28T09:54:00.000+01:00

I have been in Guatemala for a week now and am really enjoying it.
I arrived in a small town called Flores, which is actually an island joined by bridge to the mainland. It's a really pretty town with brightly coloured shops and cobbled streets. Most travellers stay here on their way to Tikal, a huge old Mayan city set in the jungle. It supposedly has between 10,000 and 30,000 Mayan structures, most of which have not yet been excavated. Of those that have, it takes all day to see them.
A group of us backpackers decided to camp near the ruins so that we could be up early to see the sunrise from the temples. We rented hammocks and slept by the jungle which was pretty amazing, even if the hammocks weren't too comfortable!
I spent another night in Flores and then came to Finca Ixobel where I am staying now. Basically it's a farm set near the forest, with horses, monkeys, parrots and many other animals, and you can camp or stay in a dorm or treehouse. From here you can do horse treks, caving and hiking (or just lie in a hammock with a Gallo beer and a good book)...
Tonight I am leaving for Antigua, the old city of Guatemala, to enrol in a Spanish school for a couple of weeks.
I will try to post more photos soon when I have a faster internet connection!
Hasta luego
Helen

Belize

2008-04-28T09:53:00.000+01:00

I have been in Belize for 4 days now- 1 day in Belize City and the rest of the time I have been staying on Caye Caulker island off the coast of Belize, which has been the highlight of my travels so far.
The instant we crossed the Mexican border into Belize I noticed a huge difference in everything. Belize is very unique for a Central American country in that the main languages are English and Creole, and the people are predominately black. The food, too, is very different, with Jerk Chicken and lobster trumping tacos every time. My first stop was Belize City for a night, which is probably the strangest city I have ever been in. Despite being Belize's largest city its only got 60,000 people. Trying to find a place to eat or drink at 8.30pm proved almost impossible, with all the bars and restaurants closing in the late afternoon. We were lucky not to be in the city last week following the national elections- a man went crazy and shot several people on a rampage through the city in response to the outcome. Despite its shortfalls though, the city had its charms. It's very colourful, ramshackle and full of Caribbean character.
As soon as you get out of Belize City Caye Caulker is a really small island (you can stand in the middle and see both sides of the island) and the main form of transportation is golf carts. It has a strong Caribbean rasta feel with dreadlocked Belizeans playing Bob Marley on every corner and cooking fresh seafood on BBQ's on the beach.
Yesterday I went on a full day snorkel tour on a sailboat which was fantastic. We swam with nurse sharks and bat rays near the Belize Barrier Reef (the second biggest reef in the world after the Great Barrier Reef). The free rum and fresh conch ceviche (raw seafood marinated in lime juice with tomato, coriander, chile and onions) was the highlight.
Tomorrow I will probably make my way to San Ignacio, on the Guatemalan border, where I'm hoping to do a horse trek through the jungle to partially excavated Mayan sites.
Adios
Helen

The Yucatan Peninsula, Mexico

2008-04-28T09:52:00.000+01:00

Hola!
I am now in Tulum- I have been here 2 days now. Tulum is a beach resort on the Caribbean coast, famous for its ruins which overlook the ocean. Its a bit more laid back than Cancun (and slighly less touristy).
I spent 3 days in Cancun which, despite its reputation for being completely taken over by bum-bag weilding overweight Americans who spend their time between all-you-can-eat-and-drink resorts and the beach, I did see a different side of it in Downtown Cancun. Downtown Cancun has a great buzz about it, and much to my liking it retains uneven sidewalks and rickety taco stands. I stayed in a hostel which was more like a Mexican home, complete with garden courtyard and maid who cooked us Cactus omelettes in the mornings.
While there I went on a day trip to Chichen Itza, one of the most well known Mayan ruins. On the way there we passed tequila farms and Mayan villages, which have actually retained their traditions and many still sleep in hammocks in mud huts amongst the trees. Chichen Itza was well worth seeing, although I was on a tour with middle aged all-you-can-eat-and-drink tourists, who spent the majority of the tour getting drunk at a hotel nearby.
The ruins at Tulum have been the highlight of my trip so far, along with the food, which is incredibly cheap and delicious. Yesterday I tried fresh mango with lime juice and chile powder from a street stall. I havent had food poisoning yet- touch wood.
I'm leaving for Belize within the next couple of days, probably stopping off in Chetumal, a border town.
Adios
Helen

California

2008-04-28T09:50:00.000+01:00

I have been in the USA for over a week now, and am leaving for Cancun, Mexico tommorow. I've had a fantastic time sampling the sights, sounds, and very large meals.
Sights so far include:
*Pacific Beach, San Diego
*San Diego Zoo
*Balboa Park
*Old Town San Diego
*Los Angeles- Downtown and Hollywood
*Universal Studios
*The oldest mission in California
*Anza-Borrego desert
*Julian, CA
There's a huge buzz with the primary elections nearing the climax tommorrow (Super Tuesday). I'm happy to report that the number of Ron Paul's billboards far outweigh any other candidates, and a common slogan is "Ron Paul Revolution". It's almost cult-ish.
I have been suprised by the diversity of landscapes and climates. On Saturday Angela took me on a day trip through the Anza-Borrego desert, which is an amazing sight, covered in cacti. On our way there we passed by huge forests devestated by the October fires. Most were blackened stumps. We stopped off in Julian, a historic town famous for its quaintness and apple pies, before making our way back to San Diego with its stunning white sand beaches.
I had a great time in Los Angeles, staying on Hollywood Boulevard, which is tacky and glamourous and slightly insane... The highlight for me was Downtown, a predominately Hispanic area with the most amazing Mexican food and pawn shops.
I'll be back in California in April, so hopefully I will have time to explore some more.