Auld Lang Syne...

I've been ignoring my little blog for a while as I've not been traveling. No traveling = no travel stories, and the familiarity of home has warranted little by way of putting it to words. Which, has actually been a GOOD thing! But with 2009 soon upon us, here is the obligatory New Year message! As such I will start by wishing everyone much happiness in the coming year!

And quite aptly, this entry is about change, which will be upon me once again (traveling IS involved, massive shocker there, so there will be a lot more activity to watch for on this blog!), starting anew and all that wonderfully reflective stuff that surfaces at this time of the year.

The early parts of 2008 are documented in this blog, as I'd rung in the new year on a Costa Rican beach in what was a brilliant start to 2008; along the way after that ended up rather randomly in Nicaragua. A country which was nice, although the travel company was definitely not! However, there is balance in the universe, and I was rewarded at the end with meeting Nancy, a lovely (and lively!) retired lady who shared some margaritas and laughs with me, as well as Andy and Steve, the English father/son duo who left me with far greater impressions of Granada, only to be followed by David of France on the bus back to Costa Rica who also was a pleasure to have upon arrival in San Jose and without all the stress I'd been subjected to en-route to Nicaragua. note to self; travel with donuts is bad for the stomach.

Panama was my favourite country of this lot, and if I had it to do over, I think I'd have gone there and poss hit Colombia as well, but regrets are a waste of time! The end landed me on the fateful Mexicana/Distressed Airline passenger flights back to LA; which, oddly enough, is an experience I would not trade in as I met some absolutely fantastic people (Gianni, Perry, Richard, Chuck, Thomas and Gilbert), and in the words of Chuck, couldn't have had a better time in an airport (or multiple airports) if I'd planned it!

Arriving back in Vienna, had rethought my plans and gone through the dastardly process of extending it - the following months brought all manner of situations, soap operas, striking back (successfully) against racist neighbors, bunny boiling stalkerish spanish diplomat, and of course the requisite travels and good times with friends.

Notably the Easter weekend trip to Istanbul, the impromptu trip home shortly after, stuffing my face and jumping into fountains in Rome and what would summer be without a road trip with Geralyn and 'no destinazione', this time with added bonus of meeting up with Noe! of course the end of work reward to self of Morocco - amazing experience, involving a tale of random traveler kindness after I was taken in by a family in Casablanca, as well as getting of flat reward to self - Greece round 2, a trip in which I got everything I wished for, leaving me with a positive note on which to close the European chapter of my life - something officially done on Geralyn's terrace with shishas mere hours before boarding my final flight, homeward bound.

That flight took off from VIE with a hint of sunrise behind it, and with me not even looking out the windows, but rather looking forward, and I've not looked back since. I am very happy with my decision to leave the job I was in, as I was much like a square peg trying to fit a round hole there. It was an interesting time, and balance found working amongst one of the best colleagues I've had..and one of the worst. Further to this, a number of people revealed their true colors at the end - some which were rather ugly, but some..unexpectedly nice and noble, with the true friends shining through my time in Canada as well. Those, I miss. And the others; as I've learned after starting Vipassana meditation classes, those who make things difficult for us are our teachers. They teach us compassion.

The time in Canada has been refreshing, relaxing, rejuvenating and has given me new perspective (even if the weather towards the end has been daft!!), but the time has come once again to set off on something new, and go 180 degrees from where I was. As such, I will be starting this year off by landing in Southeast Asia, an area I wish to see more of, with a few different motivations this time (perhaps to learn more about Buddhism). I'm going to play it by ear, and see where I end up! At the very least perhaps some new material, as I was recently accepted to follow a writing course and may just do that (All breathe a sigh of relief, as yes! I will learn a thing or 2 about adhering to word limits!).

Whatever happens, I am very excited for it and positive about this decision. Life is a journey, not a destination? or, perhaps, this one is a good note to end on: "Yesterday is history. Tomorrow a mystery. Today a gift. That is why we call it the present".

Just My Cup of (Mint) Tea - Moroccan Madness

Owing to winding up being very busy in my last days of employment, this trip came up faster than i'd thought and therefore my only preparation was attempting to drop-kick some of this acquired german language stuff out of my head and replace it with french, as well as spending time at the badeschiff in the sun to up my heat tolerance (forecasts called for highs of 40 in Marrakech!).

And unfortunately this non-chalant approach to this trip carried through to the start of it. I had, once again, arranged to meet my friend Janith who works at the airport for our usual round of fresh pressed juice and sweets. However, upon meeting Janith, he asked, have you already checked in? I said no, the Alitalia counter is still closed....where is your luggage, Janith enquired?

bugger. I'd just bounced right off that bus not paying any mind to the bag i placed in its lower compartment just 20 minutes prior. non v.g. start to trip! in a panic, janith and i raced to the arrivals hall in hopes of finding the bus it was on, but no go. so janith retrieved the number for their customer service, although my hopes of getting this bag back,and in enough time to check it to morocco...my hopes were not high.

However, Janith did get hold of someone and long story short..the bus containing my little grey case was only at the depo and on its way back down. The driver greeted us with a laugh, and handed me my bag in enough time for me to check it in and get the juice and sweets, as well as a quick coffee in Janith's office.

and i was off!

sort of. the flight was delayed initially by a half hour - but after boarding we were stuck out on the tarmac for ages waiting for clearance to take off. i figured i had no hope of making my connection and resigned myself to a night in rome..not entirely a bad place to stop over, as i'd never scoff the option to become miss pennette noci e gorgonzola again! entertained self on non-moving aircraft by offering text support to Geralyn stuck at a work party and some more text exchange with a british diplomat who was in Nairobi, and i'd accidently sent 5 blank texts to...(!). i really have to get over this whole technobimbo-ism thing...

at Fiumicino, the flight to Casablanca was delayed as well; i wasn't told how long it would be waiting, but the woman at the info counter said boarding now, so i took off for a round of airport sport..and my god, i never knew fiumicino was this large...i swear i ran the better part of a kilometre or 2, without an open gelaterie in sight. grrr. but i did make the flight.

on the people carrier, I was stood next to a Moroccan woman, who seemed quite desparate about something and said if only she had a phone, as this flight was so delayed...i quickly proffered my mobile, knowing all too well this situation - after a few goes she managed to get through and have a 2 minute convo with her husband, and proceeded to thank me profusely. she introduced herself as Khadija, and she actually lived in Qatar, but was going home via Vienna, where her husband had done some work for the Euro cup. She asked where I was staying in Casablanca, and i showed my hotel reservation - she told me i could stay with her if i wanted!

of course i'd lose the cost for a night at the hotel, but...stay with a Moroccan family? Authentic Moroccan food? not faff about at the airport with a taxi who would most likely rip me off at 2am? Of course I went.

And of course the airline lost our luggage. the guy on the luggage service assured me they would deliver mine to Marrakech, and I handed over the hostel address, yeah, we will send it there! Bien sur!!!!

owing to the delay, Khadija's father had not been there and we took a cab anyway; she refused to take a single dirham off me for this, and i was greeted warmly by her son, waiting at the downstairs doorway for his mom to arrive. Never in my life do I think I've met such a well -mannered polite young boy. He didn't speak a lot of French, but his English was excellent. at one point he even corrected his mother's English! They fed me homemade Moroccan salads and fresh bread (at 4am!), gave me my own room on a separate floor of the house, clothes to sleep in, shampoo to wash my hair...and a huge breakfast in the morning with olives from their farm and fresh homemade olive oil from same. I think i am ruined for both now, and no other olives or its oil will measure up to this!

In the interim, feeling a bit lost about what the protocol was for this whole situation, managed to sneak a look in the book geralyn lent me entitled 'Culture Shock! Morocco', and found out that this is just part of their culture..the guest is king! and right out of the book , i was told repeatedly 'eat! eat! eat!', which I did until i felt as though my elastic band of a stomach might just snap...i went to the small market as well, they bought me some provisions for the train ride, took me to the station and sent me on my way to Marrakech...v. nice experience!

I took a second class ticket cos 1st was full...I had just wanted to do it as in Europe 1st is prohibitively expensive for me, but there it was more than reasonable. anyway, no complaints whatsoever about 2nd class, and my compartment was full up of nice moroccans, including a family with a small boy who would run around and touch everyone's knees and a nice young girl who offered me a soda.

Thankfully upon arrival, I'd seen the family again, as the directions from the hostel were a bit daft; 'take bus number 8'. well, bus number 8 ran in TWO directions, none of which was signed for the destination i wanted, which was the main square, so i thought relatively easy to find..huh...anyway, the father of the family knew, and saw the bus pull up over the road and started frantically pointed and shouting 'traverser la rue! traverser la rue!!!', so i did, thankful in just this moment my luggage was not with me...and then asked the driver (after the roman airport train mishap, i always ask now..), and i was right. however, stops were not signposted. nor were they announced. on the bus, one map..only in arabic! so i again asked, and was lead correctly.

Djmena el Fna was a seriously over the top introduction to the city - glaring, blaring, dramatic, in your face Djemna el Fna was unlike anything I'd ever seen and I wondered how the hell I'd find the hostel....I found one point in their directoins, but after that it was a mess so i pulled out the mobile, rang them and within minutes a young lad was round to collect me, curious that i had no luggage....

after the first few times, i would find my way there blindfolded.

Immediately after checking into Riad Amazigh (Riad Amazing more like, this place was far and away the nicest hostel i've stayed at!), I met Shane and Gaz, 2 backpacking Aussies and joined them for a trip into the square..hoping they didn't find it too offputting at how excited and insistent i was at stopping at shops containing shampoo and underwear (the lost luggage thing). They were great company for the evening, giving me tips about getting around there, such as when buying the fresh pressed orange juice, ask for it fresh to get it without the ice, which was an illness waiting to happen. we had dinner at a seafood stall they had been at the night before (and not fallen ill), where some people trapped me into german conversation - meanwhile english with the lads and french with the waiters...buaaa! we also tried all these funny little games, like trying to hook a donut type object on a string over a bottleneck, etc...the things people do to make money....

we took a break after this to grab a mint tea on the terrace of the Cafe de France, which offered respite from, and an amazing view over the square - and a price to go with unfortunately - 15 Dirham for the mint tea! outrageous...later Shane and Gaz enlightened me to the 'scorpions'. when they first said 'aha, scorpions' my first reaction was to look down around my feet with a panicked 'where?!?!', only to realise they meant the men..the group sat behind us of moroccan men with very obviously blond girls. apparently this is the name given to the single moroccan men who are out to seduce foreign women..which does make sense in a country where women are expected to remain virgins until marriage (some Voltaire quote comes to mind about how crazy it is to think of virginity as a virtue, but...yuhhh).

Shane and Gaz were unfortuntely (well, for me, but fortunately for them!) off to the Sahara for a few days bright and early the next day so was a pity i couldnt get to enjoy their company again.

I awoke stupidly early. so decided to get in some email time, as people kept texting me, and i needed to preserve the phone battery..the charger was in the luggage which had not yet arrived, and i needed to keep it available in case it did arrive. then headed up for a breakfast on the terrace....ah what a treat..spent some time lounging up there getting my energy ready to hit the souks and bargain..i was not positive about my luggage and the clothes i had been wearing since boarding my flight were getting a bit funky.

i also hit a hammam.. a waaaaaay overpriced hammam, but the massage was good....tried to get out of my mind i'd paid them more than my accomodation providers. noted to self to take the tip of some young americans at Riad Amazigh to find the much cheaper hammam, but because i suck with directions i only ended up completely lost.

then i decided i needed to see the Sahara. i knew with my limited time, I couldn't get right into it, but just a touch - I couldn't come all this way and not see it, AND Geralyn would be way jealous if I got to ride a camel and sleep in a Bedouin tent. So I promptly signed up and prepared myself to wake at some ungodly hour of the morning for this...

which I did and encountered mass confusion as the meeting point set was also used by numerous other companies, though I was happy when i sneaked a look at the voucher of a pair of slovene backpackers to see that they had paid quite a lot more than me, hehehe.

However, off the start I was a tad disapppointed to see my group was rather small..Ok, that is an understatement, it was just myself and a Welsh couple. I felt a bit of envy for the larger group going, including a (seemingly: key word) cool Argentine guy from my place, but I remembered, everything for a reason and as i was rather exhausted drifted into a wee snooze, and in the very end, realised we were way better off. We'd kept running into these groups along the way, so clearly we all got the same thing, but we had spent less money.

The couple, Katy and Steve, were absolutely lovely - genuine, down to earth sort of people who are very rare to find in the world these days. We had a real laugh and it worked out well as from what i could gather, we all had the same expectation from this journey, and it was more than fulfilled. of course at dinner we all would have fancied a bit more company, but otherwise we reaped the benefits of being a smaller group. it was approximately 10 hours to Zagora, and the scenery along the way was breathtaking and otherworldly. It was especially neat to see the Draa valley, with all its palm trees looking like a tempting oasis with various mosques marking the villages. We were first taken to a carpet shop and when i saw the tea laid out, thought here we go..I know that Katy and Steve had similar thoughts as they had just gone through the carpet ordeal the day before in Marrakech! Of course the fact that I am now officially unemployed and soon to be homeless means i should be void of any carpet purchasing..and I wonder what the guy thought to find that Steve was the only employed member of our petite entourage! the one guy selling the carpets was actually rather impressive...we all had the feeling he had some clout amongst his tribe by the way he carried himself..his language skills were even more impressive..of course knowing Arabic and French, as is standard in Morocco, he also spoke fluent English and suddenly busted out in German! and speaking it very well, probably better than I..which is a tad discouraging seeings how I have been living in Vienna 3 years, 9 months in Hamburg...and him? 3 visits to Germany, maximum 2 weeks, and one visit to Switzerland (if one can really call that dialect german anyway, har har). Encroyable!

and we were off...we named our camels - mine was 'George' (of course thinking Grey's Anatomy here), Katy's was 'Eddy' and Steve's was 'Keith'. Of course they already had Moroccan names so I guess we were just confusing the matter. Children followed us out of town, throwing little cames made from palm leaves - cute - and asking for pens. and had i had them, i would have given them some! one particularly persistent little fellow followed us quite a ways out, and i resolved if i were able to rustle up a pen, and saw him on the way back in..it was all his. I did as well, but we were stopped mid ride the next day so no go. oh well.

The evening was not cold at all as we had all thought, and brought no relief from the oppressive heat of the day - now, if I am saying its hot, it must be! but it was still pleasant. after dinner the guys brought out the drums and played some songs for us, and then handed the imaginary mike over to us (!)...now (un)fortunately the only song i actually know start to finish is a japanese one...

so to add to the randomness of my life, i'm sitting in a tent, in the Moroccan sahara, singing a japanese song to 2 Welsh and 2 Moroccans!

and we laid out in the sand to stare at all the stars...gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous. for a small moment, i was the most at peace i'd been in a long time. All the soap opera problems of Vienna, all the freaking out about leaving, all the stress from lost luggage...gone. we managed a few hours of sleep this evening before being awoken for the sunset - a welcome waking for me as for such a peaceful end to the night I'd had some disturbing dreams. after the sunset we had a small breakfast and headed on out.

What I found quite funny on this journey - The driver spoke some English, but would rather not. the Camel guide dude spoke next to none, and both had told me, they will just tell me in french, and i can explain to the other 2. hello! i mean, come on..this was like asking someone with a junior high accounting course to do your tax return!

Although in the end I reckon I did ok with it....(!)

I slept most of the way back in the car. We were thankfully back in Marrakech early, so I grabbed some food and went through the dastardly task of hunting down my luggage which was still AWOL. now, because the charger was in the luggage, my phone battery was at a minimum and therefore useless. so I did something I've not done in years; I used a payphone! which was a royal pain in the arse. first i had to buy a phone card from a 'teleboutique'. now, despite the teleboutique having innumerable payphones, none of them took this card. So i had to hunt high and low for one that did. which was of course was on THE busiest street possible, and I was not left in peace to make my call by people harrasing me for a hotel.

Well. At Casablanca airport, they told me it had been in Marrakech the whole time! Well, thank you for letting me know. I put out to the employee there and felt marginally better. So then I rang the same department of the Marrakech airport. and put out to the employee there. Oh, they cannot deliver it. customs regulations. So why on earth did they tell me in Casa it would be delivered? AEEUGHGHG.

In the interim, i'd made a plan to meet the seemingly cool Argentine bloke for dinner, and with no communcation to change that appointment, it left only the later hours of the evening to collect the luggage. thankfully one thing; it was 24 hour.

So no time for hammam, i just bought a scrubber and some black soap and made my own in the hostel. not quite the same, but i was clean again nonetheless!

so met Argentine and hit the markets, finally buying some things i'd wanted to - paying entirely too much, but at that point i just thought, sod it, so long as its cheaper than in Vienna! and finally decided on some food - and chose what appeared to be a bit of a disappointment..for me anyway. I was surprised Mr. Argentine went with it..he was displaying a few cheapie qualities, being almost donut-like even...it was full of tourists and not very atmospheric. also rather pricy for what it was. it was the kind of place that one writes their order on a piece of paper. and they still dont get it right first go..i know my french isn't stellar but its not that bad!

the meal was nice, but i still would have chosen a smaller, more family run kind of establishment. huh. anyway. during this time the argentine mentioned his plan - as he was also leaving from Casablanca the next day - to go to a beach 40kms north of the city, and did I want to join? I had a number of things I still wanted to collect to bring back for people, so I agreed, if I could finish this - and with a couple hours remaining to shop in the souks there was no reason why i couldn't, I'd suck up the early train time and do it, as quite frankly i was a bit sick of the souks anyway and had thought i might go to a pool anyway to chill out (literally and figuratively), why not go see this beach?

right. so shopping done at half past 11, grabbed a taxi who agreed to take me both ways and wait for a few extra dirhams, but ended up taking me right inside and showing me the way to the lost luggage claim area - something tells me that i was just one of many who called round there to do this.

all went smoothly enough and i was glad to be reunited with the bag, even if just in time to collect it and have to lug it on the train in a few hours. the driver dropped me back at djemna el fna, and i made my way through the now deserted streets to the hostel - well, nearly deserted anyway. As on the approach to the hostel, in the narrow covered streets was a group of teenage boys, who initially attempted to block my way, but I got around the first one manouevering the case as best I could, but that just meant another grabbed at my arm as they swore at me, and I continued to ignore them, aiming solely for the door of the hostel which was easily in sight. Thankfully it seems they have some kind of 'barrier' to as far as they will go (i found this with the smaller, less aggressive kids in this street earlier on), and they remained where they were merely threatening to steal everything - although after what i had gone through to get that bag, it would not have been going without a fight!

The guys on reception actually cheered at the sight of the luggage I had been bothering them about during my time there - I had a few minutes to repack and reorganise, and headed up to the room for a nap. Having been placed on an impossibly high bunk and still feeling the effects of the camel ride, in addition to the thing having one of the A/C units right above it...I just took a spot on one of the sofas, awoke at 4:00, and after checking with the guy from reception to ensure the creepy kids were gone, I went to meet the Argentinian - who then transformed into a donut, and I began to regret this decision a little. Of course his grand donut plan was to get the bus. Save for one thing; the buses were not running. crossing the entire djemna el fna, i had not seen one pass. nor was one likely to. so we needed a taxi. and although they are still about, they are not abundant at this hour, one of the precious few that the square is not bustling. however, he kept turning them away! I figured at this point, i've gotten up and went through all this trouble, so i am going one way or another and and when i hailed a taxi he was in agreeance, but kept saying some weird word for station - when in Marrakech, there is only one ONCF station, unlike Casablanca, so to simply say 'a la Gare' is sufficient. And then the price was too high - i thought 20 would be reasonable, they wanted 50. until competition arrived; then they guy dropped down to 20, but mr. argentine was still fervently arguing for 30 (!!!!). thankfully he shut up in time to keep the price at 20.

And it wasn't til we actually neared Casablanca itself that the flawed nature of his plan showed itself - that he didn't know the actual name of this place, let alone any idea of a train that might go there. so, lets just stay on this one shall we? Very donut like, not taking any consideration for the fact I had all my luggage with me, and in no way could i take this to a beach, especially if a lot of walking may be required..not against that, however, there was another issue..again, just having retrieved this bag again, i was not keen to part with it should it go missing at the beach (or get full of sand, or numerous other impracticalities). Again, I was getting off at Casa Voyageurs, regardless.

And lo and behold, I was right. the trains for this town went from Casa Port, not voyageurs. the name of the town was Bouznika, the information girl told us. so mr. argentine donut would have been slightly lost, on his way to Rabat I reckon. then it was also revealed that 1 - there was no left luggage facility in this station and 2 - there was not a return train from Bouznika that was early enough for the donut to get his flight. And in all honesty - a simple few minutes on ONCF's website could have saved all this trouble!

And then I could not quite believe - he basically took off on me, wishing me luck finding the beach! chuh, again, obviously oblivious to the luggage I was still carrying and nowhere to leave it, and took off on his own. Which I found to be incredibly rude - for me, its no worry actually, and I was much happier to have my own company than that of an inconsiderate donut - i've done my time travelling with donuts this year in Nicaragua and Costa Rica - but i know that there are people out there who might have been phased at being deserted like this in a place like Morocco!

but, what comes around, goes around - I am sure that he probably did not get up to anything of interest at all this day, but i checked around at a couple hotels to see about giving them a bit of cash to leave my stuff, and found the hotel terminus, which will rent a room for the day (ie, no overnight stay) for 50 dirham (4 - 5 euro), and voila! not only did i have a place to ditch the bag, it meant i could also shower, and even nap later should i so desire!

So I quickly reorganised myself and grabbed a taxi down to Casa Port, bought my ticket, grabbed a small breakfast at a streetside stand, eating a croissant, fresh juice and tea at the counter surrounded by colorful moroccan conversation before heading out to the beach.

At Bouznika, this was easy enough; there were taxis waiting, and they did it on a share basis, so only 5 dirham was paid, and i was there! now, the donut's saying this is the best beach in the whole of africa i did not agree with - this place had nothing on some of the beaches in south africa, for example, and could not even begin to rise to the level of Zanzibar's, but it was still nice, had some neat houses along it and was full mostly of moroccan families with few foreigners, and i passed a great day here, with minimal harrassment.

Headed into the town after with a few minutes to kill before the train back to Casa Port, and found a non descript cafe just round the corner from a street that must have been the official street of car repair for some mint tea, where a few locals engaged me in conversation - not sketchy ones either, they just seemed more interested to see just who was this strange foreigner who seemed to have accidently wandered away from the beach....

trying to find something to eat in Casa afterwards was a disappointment, so I headed out to the airport ridiculously early for my 3 am flight (which i would need to do anyway owing to the time of the train), and had an alright meal in a restaraunt there. I was so tired at this stage I could barely keep my eyes open in the airport, and thankfully slept all the way to Rome.

In Rome this time, I was again most disappointed to see the gelato counter was still closed (ok, seroiusly 7am is also a perfectly reasonable time for ice cream!), but got a pizza instead, and slept all the way to Vienna, arriving feeling like i'd been gone from civilization for ages. And arriving to no luggage...

but thankfully i am now in receipt of it, and they did deliver!

All in all, a cracking trip with fantastic people (won't let one donut ruin the lot of good ones i met there!) - I'd definitely go back agian, but will consider the merits of only taking carry on bags.... :-)

Eat, Shop, Get Lost on Public Transport - A Roman Holiday

..and my own twist on the book title "Eat Pray Love" which is also based partially in Rome, and which I did bring along with me because I am a geek and thought it would be neat to read the Rome bit..in Rome. and owing to the fact that, one of my purposes was also the lofty goal of eating everything i possibly could!

However, I'd gotten off to not the greatest start on that. Having taken advantage of the lovely warm and steamy evening we'd had in Vienna at a 'beach' bar for some cocktails and beer the night before...yuh, how does that saying go, beer and liquor never sicker..anyway, survived the day in the office, and even recovered in time for lunch with my dear friend Geralyn, who also then provided me with Rome guidebooks. This ended up being a very very good thing...

As it seemed I used up my good travel karma instantly with having my flight arrive 15 minutes early - since this certainly did not filter into the airport train. I got there with precious few minutes to spare before the 'leonardo da vinci express' was meant to leave and with amazing dexterity had ordered my ticket on the automatic machine, only to have it twice reject my bank card, and thus making me miss said train. grrr. Of course once said train had departed, the machine worked.

and, when a new train appeared - albeit at a different platform, i just assumed that was it. and got on. and didn't bother asking. and only realised once this train was pulling out of the station with self on it, that i was actually meant to be on the train the platform over - the one with the picture of Leonardo da Vinci painted on it - hence the airport train name 'Leonardo da Vinci express'.

bugger.

So i paid attention to the announcement (only in Italian) and managed to recognise a couple station names, at which point i fervently fished out geralyn's guidebooks and located the stations on the public transport map, figuring which ones were the closest to termini, then found one on a street map, and voila. so, it wasn't so disasterous after all really, as Tuscolana station had a metro a few blocks away!

the metro closed as soon as i arrived. the night buses were still an hour and a half out from running.

so i walked. 1 hour and 15 minutes.

and entered my room to gratefully find the other 5 occupants already sleeping (ie, no expected interruptions) and sunk into that deep sleep one can only really have after a day filled with a hangover, my office, packing at warp speed after work and running for the vienna airport bus, flying to Rome, taking the wrong train and walking that distance with luggage in tow (thank god i'd packed light, but with an expected forecast of sun and 30+ degrees, one can do that).

right. Saturday. today will be better! the sun is out, all shiny and gold and so is my credit card! So i'd mapped my way to start first down Via Nazionale, and ultimately up Via del Corso, with a finish at the fountain in Piazza del Popolo (and of course stepping into the side streets in search of a pizzeria).

The shopping, I have to say...was not so lucrative as last time. Perhaps because last time it hadn't been a goal really. However, I did have some fun at Sandro Ferrone, a shop where i'd bought an original dress last year and hoped to get another - that was a success, but the interim was also most entertaining..and slightly overwhelming. the shop assistants fuss and fawn all over you (or, rather than shine of the aforementioned credit card), which is a far cry from the hands off ones of Vienna. To be honest, I prefer the latter though; I subscribe to the notion that shopping is definitely a one-woman job. I need this to be effective, and its better - I never did get those women who insist on dragging their blokes out for shopping - the poor things look incredibly bored to tears, and lets just be honest - they just get in the damn way! leave them to do something they are interested in ladies...had to get that little gripe in there, now that it is in context, haha.

anyway. so back to the insanely attendant shop assistants. I mean, I took 3 items into the changeroom, which somehow multiplied by an exponential component. Not wanting to be rude, I did try on everything she brought. I went out and stood in front of that mirror and supressed my laughter as the assistants (yes, i'd garnered more than one at this point) waved their arms about saying 'bella! bella! oh madam!!!', and had to further suppress my laughter when they did this even for the ones which made me look like a pig in poke. 'stretch! stretch! stretch!' - which is fine for yoga or pilates, but not a white dress, thank you. especially when they started chosing dresses that were so not for me - the ones that made me look like some scary 1950's stepford housewife.

at that point, i quickly changed back into my 21st century miniskirt and tank top, took the one dress i'd intended to get and made the transaction and carried on, wondering was 10 am too early for a pizza?

As i just wasn't feeling the groove, the other shops were considerably less dramatic. I did have a chuckle stopping in at one place with T-shirts, handbags, you name it, that said things like 'marriage - game over' and 'tell me again why i need a boyfriend?'. much as i wanted to gather up as many of these items for the 'Sex and the City' crew back here in Vienna, the prices were as outrageous as the cries from the dress shop attendants, and therefore not for those on the verge of unemployment (ya, ya, no need to point out the obvious - being that one on the verge of unemployment should not be on a shopping tour in Italy anyhow!).

At this point i took a break and stopped mid-way for an overpriced cappuccino to fuel up and head up Via del Corso. got about one block up and decided it was time for an emergency pizzeria intervention and headed into the side streets to find something appropriate. which took some doing, as this was the historical center after all, so i had to lower my expectations of finding one of those little non descript family run trattorias offering homemade food at a decent price....

so I set out different expectations I hoped could be met:

1. avoid the very main places, such as right in front of the Pantheon, or directly in the Piazza Navona.

2. avoid anywhere the margherita pizza costs more than 6 euro and 50 cent.

3. avoid anywhere that has the menu in more than 2 languages (I hoped for only Italian initially, but that seemed near impossible, so i'd settle on somewhere with just Italian and English. or at least without German. Hah!).

4. further to 3, the majority of customers should be Italian (and you can tell...you can just TELL who is and who isn't..)

5. In this weather, and after the long cold winter, outside seating was a MUST.

After one hour of searching, I'd abandoned at least part of this, and just chose a pizzeria not far from the pantheon and quickly ordered something involving tomato sauce and sausage...why sausage, i don't know. it must be something this country is doing to me, as i NEVER ate sausage before. hmmm....anyway, i'd rate this one as mediocre, but with good service. However, even the mediocre pizza in Italy is far and away better than anything i get outside Italy. I finished it off and promptly went in search of gelato, ordering a double cup of mint and nutella with cream on top, realising I'd be up at least a size if i were to continue shopping.

Which I did, however, everything seemed too small, the shoes too uncomfortable and/or expensive. I called defeat and made my way back to my lodgings via Il Vittoriano and the foro di Cesare, and fully feeling the brunt end of the toilet issues i'd have all weekend in Rome - meaning they are random, few and far between and operate fully under the principles of Murphy's Law - the greater the need for a toilet is inversely proportionate to the availability of the toilet.

So I walked. quickly.

And in the evening decided to set out for San Lorenzo, an area out of the centre and meant to be mostly inhabited by students and full of cheap eateries. Unfortunately out of the centre also means out of the guidebooks and maps. One of the books mentioned it, another even listed a restaurant in it, but the directions were vague 'bus to Via Tiburtina'. Well...Via Tiburtina is a long street. like, incredibly long. longer than the walk I'd had to do on Friday. and has tons of buses running down various stages of it. So I was missing a lot of key information here (which of course i realise only when i am already on the metro) - such as, which bus? and from where? and to which part of Via Tiburtina?

So, I thought, oddly enough, to get off at Tiburtina station, figuring this would be a start. However, after walking up a few streets, they were not yielding anything really, and although it was nice to wander around somewhere NOT central, my stomach had other ideas. so I came back and found a bus that had stops on Via Tiburtina. And although my radar for public transport seemed to be off, my orientation wasn't and I quickly realised this bus was going in the wrong direction.

got off bus.

waited for bus back to station.

hunted for new bus.

no success.

took metro back to Termini and called defeat at 9pm.

by this time, I was worried about finding a restaurant before its kitchen closed, so i hit the guidebook - and chose what sounded like a nice Trattoria near the Opera house and made my way there - only to find..they had closed for a wedding. grrrr!

So back to the drawing board, and came up with a second choice - whose owners were thankfully not off celebrating nuptials. Il Cuore di Napoli was, as described, an 'unpretentious trattoria', and seemed full up of...you got it, Italian customers. Good enough for me, and I even took a healthy (gasp!) start of Insalata Verde, followed by a fantastic linguine with pesto sauce, pumpkin and crayfish (I thought of my poor friend Janith, who orders crayfish and usually it seems to have run away), and of course some wine...a glass of wine, i'd ordered. but it seems either they don't do glasses, or it was the presence of Geralyn, Frau nur viertel (Miss 'only a 1/4 litre, not 1/8 litre of wine, thank you!') through her guidebook that made them bring me a small carafe instead!

I didn't complain. Feeling that spirit of Geralyn I texted her after asking, would it be wrong to, after a full meal, stop by the pizza place outside Termini station, AND hunt for an open gelateria? can't recall the entire response, but i know the words 'oink oink' were in there...

Pizza place by Termini was shut by this point, but the book did note that gelaterias tend to stay open til all hours, so off I went. While I'd been in the mediocre pizzeria that day, i'd spotted the 'Gelateria San Crispino' across the square and for some reason had it in my head that this was somehow good and aimed for it. Got asked for directions along the way (apparently I blend a bit down there and this is common). Worse, I was able to give them (although only in english, hehe).

And you know your quest for gelato has reached a manic level when you see the number 70 bus pass bound for 'Via Giollitti' and you read that as 'Via Gelato' and nearly get on...

San Crispino was fantastic. I went with a cup of the hazelnut, which I ate by a fountain overlooking the Pantheon. La dolce vita indeed! (I did, for the moment, resist jumping in).

Sunday got a bit of a later start, and upon discovering how pink I was after Saturday, went into Upim to get suncream before heading out.

Shopping on Sunday was a privelege; even though at this point I'd resigned myself to the fact that goal was not likely going to be reached (although the eating was coming along fantastically). However, the want of a pizzeria kicked in once again - as did the need for a toilet (I found that a busy Burger King is a viable option). However, this time - more searching.

I headed in the direction of Piazza Navona, hoping for luck in some of the side streets, (Vicolo di Montevecchio 8) and found it - Osteria del Pegno was nestled in a little side street with a small sidewalk terrace and homey dimly lit interior. The staff were friendly without hovering too much and I was not made at all awkward for sitting on my own. Save for one German couple, again full of Italian customers. The bruschetta was simple and one of the best I've had, and I had no problem polishing off that, a plate of proscuitto e melone, as well as an entire salami pizza (yes, the girl who famously never finishes her food in a restaurant).

I went after to hang out in the Piazza Navona amongst the craziness there, very happy I hadn't chosen one of those establishments for a meal (10 euro for the margherita pizza!), but wanted to go there as its referred to in a few books I've read, including of course, 'Eat Pray Love'.

After this I headed back up in the direction of Piazza del Popolo, to sit by the fountain and relax, recalling its fountain would be in direct sunlight for at least a couple more hours, and also unlike the ones in Piazza Navona, you could sit by it.

By this time it was hot. and if its hot by my standards, one can expect rivers to start boiling, literally.

And then I took advantage of something I find great about Rome, especially at this time of year; the entire city is fed by spring water, which travels from the mountains, and throughout the city there are random water fountains which contain potable water! these were a godsend, as i continuously filled my water bottle. And then I had also come across a more modern fountain by a museum. Which, despite the sign telling us it was forbidden to go into the fountain, was full of all types of people splashing and frolicking about, and I did not hesistate to join them!

Had a great moment then, the kind of thing that transcends language barriers when 2 of the blondest looking Italian women I'd seen were giggling because they had decided to cool their beer off in the fountain, which in that moment I also found hilarious (could it be the phenomenon in Australia they call 'going troppo' from the heat?), and we were laughing together for some time, even after we realised we had a total of 10 words in common language. I ended up giving them directions to San Pietro and the Vatican (again with the directions thing!), and continued my relaxation until a mass horde of schoolkids arrived, and i made a clean getaway (self being cleaner from being in the water that is).

At Piazza del Popolo, I also could not resist the temptation to get into the fountain, however it was a solo act this time around, and then continued to enjoy the late day sunlight and ponder dinner, as well as continue reading 'Eat Pray Love', at which I had to laugh at a few things:

1. reference made to Piazza del Popolo - as I was sitting in it!

2. reference made to Gelateria San Crispino (aha! that is where I got it from..good call!)

3. this phrase, in the bit about reasons for learning Italian: "The German engineer says, "I want Italian because I love the dolce vita" - the sweet life. (Only, in his stiff Germanic accent, it ends up sounding like he said he loved "the deutsche vita" - the German life - which I'm afraid he's already had plenty of.)

that last one had me laughing out loud, and for those who know me will know exactly why, and those who have had similar (ahem) 'experiences' to those of myself and my 'Sex and the City' crew here with men of the aforementioned nationality will also require no explanation here!

My quest for dinner this evening brought me to Trastevere - having a hideously early flight the next morning, I hadn't wanted to stray too terribly far, and I knew Trastevere had a multifaceted variety of eating places, and off I went to hunt one down. Again, avoiding the larger eateries with menus featuring the entire cast of official European Union languages, I wandered for ages, determined to find somewhere that could fulfill my instant craving for a quattro formaggi sauce. And (now this was a really high hope here) somewhere without a blaring television screen showing the European Championship football quarter finals. Living in one of the host cities for this event, I'd been slightly looking to escape it a bit...

no such luck. However the place I'd gone into (only for the fact the menu contained quattro formaggi) was clearly not big on solo eaters and had stuck me in a corner while people glanced over with looks of a person told not to tease the caged animal. However, fine by me - and to be honest, as I am not at all into football, but I am definitely into watching people, I have to say, watching Italians watch football is far more entertaining than the sport itself could ever be.

And, I was there to eat. The bruschetta at this place was not up to par of the other place, and the pennette noci e gorgonzola (sounded a bit more interested than quattro formaggi after all..) was nothing to write home about. After the initial snooty guy who stuffed me in the corner, my waiters were quite nice though, but I had wondered...I'd obviously hooked up with a good thing earlier, should I just have gone for second rounds there?

and of course this necessitated a stop off at Gelateria San Crispino, which was extremely convenient; it was near to where i'd need to switch transport anyway, and with it not being a long trip to begin with, I could conceivably do this all on my one remaining metro ticket.

and i did. and the cinnamon and ginger is heaven in a cup. I went back to the same fountain to eat it (though i'd gotten over jumping in) and had a wee chat with some people who'd come from California to sing in churches all over Italy (and obviously pick up their own gelato in the process!).

Making it home shortly past midnight meant i could get a few hours sleep before the airport taxi called round (it was early - wasn't sure whether or not one could trust an Italian airport taxi that showed up..early?!?), but he got me there in more than enough time and didn't rip me off so all was well on that front.

The problem with early flights though, is nothing is open. including - now this was just an outright tease - the airport branch of San Crispino!

I mean, come on people, 6am is a perfectly reasonable time to eat gelato!

On a Magic Carpet Ride - Turkish Delight and Debauchery

After a 2 month hiatus and suffering severe travel withdrawal symptoms bordering on Delerium Tremens I finally boarded a plane once again, this time bound for an Easter weekend in Istanbul; which meant that unlike most normal working days, I had some motivation to wake up in the morning!

Having arranged to meet my friend Janith, who's office is based at the airport itself for breakfast was indeed a good plan after all, as being slightly out of the travel motions, something had to be forgotten. My little blue piece of Austrian ID that says I can legally live here. Which, under normal circumstances was not a problem to be forgotten as I have always managed to leave the Schengen inside 3 months and had stamps.

Except in my new passport, which would only receive its inagural visa upon arrival in Istanbul. Bugger.

But Janith had an idea; that we go with his car to collect it, and he managed to get me back with more than enough time to spare...so what if breakfast ended up being peanut butter cups? And thanks to Janith the superstar, no problems whatsoever at immigration.

On the flight itself, was sat next to a German first-timer to Turkey, and as luck had it for both of us, a local man on his way home from a business trip in Vienna. He gave us each a few tips before we were on our merry way, at which point I realised how much it sucks to be Canadian and visiting Turkey - not sure what we did to piss them off, but our visas are far and away the most expensive of the lot; a painful 45 euro v. about 10-15 for most other countries. As it is a multiple entry for 90 days, i ought to return again to get my money's worth. grrr.

However, I'd have to say, in the end, well worth it. Got my transport to the Bahaus guesthouse in Sultanahmet, which, yes, most of the tourists stay in, but also most of the backpackers and for the first visit to this city it was v. convenient to be based within short walking distance to most attractions. Not to mention this place organised activities, such as taking us out to nightclubs, and being on my own meant that upped the ante on that for me. Thankfully the number of cool people i met there compensated for the fact I'd been placed in the ghetto bunker room in the basement - and granted the rooms up on the other floors are nicer, there were still nicer rooms than the makeshift one i'd landed in....something to take notes should you wind up going there to stay sometime as well.

Friday afternoon I kicked around getting my bearings, and getting out of the sense of complacency I have here in Vienna with regards to people. Meaning, that here...most often times one is left alone. However, as I quickly found out even the slightest bit of eye contact can get you some new (cough) friends, whether you want them or not.... Again, note to self: remember to learn those few phrases in obscure language. Irish, perhaps? Or can anyone help me out with the native tongue of the Federated States of Micronesia? Although it's nice to have locals more friendly than here (ok, thats not hard..), there is a fine line to walk with this as a solo female...or as is the case in Istanbul, a solo male for different reasons - the scam where your new 'friend' takes you to a bar, and when you get there, there are a bunch of girls, etc. and after a drink - you're charged an outrageous amount of money.

Thankfully the hostel bar offered some refuge from this, and upon my return met my bunkmate for the night, Jeff...a displaced New Yorker living in Switzerland who was also travelling on his own and keen to wander around in search of some food and off we went. We first checked out something that someone at the hostel had recommended, but determined it to be a bit too touristy and took off in search of something else. After some sweet looking Baklava had seduced us into the shop, tried to get recommendations from the shop clerks, but only ended up with some vague recommendations and laughs over language barriers.

Ultimately we'd settled upon a v. small cafe on a side street with a very entertaining waiter, who got us into his discussions with the 2 English ladies sat across from us about age guessing and restaurant renovations - constantly interrupted of course as he ran out to the street to try and bring in new customers. Chasing after them, yelling in Spanish or just random phrases such as 'hey, man in hat!' and offering to carry their water bottles. The food was satisfying, and the company great so I was pleased with my first Istanbul dinner at the Lola Cafe.

And despite our efforts to get back in time for the belly dancing, we missed it..but no problem, as the crowd was still going strong and I met Crystal, Heather and Rachel - some more displaced Americans studying in Dubai. They'd all got into a game of backgammon, but my efforts were focused on the large dreamy looking shisha that thankfully no one took interest in, as, as Geralyn and I have determined we are unable to share. I ordered a glass of Raki to go with it and had a good chill night, while some Australian girls tried to warn me of the effects and to drink water (fwaaawww, i've done this before), and yet ANOTHER displaced American surfaced - Dave from Minnesota, living in Oxford. My impression of the cozy hostel bar thus far was a winner and a vast improvement over the space cadet telly watchers at my last hostel in Panama City.

Saturday. Shopping day. Thankfully the weather had improved greatly and after some brekkie headed off across the Bosphorus with Jeff, Crystal, Heather, Rachel and PJ, another English roommate in the ghetto bunker. the aforementoined first four alighted at one stop to check their bearings and got left behind, so PJ and I continued on to Taksim, with a few directions.

And I reckon there are some good deals to be found if one is really willing to search, but I wasn't entirely in the mood off the start. Though I did manage to get some things not available in Vienna, surely, and then after yet more weakness for the glistening baklava squares I grabbed a tram back over the Galata Bridge and headed for the Grand Bazaar, where I should have first purchased a pen and paper to write down all my mistaken nationalities - Irish, Australian, New Zealand, English, Spanish, Italian, some random Brazilian dudes assuming I spoke their Native Portuguese, and yes, even a few guesses that I was local. Although most randomly those 3 (rather white..) American lasses were asked if they were from Uganda...nice.

Not quite as nice as the vendor who's first line to me was 'are you pregnant?'. OK. Seriously. I know I hit the Baklava and Turkish delights a bit...well, ok, A LOT, but I'm sure it wasn't THAT bad. pfffft.

I had only made a few purchases there though (the aforementoined comment most certainly did not put my off my baklava and turkish delights, ahem..), a very pretty silk scarf so I could finally go inside some mosques, shisha equipment and a pair of silver earrings..which I had found early on in my time, when I was still doing my price analysis...and had failed to mark something to find my bearings for them after. Well, escalation of committment kicked in, and powered by the sugar rush of my favourite Rose 'lokum', i searched for the better part of an hour for this stand.

And as is oft the case in life, once you stop searching so desparately for something..you find it. the stall was quite close to the entrance and I managed to make the purchase after all.

On Saturday nights at Bahaus, they do something I think quite nice - they organize a night out in Taksim at various nightclubs. So not only do they pay for taxis to take the guests into town, they also organize that no entrance fees are paid. If that weren't good enough, its an excellent way for those on their own to be able to head out with a group and not be made to feel awkward for going on their own. Good call that weekend, as there were a great number of us in this boat (although myself the only girl on her own, what else is new...c'mon ladies!!).

And...if the pregnancy comment thing weren't bad enough, Dave, the displaced Minnesotan, thought it funny to inform me that owing to having him rather early in life, his mother is only one year older than self. v. nice! although it became a real laugh that I was 'mum', and we were off..

The night was fantastic, a real tonic, letting my hair down, and all those other cliches. Off the start we were about 20, and I met some Australians out to 'smash it up', as well as Johannes from Germany, who was kind enough to say no, I do not speak like a child. We started off at some rock club with a live band which wasn't really to the taste of most of us, and I was made to scull my beer before a rather efficient moving on to a dance club..and that was more like it. Unfortunately we lost some of our crew along the way, but it was a top night nonetheless. At some time, my poor son with no money, took his 7 lira allowance from me and decided it would go muuuuuch further in a shop than in the club and took off. Not sure what happened after this, he seemed to think we were all gone, tried to get a taxi..with no money...the driver at first told him, no problem, drove him back to the hostel, and then of course demanded the money. But all poor DAve had was a credit card, which the guy didn't take. caused a bit of panic for himself the next day when it was temporarily missing, but as the card resurfaced, it seemes Dave got himself a free ride! I of course, was scolded for losing my 'son'. haha.

Myself, Jeff and Becs, a member of the mad Aussie group called it a night at a reasonable hour (4-ish) and only after we'd hailed the cab and were heading back at warp speed to Sultanahmet did we realise we left all the viable food options behind and we were starving...

and from this point i recall leaving the taxi on the street between Aya Sofia and the Blue Mosque..passing a cafe with a member of the staff cleaning it, and we just outrageously asked, any way we can get soemthing to eat? Well. You know you have left Vienna when....they happily opened the kitchen for us, cooked us food to order, and tended to our every need while Becs and I, high heel victims, rested our feet, and Jeff being the kind soul he was, alternated piggybacking us back to the hostel to the sounds of the morning prayer call from the Blue Mosque.....

Oddly enough, I'd woken in time for breakfast and able to eat it. V. bizarre. but good; today was meant to be the sightseeing day, and sightsee I did...Blue Mosque (with my snazzy new scarf!), taking Jeff's photo with the local cop on his bike, Aya Sofia, Basilica Cistern, and after grabbing some great Pide with the Aussies, finished it off with Topkapi Palace, which was my favourite with its summer house all done in blue Ottoman tiles. Pity the weather was overcast during my visit, but still managed to get some great photos and views of the Bosphorus nonetheless. I ran into the girls after who gave me pomogranite juice, and then headed off to rest my poor trashed self in the Turkish baths...I chose the easy option of Cemberlitas, which was also a historical building so figured I should just go to check it out anyway. After all that walking, heaven - even if the attendant's method of letting you know you're up on the scrub line is throwing water at you!

Sunday night then, was going to be the 'chill' night. The aussies had invited me to dinner, and that sounded great. Before meeting them however, I'd gotten into a card game with Jeff and a bunch of others and next thing i know i'd doubled our group with randoms from the hostel such as Sondre, an intrepid young norwegian lad and Johannes, and we were 10 strong. Of course, this put the idea into our heads, that this will be a hefty sale for the lucky restaraunt of our choosing, and negotiated them down to 25% off the bill, and free tea and coffee. I do agree with Andy, one of the Aussies, we could have got them down further, but everyone else was ready to settle at 15!! Oh well, apart from the (ahem) moldy bread, my food was fine and the company fantastic. Though I should also have known...with this company this would be no quiet night. The debate continued on whether to go into Taksim or not, and in the end we plumped for the option of drinks in the hostel with everyone's smuggled in collections.

Of course Taksim would come after, except none of us could be fussed with a taxi really, and we hit the bars around the corner, first inundating a lone Austrian woman's table - who gave the expected response later when asked how she felt about 8 guys and one girl commandeering her table...a very forced grimace, but after nearly 3 years here I could immediately see how the gregarious friendly nature of Jeff and the Australians is polar opposite to here...oh yeah, what was that about leaving again??? Yar. Although in the end, as one of the lads was also native from this country, they seemed quite content..very content in fact...to sit and chat with one another...

anyway, Andy and i were off on another bid to get the best price for some drinks which lead us over the road to another random pub, at which point i thought it would be fun to take the piss a bit when the (cough) friendly barman asked my name, and told him it was 'Freebeer'. I guess he did find it amusing after all, and poured me the drink of my namesake! Unfortunatley I was not too far into that drink when the bar was shut down by police - but the barman in his urgent rush to get us out, told me to take the entire thing.

So I did. and popped back over the road with the lads, and thought it would be fun to try the same trick there..only this time i had a bonus; i had my own glass! Some of the others filtered off one by one, however, the Austrian remained chatting with his newfound country woman (guess it wasn't so bad having teh table invaded after all, heeeeugh), while Sondre and I got hold of some stuffed animals, started drunkenly making fun of them, and i nearly died laughing when he christened 'the love whale'.

and never did I think, that, I would end up at a bar in instanbul, doing both traditional Norwegian and Turkish dance in the same night. but then again I didn't think I'd end up drinking for free either, to the point that Sondre and I were pouring from the tap ourselves and had even commandeered the bar computer and playing the music of our choice. We'd also scammed a free shisha to take back out to the patio for sunrise, where we were joined by some of the random Istanbul cats. Got back to the hostel in time to see Jeff off on his 8.30 am airport shuttle...

Quiet night indeed.

Unfortunately, this one took a bit more of a toll and I was deffo out of sorts. My planned ferry trip to the Asian side was, well, looking about as likely as my mother's chances on the national lotto. I tried..I slept for 3 hours, headed down to the Bosphorus, but the mere sight of an incoming ship rocking and reeling, along with wafting seafood and kebap smells, had my stomach feeling like there were evil spirits inside (well, there were....), and being alread prone to seasickness...this idea had just one status: Abandon ship!!! before i'd even boarded it...

I tried to find the spice market, but feeling much worse for the wear, called defeat and headed back to the hostel for another kip - but lying down was just as bad as being up, so after a run in with my probably green faced ill self, Johannes suggesting going up to the bar and terrace, and as I sat up there in the late day sun poking out from behind the minarets of the blue mosque, i started to recover..enough to even discuss dinner and our plan was set.

I decided to hit up the baths one more time for full cleansing of the evil hangover, and owing to said hangover decided once again to be lazy and head for the easy Cemberlitas. I got the same attendant, who in a seemingly better mood did not throw water on me this time..but she did remember me, and said when i am back in Istanbul I should go for her. will keep that in mind ;-)

Filled up my sugar quota with some more Turkish delights, stopped off at the shop to bring some back for various Vienna folk and met Johannes for dinner...who then in turn found 2 American girls, Jenna and Carolyn to join us and we headed down to the bridge on the bosphorus for a fish dinner...forgetting my repercussions from the sight of the boats there earlier..as all the restaraunts looked the same, we chose on the basis of decor (default!), and got a seat on the terrace overlooking the water....admittedly these places are somewaht touristic, but I really did want some seafood in a coastal city..ie, what i can't get here..and the prices not too outrageous, and the view...well, that was just it..right by the water. I shuddered at the thought of returning to 3 degrees, snowstorms and the office.

We had a great dinner actually, and I was pleased with spending my last night that way - even if it meant I was only going to get 4 hours of sleep or less...

All in all, worth it. The hostel...as we all said, average hostel, but excellent people. For me it was the perfect break; I did most of the sightseeing on my own, which I prefer, but had excellent company with whom to chill out afterwards, to eat with and just let loose, no drama, fun partying. Also a breath of fresh air to meet some people with similar ideas on life, and about breaking the mold. No one prodded me with inappropraite personal questions.

Yeah, I remembered this weekend that on the road is where a lot of these peeps can be found.

Final Vote: Istanbul, and Bahaus hostel - 2 thumbs up all the way!!!!

And Now, the Moment We've All Been Waiting For...

Well, not all of us, but certainly some and most certainly me - was for my fate to be decided by the powers that be based on the other side of the world about the remainder of my Austrian life. Ask and ye shall receive; as hoped, I will be extending my time here by another 4 months - more money, more time. I'm happy, my friends here are happy, and my parents get more time to do their home renovations. So they should too be happy but I am not sure. Apartment also sorted, so now just the flights to be fixed. I'll lose money there, but will make it up with extra salary. Exact leaving date to be determined, but it will be some time in August.

Anyway, a huge relief also in that I don't have to figure out to pack an 87 sq. m. apartment into a broken 64 L backpack anytime soon.

And since I've been stuck here now almost an entire month (!), its time to start making all my lofty plans for everything I want to do before I leave. Morroco flights gone too expensive, I'll need to find another Easter destination, so any thoughts are welcome! leaning towards Turkey, middle east, etc. something poss in 4 days. Going tomorrow to get my passport sorted out (massive shocker here, its full!), so I can finally put an end to the delerium tremens i'm experiencing from the recent lack of travel! Cos sometimes, you just need to get OUT.

As the news came Thursday, there was some time for celebrations with friends this past weekend and we had a top night out, so its not been all too bleak staying here at the weekends! Hopefully some travel stories coming soon....

Of Elevators and Epiphanies - random thoughts that want out!

ok, perhaps Epiphany is maybe not the right word for something which is actually just a rediscovery of that which I have known for years (coming from someone with enough lifestyle changes to cover a century), but I went with it anyway for the purpose of alliteration in the title, har har.

Moving on then...(ok, this will also come out as a bit of a pun after, so getting all variations of speech in here!), but at my office, there are 2 types of lifts; which I will call the regular milk run service (i.e., stopping at every floor), and the express - which, when taken, is a direct ride to the top of the building. Which is where I work (fortunate for things like the gorgeous view, including sunsets at this time of year, and unfortunate for things like the non-express milk run lift and when hurricane-style winds hit).

This morning when I arrived, as usual (although I did arrive early, which is highly unusual), I pressed the button for both lifts. One of the normal ones gave its 'bing' arrival signal, although owing to early hour on Monday morning, I did not immediately realise and got to it just in time to see the doors clamp shut in front of my face with unwelcome efficiency, before i could either do the arm intervention or last minute button press. Typical, I thought (these melancholy mondays, tch), as no one really likes having doors shut on them, especially right in their face like this.

However, almost immediately after this one left, the lofty express made its presence known; which meant, I would get the better and more efficient option after all.

And all sorts of clichés went through my mind; first and foremost the obvious; when one door closes on you, another one opens. And, as was the case today (literally and figuratively speaking in my case), the new door opening was far and away better than the old one closing. And, that something happening that seems like a bad thing, may end up leaving you better off. Patience pays. (yeah, its a tall enough building for all these thoughts to pass through). Arriving to a sunrise after being in the dark for a while...another symbolic sort of thing along these lines.

Most of this is now prevalent to me, as I'm reaching the end of my time here; closing that door; and hoping for better things behind that new one which will be opening (and to not hover in that old closed door at all..for as I once heard, people who hover in doorways aren't coming from anywhere, nor or are they going anywhere). And at this point, I'd hate to be on the latter end of that spectrum.

So. Maybe a little coincidence, maybe I'm just a little too sleep deprived, or maybe, its time to start putting to fruition the next step. And putting it down in words, maybe this commits me somehow. So yes. No more playing on facebook today; It's time to do some research and put my plan for a new life in the sun, water and warmth - people and weather (ie, polar opposite of here!) into play. Onward and upward - the tunnel may now be longer but there is a light at the end of it nevertheless.

(nb: own random thoughts, but hopefully might encourage others in the same boat as I am ;-))

Sunrise: Into the light

Breakfast and Cocktails

Panama City, 17 January.

Woke up at 7:00, and just had one of those bad feelings about the day. Which, is not exactly what one wants to have when they are about to board an international flight. I shook it off, and summed it up to the fact I realised the night before that during my *brilliant* packing efforts in LA, I had forgotten my driving license..yet had a hire car booked for collection at LAX. Which meant my plan of not inconveniencing my poor sister had fallen through.

Chuck, from Fresno and Richard, from Seattle, had, just in a random act of traveller kindness, given me their phone cards, saying they won't be needing them ( har har snicker snicker), so I rang my sister and all was well for her to come to the airport with my license in hand. sorted.

Our flight was initially delayed a half hour - no problem, still have ages to make the connection in Mexico city. Think will just have a little sleep...awoke to see on the board the flight was now 4 hours delayed. Which of course, meant myself and clearly others would be missing connections and went immediately to join the growing crowd at the desk.

And it was then I met 2 more saviours of this trip - Gianni, born in Panama, living in LA and very recently married to Perry, a set designer on the films (I'll be watching the credits for ya Perry!).

We were given a choice; we could either stay in Panama that night, and have another go at the whole thing in the morning, or, we could wait for this flight, get to Mexico and get to LA the following morning. wanting to be closer rather than further to our destination, the majority of us opted for that choice. And with that off to lunch we went.

And such an *amazing variety* of food choices in the Panama City airport. The one cafe was very crowded, and all of us having done the drill knew to choose at least 4 things on the menu for surely they would be out, and they were. As we sat there we met more people, and all recounted dire tales - prison (read below), illness, hospitals...at which point, I was just like, wow, I have had the best trip EVER. I have NO complaints whatsoever, and I am very very BORING! hah! I mean, seriously...I did not even get mugged or robbed! I did not witness any motorcycle accidents that involved death. I did not even have stomach issues! All I had was a budding cold that disappeared after some vitamin C and a day's rest. what's up with that?

Anyhow. Back to the gate at 3pm. No sign that this flight is going anywhere anytime soon, and finally we found out the reason; the plane was missing something. That is very comforting, really. And they are supposedley working on it. Yeah, right, from where, the secret airline employee cocktail bar? As there was no sign of work being done on the aircraft bearing our luggage out on the tarmac. So now, maybe 7pm. Back to the michelin 5 star restaraunt for round 2. we could all order the one other thing on the menu that we did not have last time. hopefully we wouldnt be stuck here long or this could get old rather quickly!

By this time Perry had gone round to duty free and picked up a bottle of Bacardi (along with very convenient carry/pour hybrid box!), and I would have to say this is the moment at which our airline distress passenger club was formed - original membership being Chuck, Richard, myself, Gianni and Perry. We had quite a laugh actually, doling out the rum into Cuba libres and strawberry daiquiries. which, went quite well with Richard's breakfast (at 5pm, sure, why not?), and thus the name of the title of this entry.

We also came up with such brilliant business ideas, like services for airline distress passengers (which, is a term i picked up from a hotel sign back at the Ramada at JFK, when I was in a similar situation!), which would include of course, a cocktail bar. With annual meetings in none other than Panama City.

Called back round to the gate at 7-ish..by this time a former Mexican Airforce/Military Man started giving us the lo-down on the parts of the plane, saying it wasn't likely going to happen tonight. and only moments later, one of the *wonderfully helpful* representatives appeared, announcing, in Spanish, we will not be flying tonight.

Pandemonium in the Panama Airport.

Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after that(ie, the day I was meant to be in LA and catching a flight back to Vienna....f*** the duck!). I know this because Gianni, our translator and spokesperson, announced it to Perry, who was holding the fort at base camp (our collectoin of bags and commandeered seats), and he shouted out 'WHAAAT!!!??!', which brought the bickering crowd to a halt. Momentarily. Considering Gianni and Perry had waited 2 weeks to get on this flight, the chances of getting on one in the near future were looking a bit bleak...

And then, the one representative who was actually somewhat in charge and helpful, announced there were 4 seats on another flight, and just took a random group of 4, whose final destination was presumably Mexico, and voila! At this point we had resigned ourselves to staying at least one night there, had more dreams about cocktails, and I began to work out the details of how I would eventually get me...and my luggage (half on the dead plane in Panama, half of it..unpacked..in LA)..back to Vienna, and in time to start work the following monday morning.

but then in a rather clandestine manner, the same helpful man came out and said there were now seats on the COPA flight, leaving immediately. I guess in that moment I was voted most desparate in our distressed airline passenger group since I had the furthest to go, and was told run! run! which I did, and with one of Gianni's cases in tow...in a very dramatic moment arriving at the COPA flight gate, only to realise...I probably had the least spanish out of everyone. Perry and Gianni arrived seconds later, and Perry handed over my passport and boarding pass, said I needed to be on this flight as i had to get to Austria, and I was booked and ready to go....minus my new crew though. We said a quick goodbye with hugs all round and I boarded the flight.

Sitting there on my own, realising; this will get into Mexico City around midnight. and from another horror story Gianni told regarding a friend of hers...I would likely be kicked out from the closing terminal, and highly doubted that the Mexicana service person would be there as promised to take me to the hotel. But lady luck came through just this once, and after some minutes, I first saw Richard board, slowly followed by Chuck, Gianni and Perry, and I tell you after all this drama, this was one of the happiest moments of the trip. we all gave each other thumbs up signs and relaxed all the way to mexico.

Mexico City. Of course owing to the last minute change, our luggage did not join us.

The customs official took issue with this.

'You came here with no luggage?!?!?'

'yeah..[insert non-annotated version of story]'

and of course no one was to be found to give us info on the hotel. After much questioning of security, etc. by Gianni, we were finally transported to Terminal 1 and met by someone who insisted on dealing with each of us individually rather than having our spokesperson, Gianni the superstar, do it. By this time we were joined by Thomas and Gilbert, 2 surfers trying to get back to DC and LA, as well as a confused looking Colombian.

We got to the hotel some time I think around half past one. Airport bus at 5.30. The shower felt like heaven but my 2 hours of sleep were disturbed with dreams of being stranded (can't figure why I would dream that), but in a jungle somewhere annd having all my things stolen.

Back to sort out the fact that a lot of our onward boarding passes had been taken by the staff at Panama, and in the case of Chuck and Richard, luggage tags too. trying to sort all that out, running up and down the terminal. Any worries I had about not getting any exercise were instantly gone. I met up with Thomas, Gilbert, Perry and Gianni at the luggage office, who of course had no idea where our bags were. 'Panama?'. the confused Colombian stayed to sort his stuff out, but we called defeat and said we'd sort it out in LA.

Had some more shenanigans locating our gate, and getting breakfast, which ended up in myself and Gilbert having some more morning airport sport with a little sunrise jog through the terminal. We boarded our flight, hi-fiving each other the whole way and frighteningly ecstatic to see LA through the windows. Some of us were finally home. Some of us...had another 14 hours ahead.

Customs was fun.

'How long you here for?'

'One day'

'you came here just for ONE DAY? oh sure..'

[the most deadpan tone i am capable of] 'was here for christmas, went travelling to central america for 3 weeks and tomorrow must fly back to Austria, where I currently live'

(this I knew was already far too much informatoin to be processed. waited appropriate amount of time for processing).

'so, MONROVIA? what are you going to do there? (very suspicious tone)'

'my sister lives there (wince..expecting same line of interrogation my youngest sister Dana got when she arrived, being accused that Jen, our sister in LA, was living there illegally and Dana was coming to smuggle her back into Canada)'.

thankfully no such accusatoin came.

then of course the issue of no luggage.

'you came here with no luggage?' (minus the latin emphasis of the mexican customs guy)

'yeah...[insert non-annotated version of story]'

'oh, its still with the airline, is it?'

(to thomas and gilbert) 'what were you guys doing down in...PANAMA?'

'a lot of surfing'

Passed Perry and Gianni on the way, already tucking into the cocktails before the next scene from our new film, Terminal: the horror version, and without Tom Hanks. Revisit scene: THE LUGGAGE.

we were informed it was coming at 11pm that evening. But because the delivery service doesn't work past then, maybe we can get it the next morning/afternoon! A bit hard to believe, and Thomas held hard with the case of getting another delivery service, whilst I recalled having some lost luggage delivered to me in Vienna at 1 am one time... a City which is far less the hub LA is and does not at all hinge on good service most of the time. So what was the problem? was this not, after all, the mighty city of Los Angeles?

This was also a problem for me, cos I needed to send the contents in there to Canada, and fill it with the remaining things lying about my sisters floor, for the next in the series of around the world in 80 hours, and be back at the airport for no later than midday. well, i can stop by and pick it up..but even if the airline were wiling to let me check 3 bags...I doubted i could manage this on my own upon arrival in Vienna. Plus for anyone who has any geographical knowledge of the LA area..you don't just 'stop by' from where my sister lives, in Monrovia - the drive can take up to 2 hours in traffic, and one if its a good day. Plus as she graciously offered to tote me around for the 24 hours I was there, I said sod it to the hire car and navigating the LA freeways after all that and certainly didn't need to be having her drive me out there in the middle of the night and again the next morning.

the weight of the bags rivalled my own, and I know I went a bit too heavy on the pancakes, during this trip but I am still not that large a person to be able to handle this. I told them, no, your mistake, send the bag then to Vienna, and to my apartment, as I know from extensive lost luggage experience here, that is standard. I didn't want to see it coming off the belt at VIE!

Thomas and Gilbert had another issue; they had checked the boards under one guy, the luggage under another - so they had no idea whose was whose, but Gilbert was to remain in LA while Thomas went on to DC the following morning. As far as I know, they had to call round back to the airport in the middle of the night to get it.

as for me...sure, call us at this number with your flight details with Lufthansa. Ring number later. no answer. leave message. was not called back. ring again. still no answer. still not called back.

Go check in for Lufthansa flight next day, with 2 bags (one borrowed from my sister for the excess). Then go down to sort this m'larky out. and what to do they do? give me my bag. aaaaeegh. I tell them, no, I have already requested this be sent on to Vienna. This is pretty standard! I have already checked 2 bags with Lufthansa, and they ought to know better than I, that that is the limit.

Well, did I not ask Lufthansa to make an exception?

At least in the end they agreeed to send it. I asked 3 times that they ensure it will be sent according to lost luggage procedure (ie, delivered to my place). Got snark reminder I had said it already, but lets face it, clearly these people had listening issues.

and to put paid any credit to that.. guess what was one of the first pieces on the belt at VIE? without any instruction whatsoever that had been promised? and who carried on the bus, on the street, up all my blasted stairs, all this luggage? Oh, and I have not yet mentioned that it was broken luggage, from the flight on the way in. Guess I ahve also not mentioned that during this debacle, my phone had gone AWOL - even though I had thought to make a distress call to a friend here for help, I didn't have the phone, nor anyone's numbers.

I will not anytime soon (as in like, the next 100 years) fly with Mexicana and certainly don't advise anyone else to either. There were worse stories than mine of course, like how they had no wheelchairs for Gianni's mother on another flight, and had to carry her..and ended up dropping her! and her friend, a single mother with 3 kids, who was kicked out of the terminal late at night (owing to another delay). Or the woman accompanying a nun, who were also enquiring about luggage - cos they lost the Nun's luggage A YEAR ago!

but, the bright side (there's always gotta be one, right?), I ended up meeting some of the most brilliant people on the whole trip! Its really amazing how such circumstances can bring people together, and we all just got on so well, and had no choice most of the time but to laugh about it (in between our rotating meltdowns, of course...but at least we supported each other with those as well), especially over discreetly 'home-made' cocktails in some little airport cafe.

I laughed more than I had in a good long time and heard some great stories to boot, and will hopefully remain in contact for more than just coordinating our very long complaint forms for this trip!

And guys (Perry, Gianni, Chuck, Richard, Thomas, Gilbert), if you've read this, and gotten this far....how'd y'all feel about a big ol' reunion of this club? I hear Panama's a great destination. We'll just get Chuck to sort out the coordinates on his GPS, shall we? ;-) just kidding...

Alls well that ends well....I am back in Vienna, with everything I brought out, and more. I met some fantastic people owing to this. and I have a newfound appreciation of Lufthansa and of the Frankfurt Airport. That flight and transfer was like a dream!

And, as I have just found out, my flights to Morroco for the end of my time here in Vienna were just cancelled...suits me fine, I'm not going anywhere anytime soon!!!

Cheers and until the final entry....

Arroz con Pollo (the best story I heard from someone else on the entire trip)

OK, so I am cheating a little here, and this (thankfully!) is not my own experience, but rather that of Chuck and Richard, 2 members of the distressed airline passenger club, the formation of which will be noted in the next post. However, amongst the many great and interesting travel stories I heard, this one takes the cake and thus I've got to add it as well. Chuck and Richard, if i get it wrong at all, please feel free to comment!

Basically, as I can recall it goes a little something like 2 innocent American guys following their hobby of geocaching, with the aid of a GPS. The site they were aiming for was this sort of mountain, in the environs of Panama City - the one with the giant flag on it is the only way that I will know it, as with my limited time I did not make up it any Panamanian mountains. maybe better so..

so with just their coordinates to guide them (and the clue 'arroz con pollo' - rice and chicken), they set off, only to be stopped by armed guards during their pursuit, at which point Chuck tells them they are looking for treasure, and something about the 'travel bug' implanted in the GPS, which somehow got misunderstood for them wanting to plant a bug in the president's residence. Ah yes...this I did not mention yet, and this they did not know at the start, but on this mountain was the true president's residence, not the palace in the old city. heeeugh. they were taken to this guard shack, and there, in a cage was a chicken. so according to the clue, they were right anyway!

The exact details here I can't recall, but it ends up with our 2 heroes being detained, as the problem is, Colombian drug runners are now using GPS for someone to hide the drugs, and another to collect them several weeks later....however, it is important to note, they were not actually arrested, but just detained...and the 'help' from their embassy came in the form of 'Don and Dean', who were not actually from the embassy but there to 'translate', yet had done all the checks on them and knew who they were. throughout the next 24 hours they were repeatedly interrogated and accused of being in cahoots with Colombian drug lords. In order to get food, they had to pay for all the guards to eat as well. At one point a very large, brick shithouse type guy (who was later called just 'mr. shithouse' by Perry, a fellow airline distress passenger to be mentioned in next entry) comes in saying he could be 'their friend' and they could call at any time, if, you know, the story changed at all....

But the best bit - was the television. In their little detention room they had a TV, and of all shows...they were watching....(wait for it)...PRISON BREAK!!! With a guard who spoke a bit of English telling them 'We like that here...'.

Thankfully 24 hours later, they were released, and thus able to enjoy a bit of Panama (huh), and give us the pleasure of meeting them, if also not under the greatest circumstances.

Again, totally not my story but a great one that cannot be allowed to slip through the net...Chuck and Richard, thanks for sharing and hope that you have better luck with your next geocache sites.....;-)

Party all the time

Ok, the last few days have been...eventful. That is a good word. So its gonna be a bunch of separate blog entries to keep all my lovely faithful readers (hah!) faithfully reading rather than falling asleep at the keyboard and drooling all over it.

This one will be for Panama City. To me, this city was such a vast improvement over San Jose, and although I have never been, I could see why some say remniscient of Miami. Of course I had a dodgy taxi driver though who tried to take me to another hotel (a boring expensive looking one in not a great location) where he clearly got commissoin from and then tried to charge me more to take me to the hostel I wanted to stay at. I don't f***ing think so. And the fact he didn't put up much resistance is proof he was overcharging. I hate taxis.

I checked into Mamallena's, which had scored high ratings on hostelworld.com, despite Lonely planet describing the atmosphere as sterile as a hospital waiting room. I wouldn't say that was entirely true, but I am sure a more atmospheric place existed, such as Luna's castle in Casco Viejo, but I wasn't sure about that area at night, whereas the area Mamallena's is in meant I could walk on my own at night with minimal worry. I also found out later that Luna's was closed for renovations so I couldn't have stayed there anyway. everything for a reason.

The staff at Mamallena's were cool, the facilities pretty good (though the terrace could be made a bit more atmospheric, maybe with some of those funny chilli fairy lights or so), but I would have to say, its hit or miss with the people. And for me, it was largely a miss. I was quite disappointed to arrive to a bunch of zoned out space cadets glued to the television with vacant stares. I mean, some were there for HOURS. One has to wonder, why waste the airfare...

However, I was determined; this city was meant to be known for its nightlife, and if it meant kitting up and going on my own to explore it, so be it. But I did find a kindred amongst this decidedly anti social crowd - A great Argentinian girl called Dolores. She was cool, and at first I was disappointed to hear that she was to be flying out that night.

However as our conversation wore on, it was revealed that she did not actually need to leave the hostel until 2 am, so I asked on the offchance if she would join me rather than hang about the hostel and she took me up on it. So I pulled some nicer threads out from the bottom of the backpack, and even put on a bit of makeup (gasp) and the blasted heels I had been travelling with to blend a bit better in the clubs with 'the rich and beautiful' (lonely planet strikes again).

We headed down to Calle Uruguay, which is supposed to be a main going out area of Panama City, and found it quite dead. And also remniscient of Miami. Was wondering if it was me being destined to never party or have fun again. But then we realised, it was just too early for people to be out. we grabbed some food at a little corner diner called Don Blas with a cheap and varied menu, as well as a wrapaound terrace that would allow us to observe the progression of people going into the various clubs. She was great company for dinner, and afterwards we noticed one particular club with a second floor terrace getting busier and decided to give it a go. We had barely walked in when we were set upon by Jim, an obvious American and his Serbian friend whose name eluded me all night. They walked us to the bar to get some drinks and we were introduced to a load of Panamamanians - they were referred to as 'the Panamamanians' and we were 'Canada girl' and 'Argentina girl'. We grabbed some drinks and hung at the bar for a bit, danced it up and that was great. Jim came back later and was doing a pretty good cowboy dance.

To end the night off we went to chill on that terrace in the warm night air (now, there is no way one could ever say that in Vienna..in January!!!), and met Annette, yet another displacement person (Venezuelan, living in...Miami!) and headed back to Mamallena in time for Dolores to get her plane. Top night, I really enjoyed it. Jim had told us that the scene rotates a bit there, and finally, i had hit it right and that was THE place for Tuesdays. He told me where Wednesday's was and said I should meet them there.

The next day was my one and only day to see the city. I woke up early, attempted to make pancakes (but breakfast was more like pancake goo owing to the dodgy frying pan..cos I CAN make pancakes, damnit! note to self, do not do this next day when have international plane to catch).

I still set out rather early though, right as the first slaves of television and internet emerged from their dorms, and on a tip from Dolores, decided the first thing would be the Canal, at the Miraflores locks. I wanted to go by bus on the 'diablos rojos' (red devils), and this was actually a great way to get around the city and dead cheap. I had no idea which one i needed, or where to get off, but i just shouted my destination and they told me correclty when it was time. people on the bus were also helpful, pointing out which stop for me to get off, and then telling me again which bus I needed for Miraflores. Which was definitely impressive. Along the way I gained the company of an Israeli couple and a super hyper Brazilian, who took some photos of me. I caught the sight of one ship leaving and another entering, but with a tight schedule could not linger too long and headed back down to Avenida Central to walk into Casco Viejo and explore it.

Casco Viejo is under a major facelift, and it showed. some buildings were well restored, next to ghetto ones that looked like they had fallen victim to bombs. the area had a beautiful dilapadated feel to it, and was spotted with some stalls selling Kuna items - it was great to poke around. After which I randomly got on a bus that displayed 'Via Espana' and hoped it would go where I needed it to. It came close, and thankfully my lesson from walking back from Calle Uruguay the night before stuck and I made my way back to TV central to wait out a rainstorm before heading to the Mola shop.

Molas are colorful pieces of patch artwork done by the Kuna Indians of Panama and I was obsessed with them. I bought up quite a lot and my Christmas quota had been fulfilled! (well, along with a Balboa lager to add to my colleague Conor's international beer collection from me). I also tried some fruit juice from a fruit that I had no idea what it was but very tasty. and whilst I popped into the supermarket..which, I am going on a tangent here...is fantastic! It had far more variety than those here in my city of residence, open 24 hours and CHEAP CHEAP CHEAP!!! As I picked the Balboa out of the fridge, a man walked by and said 'solimente una??' (only one??) which made me laugh.

Yeah, I got a good impression of the people of Panama City, which was nice as it would be my final impression of the trip.

Dolores gone, I headed out on my own that night, in hopes that Jim and company would show at the next club, but no go. probably too hungover from the night before, har har. I wound up talking to some Norwegian guy, but he certainly lacked the life and character of Dolores, Jim, or even my cat, so I danced a bit on my own, avoided conversation with random approaching men by pretending to speak neither Spanish nor English, and ended up appearing to be mentally challenged, or deaf, as my racing mind could not settle on another one to try, for fear they would also know it, and know it better than me, as French, German or Japanese are not all that rare...note to self, learn some words in more obscure language, like maybe Irish, or pick up the Swahili again. And that was that.

I awoke for my journey the next morning with a bad feeling about the day. I shook it off, figuring it largely to do with the fact I had forgotten to take my driving license, yet had hired a car in LA. ooops. little did I know that was the least of my worries.....and thus we have the next entry....