Tag: traveling

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A Place in the Clouds

Breaking the cycle. An interruption to the new normal. Pressing pause on the quarantine routine. A short escape. 

After months of laying extremely low in our Mexican apartment, Michelle and I finally left the nest. I honestly hadn’t realized how much of the past 4 months I’d lived indoors. I mean, we would take weekly trips to the market to stock up on produce and then there was the occasional trip to Walmart for other groceries. But those outings are less than 10 minutes away and strictly there and back. The feeling of exploration, or even a simple Vitamin D soak up, has been lamentably absent in recent times.

So, that brings us to the decision. We had a flight credit from March when we were forced to cancel our temporary move to the Riviera Maya after Covid-19 exploded. Therefore, we figured it was a good moment to cash in on a short trip to another magic town.

For this excursion, we traveled to the state of Chiapas. It has an expansive coastline along the Pacific and shares a border with Ecuador to the south. Our principal destination was San Cristóbal de las Casas, which is more or less central. By simply walking from the bus terminal to our accommodation, I could sense a newfound energy within us.

We used part of the first evening to gather information about the various day tours available. Sadly, Palenque, an archeological site of Mayan ruins, was closed even though the government said it was set to reopen a week before our arrival. It was the location we were most excited about discovering. Avoiding other obstacles, we made arrangements for two different tours and took a promenade around the main avenues, familiarizing ourselves with the Spanish colonial layout.

A brief stroll through the tarp-pitched artisanal stalls taught us a few quick things. For one, the natives of every community, no matter how small, primarily speak their own language — an indigenous tongue stemming from the Mayans. Apparently there are enough similarities among the dialects for people of neighboring municipalities to understand each other. Of course, when they’re not gossiping about the tourists, they also speak Spanish to conduct business. The other evident surprise was that few (if any) inhabitants were wearing masks. We later learned that because of their ancient background, they believe that sicknesses can be cured with herbal or holistic medicine. Hence, our masks were as much for them as they were for us. Lastly, without fail, it rains in the afternoon/early evening. In the native vernacular, the name of the city is “Jovel,” which means “a place in the clouds,” so I guess that makes sense.

Our first day trip involved a visit to the Sumidero Canyon. That area of Chiapas is beautifully mountainous, which provided us with some spectacular views along the drive. When we arrived, we hopped in a small motor boat and hit the water. Half of the canyon was still off-limits for some reason. I understand heavily-trafficked tourist areas being shutdown, but it’s a little harder to swallow when in the middle of nature. Violating social distancing when inside a watercraft is rather difficult, but I digress.

To start, we cruised around some islands to get a glimpse of the colonies of pelicans and egrets enjoying the foliage. Next, we were taken relatively close to a few waterfalls cascading off the large cliffs, even getting soaked by one. That was a bonus of the recent rain, however the negative was that we missed seeing crocodiles, monkeys, and some other wildlife that had taken shelter. Though we couldn’t venture farther into the canyon, the contrast of the river weaving down the middle of two towering pieces of rock was an impressive sight.

On the ride back, our group become more comfortable socializing with one another. We met a couple from Texas who were vacationing. The guy spoke impressive Spanish (without much of a gringo accent) after having lived in northern Mexico for 2 full years. He said he started to really grasp the language after 18 months; simultaneously disheartening and understandable. Almost the entire group got together in the evening to hangout at a bar with entertaining live music. That type of setting, the whole people at tables chatting and drinking thing, felt unknown after such a long absence. A decent night on the town nonetheless.

The second tour was a jaunt to two different indigenous communities, a tour of just 3 people —evidence the tourism industry was still suffering. When we arrived in Zinacantán, I was expecting something deserted and simple. Instead, I realized that by “community” they meant “town.” Either way, it was a good day to go because there was a celebration happening. Due to that, there was a parade of all the important men in the town, dressed in their customary attire. We went to a traditional house, which was more of a modest market store. However, it did have a no-frills brick and dirt kitchen where they offered us wood fired tortillas with bean paste and salsa. Unassuming yet delicious.

We were given about 30 minutes of free time to get acquainted with the rest of the place. As with the majority of these localities, the main square is centered around the church. Without question, it is the building that the residents take the most pride in. A fun fact about this particular church was that only the men in the community (those we had seen in the parade) have the responsibility of cleaning, decorating, and caring for the building. The women aren’t permitted to touch anything inside, even the flowers. That is actually notable too, because the entire wall behind the alter was filled with an ornate design of blooming bouquets. Photography wasn’t allowed inside, so you’ll have to imagine it with your internal lens.

Before entering the other community, our guide pulled the van aside to explain a few important things to us. The story of Chamula is fascinating and…a bit scary. For starters, the Mexican government doesn’t have jurisdiction there anymore, supposedly as a result of the Zapatista movement — a far-left libertarian-socialist group that organized in 1994 to combat economic globalization and oppression against indigenous peoples. While the fight may have been positive in the early years, nowadays, the leaders have become corrupt and the area is purportedly a prominent piece for narco trafficking. We were advised to keep an eye out for the elaborate houses, sat next to humble shacks, that were a clear sign of the owner’s involvement in the game (even though they “only sold pollo”). Another scintillating tidbit is that they actively practice polygamy. It’s such a misogynistic community that if a woman is seen talking to a man, it means she is then obligated to marry him. Yikes. I kindly asked Michelle to avoid making eye contact when possible.

Again, the main attraction was the church. Continuing the tasty goss, it also has an exotic background. On its face, it is a Catholic church. However, the religion is actually a mixture of Spanish Catholic traditions, pre-conquest Mayan customs, and recent creations. There are statues of Catholic saints on tables throughout the building, but they represent Mayan Gods. In addition, the floor is covered with green pine needles to separate the worlds of the living and the dead. Also — the most impactful practice — is that on top of the common offerings such as candles, flowers, and cigarettes, they make live animal sacrifices in dire circumstances. We saw one happen. I heard the sound of a chicken struggling and then saw a woman with a firm grip on flapping wings. Moments later, there it lied, lifeless on the floor.

It’s interesting. Michelle’s mom is religious. She believes in a lot of different things. After she found out we were there, she told us that we needed to cleanse ourselves of the toxic vibes. Michelle didn’t heed the advice while I disregarded it because of my non-belief/denial in such ideas. Fast forward to the next day and Michelle felt consistently awful, sidelined with an illness for the entire evening. I attribute it to the shrimp she ate for lunch, but who knows for sure?

Thankfully, we squeezed several things in before the attack of the spirits took effect. Instead of going on another field trip into nature, we elected to explore the culture of the San Cristóbal more in depth. We took a free walking tour with 3 participants once more. Even though it was completely in Spanish, I think I understood about 60-70% of what our guide said. He recanted the relevant history and introduced us to the underground art scene. We literally showed up at a random house and went inside to find an art studio of various projects. For me, this is the kind of experience that adds dimension and personality to a city. Next, we visited a collective of various small businesses that shared a picturesque courtyard. We had a free tasting of Pox, a local alcoholic beverage similar to mezcal (but made primarily of corn). It was the perfect way to conclude the tour.

In general, uncovering the modern, artistic side reinvigorated my desire to delve into similar places. The combination of current perspectives mixed with a traditional, quaint environment really does add an element of magic to these towns. I’m sure it helps that I was long overdue for a change of pace. I had forgotten the freshness of these feelings. Right now, I think it’s especially important for us to make an effort to inject this into our lives. In our normal routines, complacency sets in within a few months and it’s certainly much quicker when we’re stuck inside without the capacity to follow our lust for adventure.

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Pueblos Mágicos

You’re the rabbit; we’re the hat.
Live your own prestige.
Experience something extraordinary.
Disappear from the normal everyday.
Reappear in the splendor here.
Discover our secrets.
It’s your turn.
Our logo is a pinwheel.

That is not a random poem. Taken individually, each line represents a possible slogan for the Pueblos Mágicos (Magic Towns) in Mexico. This was an initiative started in 2001 by the country’s board of tourism to enchant certain towns. Or something to that effect. Is it a clever branding scheme to elicit extra money and dump it into otherwise ho-hum economies? Perhaps. But there’s actually some value there.

While the program has designated 121 Pueblos Mágicos scattered across Mexico, not every one is a home run. Obviously. I’m looking at you Jalpan de Serra. [Never been there.] However, there is a list of criteria a town must meet in order to qualify for the elite club. For starters, each village needs to have some sort of historical significance or folklore. Additionally, it must offer either important festivals, traditions, handcrafts, cuisine, art, or nature element. Per the ever-important numbers aspect, each place must have a population of at least 5,000, host more than 20,000 tourists each weekend, and be less than a 3 hour drive from a “well-resourced” city.

Before doing any research, I thought I had visited 4. That number is accurate but for different reasons than I initially understood. Teotihuacan is part of the group, which added an unexpected +1 in the “been there” column, but I had a -1 for something else.

San Miguel de Allende

It had my vote for the best PM so far, but was actually removed from the list in 2008 because it became an UNESCO World Heritage site. Still, it’s a rad place so it deserves some praise.

Centered around La Parroquia, an epic cathedral, the town square and surrounding streets feature an array of oranges, accented by building walls and items for sale in various shops. Flower crowns have surpassed the declaration of novelty accessory, though they continue to enhance the style of the ladies wearing them.

By far the most impressive attributes of the city are the 120+ art galleries and 160+ restaurants/cantinas — basically between every crack in the cobblestones. You can walk down a seemingly pointless path to end up admiring a slew of sculptures or paintings. Even though it’s possible to thoroughly traverse the main downtown area in a few hours, you’ll need a few days to scratch the surface of the dining and art gazing opportunities. There might even be a minute gallery under your pillow if you look close enough.

Each street provides a warm vibe that encourages wandering. Things will come to you as well. After Michelle and I enjoyed the elevated scenic view, we were enveloped by a mariachi wedding procession. It was a partying parade, complete with donkey and mojigangas (larger than life, paper mache versions of the bride and groom). I guess we could have pretended we belonged and followed them to the reception. Next time.

That might be the only negative (or positive depending on how you look at it). People are aware of San Miguel’s grandeur so I imagine the crowds are stifling during peak times. I recently saw an acquaintance from high school got married there. Also, it’s apparently a John Mayer concert destination. That one was a little confusing. Regardless of the popularity, it’s a must see.

Cholula

Next, in order of visitation. It was just a few days before Christmas, but plenty warm enough for a t-shirt. Once more, the main focus was a church. Santuario de la Virgen  de los Remedios is perched atop a hill as well as a pyramid, somehow hidden from Spanish conquerors, if memory serves. Facts I wish I knew when I was there: it is the largest known pyramid that exists today. Yet it was hidden from invaders? Well played, you guys.

One spectacular thing about the cathedral is the view of the surrounding area, including Popocatépetl, the active volcano nearby. Of course, the pictures advertised were epic and showcased both in breathtaking fashion. It required a drone. There was disappointment.

Just below Our Lady of Remedies was an artisan market and a square of cafes and street vendors. Two different ceremonies were happening simultaneously. I think one was some kind of Aztec sacrifice. I’m not even sure how to describe it. There was a fire, massive feathered headdresses, and a circle of white-cloaked swordsmen. I kept a safe distance amidst my curiosity.

The other was the dance of the flyers. It’s a ritual that was created to ask the ancient Gods to end droughts. I have a feeling nowadays it is performed strictly as a money maker, but it was still cool to watch. Four people climbed a 100ft pole and then jumped off the top, spinning and dancing as they returned to the ground. Their costumes kind of looked like acrobatic pirates if that does anything for you.

Atlixco

Again, it was just before Christmas and it was night time. The key attraction was the Illuminated Village. Think of a tacky lights tour, concentrated mostly in one avenue but with a sliver more taste. I don’t know how many bulbs were used in total. We can just call it a fuck ton. What I do know is that the streets were shoulder to shoulder.

There were various sections of the town that had slightly unique decorations, primarily to keep the attention of smaller kids. There was a stretch that gave me the spirit for a very brief 5 seconds before 12 drunk people dominated everything.

The highlight: 2 cool staircases.

I think it’s a pass from me, unfortunately. But perhaps it is better during non-holiday times.

Tepoztlan

Our most recent trip brought us to the birthplace of the feathered serpent. Legend says that the people worshipped the Gods of wind, rain, and pulque until they stopped responding. The village elders went to consult the mountain and decided it was time to exchange those Gods for the Christian one. The moment they converted to Catholicism.

I guess.

There is a steep, 1.25 mile trail leading to a clifftop where an Aztec pyramid remains. Michelle and I had every intention of making the hour and half climb up to catch that view. The thing is, it was so damn hot the day we went. Plus, it was the middle of the day. So, you know…that plan transformed into street mojitos.

It gave us time to comb through the extensive tianguis, which was basically the entire town? I mean, the market hugged both sides of practically every street. For sure, the rustic vendor stands complimented the mountain backdrop quite well.

Contrary to the YouTube travel vlogs we watched before the trip, the vibe of the town was exceptional. It’s definitely small and wouldn’t require more than 1 or 2 nights to explore to your heart’s content, but worth a go. The mixture of history, handcrafts, and nature makes for a satisfying excursion.

So, at a measly 3% completion rate, I have a decent task of creating a respectable record of Pueblos Mágicos visits. At least now I know what to look out for. And though it’s far from comprehensive, now you have an idea as well.

Don’t mention it.

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Transitions

Normal life. Or the semblance of one. What does it involve? How does it function?

It was time to remember.

From the moment I landed in Mexico in November, I had already begun transitioning out of the nomadic lifestyle I was accustomed to. Now, I had to get adventurous in a different way: returning to the familiarity of a steady routine, a consistent bed, and the possibility of an expanded wardrobe.

Michelle and I were renting a room in a house together. Within a few days, I had keys and a public transportation card. I went grocery shopping at Walmart. I moved my clothes into drawers and a closet. Normal life.

Did I experience anxiety about relinquishing travel-filled days for a more settled space? No. Even though I was reencountering facets of ordinary life, there was still plenty to explore in the way of Mexico City.

My discovery process of this expansive place has been slow but continuous. “Poco a poco” as they would say. With a dozen popular neighborhoods, over 150 museums and parks, and an increasing landscape of restaurants, markets, and monuments, it’s a matter of years, not days. Museo de Antropologia, Bosque de Chapultepec, and Zócalo are a few obvious picks for top attractions. Though I imagine a lifelong resident still discovering lesser known gems well into old age.

Speaking of age, you will find plenty of history in and around the city as well. Whether it be Mesoamerican cities and pyramids, Aztec temples, or ruins unearthed during new metro line construction, there’s plenty of fascinating relics from bygone times. You know, like when human sacrifice and the worshiping of a feathered serpent deity were all the rage.

Nowadays, weekly feminism protests, tortillas with every meal, and bluetooth headphones are more commonplace.

The regularity of protests or marches are necessary since the machismo mindset is rampant. The fight is about general safety and respect, let alone equal treatment. Kidnappings and murders are still a frequent occurrence countrywide that the government neglects. While Mexico City is one of the more progressive locales, the large liberal population continue to have trouble making a noticeable impact. Hopefully there is a breakthrough soon.

On a lighter note: street vendors everywhere. What do you want? You can find it just a few paces away. There are mobile carts making sweets, juices, or tortas; bikes selling basket tacos, corn snacks, or accessories; stands (or the hoods of cars) for bootlegged DVDs, tchotchkes, and clothing. But don’t worry. If that’s not enough, the hustlers will come to you. On the subway, people will go train to train selling miscellaneous gum, charging cables or Jesus. Miscellaneous Jesus, everybody. 

Combine all of these things into one and you’ve got a tianguis — a street market that happens weekly in each community. It’s a great place to buy your produce, eat a delectable al pastor pambazo, or find those random cleaning supplies you forgot you needed. The first time I went, my head was on a swivel because there were too many things to observe. The same can be said for the vibrant artisanal markets scattered throughout CDMX. My favorite is La Ciudadela because it’s a labyrinth, jam-packed with colorful handcrafts. Hot tip: it’s the perfect place to knock out all of your Christmas shopping. Next on the list would be La Lagunilla, which is more of an unspoken fiesta of alcohol and food. You know people can crush an unwind sesh when it’s 2pm on a Sunday and you have to weave through a sea of drunkards and heavy waft of weed every 5 minutes. Hey, I don’t have the self-control to deny a 2×1 michelada special either.

Another rich sensory experience are all of the sounds of the city. The base layer, is of course, construction. A soft hum. On top of that, every few hours a car will drive by blaring a recorded message about buying your broken shit. The melody is permanently etched in my brain. I’m also familiar with the bell for trash pickup. The most grating though, is a two-phase, extremely high pitched whistle made by the exhausted steam from the caramelized bananas dessert guy. In addition, you can enjoy an impromptu three-song concert while eating lunch on a patio. It’s a diverse soundscape with so much character.

To try to better understand it all (and improve myself), I started taking Spanish classes at the beginning of the year. I knew nothing apart from random idioms (mi casa es su casa) and a Duolingo stint that barely scratched the surface. But the prospect of having a second language was and is exciting. I heard somewhere that if you know English and Spanish, you can communicate with like 80% of the world. That’s solid. Still, it’s a process. After 8 weeks and several mind explosions, I’m…somewhere. Further along than I was, definitely. I had an awesome teacher and group of fellow students. However, speaking and listening are everyday hurdles. Puedo entender más, pero necesito años para comunicar una idea. The concept of rapid immersion learning baffles me. Can I blame it on me being past my prime? A possible excuse. Really, I just need more time to absorb and discover.

Normal life.

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In Summary: Europe

If you ask me to pick my favorite memory from my adventure through Europe, I would stare at you as if defective. I was there for almost 6 months. That period of time exists in my mind as a blurred frenzy of history, Flixbus, walking tours, water, Oktoberfest, and, strangely (but deliciously) kebabs. Add them all together and I think I had a relatively well-balanced tour of customs and shenanigans.

The amount of Europe I traversed would maybe cover approximately one third of the US. But within that space, each country basically has their own distinct language and culture. I spent the majority of my days between The Netherlands, Germany, and Poland — I’ll expand a bit on those.

The Dutch lead a very free spirit existence, obviously, but it’s not just because they’re high everyday. They like to go about life in an uncomplicated way. Plus, they’re fit because of all the biking they do. In additional to the ample cycle paths, the canals also create a beautiful layout to the city. Each street seems to have a unique character based on either the length, width, or bridges that surround the water.

There’s more nature to enjoy in the many parks scattered throughout. Lying in a green space soaking up the sun is a super chill way to spend an afternoon. Obligatory mention of weed again. If art is more your speed, you’ll be spoiled for choice in terms of museums; you can visit Rijks, Van Gogh, and Rembrandt. I was in a period of adjusting to the Euro so I didn’t partake myself, which is an unfortunate fact of life. It just means there’s a plethora of fresh activities waiting for me when I return. Amsterdam tops my list of cities I would most like to live if I ever move to Europe.

With all of that being said, I found the German culture the easiest to acclimate to. Even though you can find more structure and efficiency in the mundane — the checkout line in the grocery store for example — the charms of the cities and neighborhoods reminded me more of home. I settled into a routine there quite quickly. It was comfortable to hang out in the “alternative” areas of St. Paul in Hamburg or Kreuzberg in Berlin. The street murals and dive bars were a welcome reflection of the artistic vibe I’m used to.

Maybe my affinity for beer is to blame, but to me, one of the best features is the ability to drink publicly in open spaces while enjoying the company of friends. The beer prices are pretty absurd too. I mean, you can get a .5L can for around €.30 and recycle it for a €.25 refund. So…you’re just about breaking even. It was a different story at Oktoberfest, however, where a stein was almost €13. For more on that drunken carnival, you can read this post.

Onto Polska, the land of gołąbki and pierogi. The history of this place is a vicious rollercoaster of invasion, brief independence, and occupation once again. Thus, resilience is a common characteristic of the people. I’ll add resourcefulness and tenacity to the mix as well. I’m pretty sure every Polish grandmother has a hardy exterior with a compassionate interior. One thing is for sure: they want you to be well-fed. I volunteered at a language camp in the countryside for a week and the 3 ladies in the kitchen were constantly plopping an extra portion on my plate. I tried to convince them I was a little fat with a complete absence of muscle but, you know, the language barrier and such.

On top of teaching English to the intelligent and charismatic youth of the country, I also worked at a hostel for a month in Krakow.

What a city.

I have trouble expressing the feeling of walking among the cobbled streets and stone walls of the old town. Suffice to say I was excited to just meander. It was like wandering through history with the amenities of the future. I don’t think you can find that combination anywhere in the U.S. Krakow might seem like kind of a hipster pick of European cities to visit, but it’s starting to make some lists. I can’t help but recommend it as well.

Another very on-the-grid tourist hot spot I visited was Prague. It has been widely discussed as a popular destination for good reason. Besides the architecture and vibe, which parallel Krakow somewhat, there are various unique attractions. I found the bridges and Prague castle mesmerizing. Six hours of exploring and taking pictures evaporated in a flash there.

The same can be said for Zadar and Split, a pair of Croatian coastal towns on the Adriatic Sea. The old forums and slender network of streets in the historic centers boasted a Romanic feel. And romantic. I’ll say it. Unfortunately, I was a little late for sailing season, but sunsets from shore were still absolute perfection.

Even though the sun has now set (for now) on my expedition through the Old Continent, I think my favorite memory is that I have so many to reminisce on: the weight of my backpack changing as I took out my camera; the way a group of fellow hostel-stayers assembled to enjoy a night out; the realization that I was standing atop historical significance; the subtle burn on my forehead as the sun reflected off the water; the atmosphere of a specific location that swept me away. This period of my life will always be marked by the liberation and influence of these experiences. That is the essence of travel.

By the Numbers

Days in Europe: 169
Countries Visited: 7
Cities Visited: 15
Days at Workaways: 58
Days Housesitting: 17
Social Network Meetups: 9
Euros Spent: ~€4476.02
USD Spent: ~$5016.70

Here’s the map of things I did in Germany, as it was the most extensive:
(click the top left button of the map to expand the list view)


Favorite Cities:
1. Amsterdam
2. Krakow
3. Prague
4. Ghent
5. Berlin
6. Split
7. Hamburg
8. Brussels
9. Zagreb
10. Sarajevo

Favorite Attractions:
1. Oktoberfest, Munich
2. Brown Bars of Brussels
3. Main Square, Krakow
4. Prague Castle, Prague
5. Vondelpark, Amsterdam
6. The Metronome, Prague
7. Old Town, Mostar
8. Plitvice Lakes, Croatia
9. East Side Gallery, Berlin
10. Elbphilharmonie, Hamburg

Favorite Walking Tours:
1. Mostar, Bosnia & Herzegovina
2. Amsterdam, Netherlands
3. Alternative Tour, Berlin, Germany
4. Hamburg, Germany
5. Zadar, Croatia
 Favorite Museums:
1. Oskar Schindler Enamel Factory
2. Ghent Museum of Design
3. Auschwitz + Auschwitz II Birkenau
4. Museum of Broken Relationships
5. SMAK

Lastly, below is an album of what I deemed to be the best photos taken during this leg of the journey.

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In Summary: Morocco

I’m not sure what was more uncomfortable, standing there knowing I was being scammed (twice) or peeing out of my butt for two days in a row. Either way, it was all happening in Morocco.

Distilling the essence of “The Western Kingdom” is difficult since I had such a mixed experience, not to mention I was only there for 12 days. My exposure to the country was limited to the specific cities and activities I did.

To start with, I was inundated with shades of orange among the dirt roads and walls of the old cities. That ever-present color palette created the perception of sandy air. It’s like there was a desert nearby or something.

Even though I didn’t have enough time for a proper trip out to the Sahara, I saw a decent amount of barren landscapes on day excursions and train rides. Side note:  public transportation a la buses and trains was surprisingly simple and reliable. However, certain passenger trains had small cabins with two rows of seats facing each other. That was quite crammed, when you factor in that many people ignore their ticketed seat assignment and sit wherever they feel like. That being said, my trips were more or less on time and adhered to the estimated duration.

Back to the architecture. The construction of the medinas seemed drab at first, but unique patterns started to reveal themselves upon closer look. The sophisticated detail of mosques and palaces was a joy to admire. Small elements showcased the French, Spanish and Portuguese influences. Outside the kasbahs, modern museums, apartments, and sport complexes were sprouting up in the larger cities. The contrast must be confusing for birds flying overhead.

Apart from the buildings, the souks are a congested tapestry of handmade figurines, colorful spices, knockoff apparel, and…well, tapestries. Though these markets are oft crowded and a risk for pickpockets, each walk through provides an opportunity to see, hear, or smell something new. Continually discovering new stalls, listening to painful negotiations, and inhaling the scent of freshly blended citrus was like being part of a complex ecosystem. I can’t count how many times I was called “Ali Baba” either. Apparently it means “strong man” or  something in that ball park. But the definition was given to me by a guy running a scam, so I’m not sure he was a reliable source. Besides the flattering nickname, I was called Spanish, Italian, German, and even Chinese at one point. There’s a first time for everything, I guess.

Speaking of the people, this is another area where I’m hot and cold. The proprietors of the hostel I stayed in were incredibly generous, intelligent and interesting. Their easygoing vibe set a good standard at the beginning of my time in Marrakech.

From there, my impression began to deteriorate. In the streets and souks, I feel like they saw foreigners as walking dirham. While one vendor could be aggressive about getting your business, another would stand firm on an outlandish price. If it wasn’t someone trying to sell you something, it was a deceitful “friend” attempting, and sometimes succeeding, at wrapping you up in an elaborate con.

One contingency of people that were completely pleasant were the ex-pats. In every city I visited, there seemed to be a healthy community of middle-aged French or Spanish couples. Perhaps they’re content with life because they moved to a place where their retirement money will have a longer runway. Regardless, both groups are navigating the mixture of cultures with class.

*Mint tea photo courtesy of Jud Mason

To end on a high note, I have to mention the cuisine. I’m talking about tajine. I’m talking about cous cous. I’m talking about mint tea. I was either unfamiliar or uninterested in all of those things before my visit. Now, I’m an avid fan. It doesn’t get much better than spiced meat and vegetables slow-cooked in a special clay pot. As a shocking revelation, mint tea was the preferred beverage of choice between my friend Jud and I. Not beer. Somehow not beer. I can’t forget about the abundance of shawarma as well. Always delicious, occasionally detrimental to the digestive tract. It was a staple meal for us, while also being ridiculously affordable.

The cost of food and beverage in Morocco is actually an interesting topic — there was an incredible range in price depending on the establishment. It’s not groundbreaking that street meat was cheap, around $2.50 USD for a wrap with fries and tea. Alternatively, a meal at a nicer restaurant was closer to $15-$20. Still a reasonable price when you compare that to an outing back home, but it’s expensive when you’re on a traveler’s budget. Lastly, a liter of beer was over $10. Hey, I never said I didn’t have any beer. That’s almost an Oktoberfest rate and I found it absurd. It went down easy though.

So, now you might be asking yourself if I would recommend a trip to Morocco. Honestly, it’s difficult to say. Just because I had a mediocre experience doesn’t mean everyone will. I know people that have thoroughly enjoyed themselves. I will say this: my next jaunt to Africa will be elsewhere. Maybe I would have a different opinion if I had more beer and less diarrhea.

By the Numbers

Days in Morocco: 12
AirBnBs: 3
Public Transportation Rides: 10
Camel Rides: 1
Medinas Visited: 4
Barbershops Seen: Infinite
MAD Spent: ~$3,889.71
USD Spent: ~$403.24 (Conversion rate of 9.646)

You can see my full cost breakdown here.

For those interested in visiting one day, here’s a list of where I went and how I ranked stuff:
(click the top left button of the map to expand the list view)


Favorite Attractions:
1. Kasbah of the Udayas
2. Bahia Palace
3. Hassan II Mosque
4. Essouira Medina
5. Jemaa el Fna

Favorite Restaurants/Bars:
1. Triskala
2. Adwak
3. Kabana
4. La Sqala
5. Blue Berry

Lastly, below is an album of what I deemed to be the best photos taken during this leg of the journey.

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Rock the Kasbah

It’s a 1980s song where the lyrics are often mistaken. It’s a 2010s film I’ve never seen. In 2019, I did my own rocking in Morocco. The first time I’d set foot on African soil. Will it be the last? Keep reading.

My friend Jud and I decided that we wanted to link up and explore the wonders of this North African country. I’d heard friends rave about it. Contrarily, while in Europe, I’d heard incredibly poor reviews. Still, it seemed like it was worth taking the chance.

I landed in Marrakech about 3 days ahead of Jud, so I had a chance to familiarize myself with the customs and surroundings. As with many, if not all, of the poorer countries in the world, cash is king. When I arrived, I planned to get some in the airport. I retrieved my bag and noticed just about everyone exchanging money at a single, very central currency counter. I searched for an ATM without any luck and decided to follow suit with the rest of the crowd. FYI – brutal conversion and service fees. There are plenty of cash machines in the city, which I’m sure charge far less per withdrawal. Since my goal was to take a local bus into downtown, I needed it right away, unfortunately.

That plan was a somewhat wild ordeal. No surprise, even in early November, Morocco is hot. I walked about 15 minutes in the baking sun to the bus stop. I was trusting Google Maps even though it had a warning about uncertain schedules. The warning was accurate. I waited there for what seemed like over an hour. Many, many other buses came and went. Just when I was going to surrender for a taxi, the L20 arrived. I was without question the only white person on board. I ignored and/or smiled politely to the onslaught of stares.

A mere 30 minutes later, I was dropped off outside the southern wall of the medina. That’s what a “kasbah” (“casbah” in English) is by the way — an old city or fortress.

I walked among the cramped, often dead-end streets before I found my hostel for the next few nights. The check-in process was interesting as there was no formal reception and no one to greet me for several minutes. That being said, there was a cool vibe with 3 floors surrounding an open-air courtyard with rooftop hangout areas as well. The 2 proprietors took time to sit down and chat with me about life as well as some pointers about the main attractions.

After a shower to wash the 20+ hours of travel off, I did a cursory walk around the main square. It was a blistering cacophony of…just about everything.

  • Motorbikes weaving around cars that barely had enough space to traverse the streets.
  • Mosques.
  • Walls within walls.
  • Snake charmers.
  • Juice vendors.
  • Handcraft stalls and pushy shirt-sellers.
  • Plenty of barber shops.
  • And let’s not forget shawarma.

I was mainly prepared for orange facades and the mix of French and Arabic culture. It was a lot more than that. I grabbed some food from a small eatery and headed back to the hostel to digest this first impression.

There wasn’t enough time to take a 2-3 day excursion out into the Sahara, so I booked a day trip to the Ourika Valley instead. The itinerary was super appealing on paper, so I had decent expectations. It promised a visit to a Berber village, a look at how Argan oil and handcrafts are made, as well as a trek to a waterfall and a camel ride.

It was mostly a let down. Everything was a crowded tourist trap, nature walk included. The camel ride especially was disappointing. The boys were lasso’d to one another, and it was just a 10-15 minute walk next to a main road. The village built into the mountain was sweet to gaze at from afar, but I’m not sure it was enough to save the day. Still, it was $45 USD (including tip for the guide) so at least it was affordable.

That basically brings us to Jud’s arrival. Our Moroccan adventure was essentially split into four parts based on where we spent our time.

MARRAKECH (PT. II)

Jud was more or less my sugar daddy on this trip — covering the AirBnBs and some other transportation costs.

We met up at the first accommodation in the north medina, which was somewhat difficult to find even with a map and specific instructions. Thank the lord for their very specific blue front door.

Even though he had been traveling for 20+ hrs with no sleep, we decided to go for a wander. I was familiar with some of the souks and the main square but that’s about it.

After some time weaving through the maze, we were approached by a “friend” who “just wanted to practice his English.” Many of the vendors and street goers are aggressive in getting your attention. It wasn’t a surprise. But this guy implanted himself into our walk, since “his house was the same way we were going.” Once he brought up taking us to a tannery, I knew it was a scam. An elaborate one.

The thing is, a tannery at its peak definitely looks worth a visit. I’ve seen some enticing photos, this dude even showed us one. The reality was not the same.

I tried explaining what would happen to Jud since I was almost wrapped up in the same scam a few days before. I thought we would arrive and be able to leave at the entrance. Our guy was in the midst of handing us off to his pal, the friendly tannery tour guide, when I asked how much it would cost. “Don’t worry about price,” he said (as if it was a dumb question). Jud and the guide continued ahead as I walked dejected, 30ft behind. It was a very uncomfortable feeling.

The place was in absolute shambles. It was apparently the last day of its operation for the next while. But we “had to see it” because “the Berber people are down from the mountains” and “only for today.”

The shallow pools used to color animal hides, normally filled with a beautiful array of bright tones, were completely brown and smelly. The dredges of mud and pigeon shit used to seal the stain. It was abysmal.

A 5 minute spiel ended and we were shepherded to a shop that sold the completed goods. Yet another handoff, this time to a salesperson. After we clearly weren’t interested in buying anything they let us leave. The first two guys magically appeared a few steps away from the shop and asked us to pay them for their services. An argument ensued from my end since I was never told the price. It wasn’t a good look, but I was careful not to be taken advantage of. Since Jud is a stand up guy, he paid them something to leave us alone.

Be warned: if you’re ever in Marrakech, don’t accept a tannery tour from anyone other than an agency or your accommodation.

On our walk back to the AirBnB we had to fend off another guy pining for money for trying to show us the way even though we didn’t need him and he didn’t know where he was going. That left me with a sour impression of Marrakech. I mean, I guess you can’t blame them for trying to make money, but honesty when prompted is kind of the decent thing to do.

The next day we made our own tour of some main attractions. First we visited a very disappointing tomb. It was a 40 minute line to see an intricately tiled room for a handful of seconds. Then, we went to a place called Bahia Palace which was built in the 19th century by the head of government. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the main courtyard was surrounded by 12 rooms, used by his 24 concubines. An incredibly detailed place, with carved molding and ceramic designs aplenty. Afterward, we checked out the highly regarded Secret Garden. It was nicely manicured, though I couldn’t help but think that it was only championed because it was a refuge of greenery in the middle of the desert.

So 1 success out of 3 made for an unimpressive day out. However, we finished it off with a rooftop sunset, a liter of beer and some shawarma.

A mistake was made somewhere along the way in terms of street meats eaten because that night was the beginning of a few rough days for the butthole. Another lesson learned.

Personally, I was happy to bid farewell to the hectic ambush of Marrakech for something more relaxed. The following day, Jud and I boarded a bus bound for “the blue city.”

ESSOUIRA

We enjoyed a pleasant yet windy walk along the coast to reach the medina. There was significantly less people and a lot more open space. Our AirBnB host walked us up a few flights of narrow stairs to reach his flat. He showed us our room and the excellent rooftop eating area where we would later watch the sunset.

It was early evening, so we got a restaurant recommendation and took a casual stroll. The wind was bitter after the sun was too low to pierce the slender streets. Jud and I made a wildly unnecessary, in-person reservation considering we were the only people in the place for the first 20 minutes of our meal. A pair of girls (Dutch and American) were eventually seated with us and we chatted for over an hour. I was continually distracted by what was going on with my insides that I didn’t eat or contribute much.

We parted company somewhere in the chilly avenues of the old city and returned to our a accommodation. That night, I nearly oozed the bed, which I’m assuming is a brand new sentence. I roughed it through until morning and turned to a medicinal solution.

It was a low-key start to the day. Breakfast overlooking the sea, no big deal. Afterward we strolled around the port which was bustling with vendors and gulls hoping for fish scraps. We were walking along the top of the sea wall when a rogue wave crashed over the rocks, completely soaking Jud. It was possibly the most direct hit the ocean has ever made. Somehow, I was lucky and only got a little salt water mist on my camera.

Once Jud changed into dryer clothes, we explored more of the city streets and gates. We saw the 18th century cannons and people making handcrafts.

We roamed the beachside path outside the medina for quite a while. There were kitesurfers, ATVs, and camel rides happening even though it was largely deserted. I wondered how different the vibe would be if it was more lively. Perhaps the wind was a deterrent. Strong gales whipped us back from time to time, took my hat for a ride once, and created an invisible sheet of sand that peppered our faces. We took refuge on a tree-lined cafe patio to have lunch.

That evening, after soaking in the sunset, we tried a traditional Moroccan restaurant. It looked upscale based on the fancy table dressings and golden wall decor. However, the entrance was awkward considering basically everyone looked up from their dishes to stare at us. We had the good fortune of sitting side by side facing them, so that was fun. The food was solid though, so we left happy despite having spectators for every bite.

The remainder of the evening was uneventful. We woke up for another rooftop breakfast and then caught a bus back to Marrakech to snag a train to Casablanca.

CASABLANCA

It seemed like nobody had anything good to say about Casablanca. “It’s a very industrial place.” “There’s nothing interesting to do there.” “Meh.”

I guess we should have listened.

The AirBnB was super nice, with lovely hosts, but the city left something to be desired. It was the most sprawling, but the least interesting in terms of visuals. There were some newer buildings under construction, but no consistent theme.

Apologies for this unimaginative section. The absence of descriptive writing reflects the blandness of the location.

We made our own walking tour to look at the purported interesting architecture. An old post office and bank, several hotels, and then some more banks. It didn’t offer enough to get my camera out of the backpack. “Meh.”

Even the medina was dull. Maybe it was the path we took, but there seemed to be very few remnants of history and alluring sights. We followed a boring street for a while until we got to Rick’s Cafe. Again, my expectations were different from reality. It was sandwiched between two other buildings and had a security guard out front. It appeared rather new and lacked any sort of unique 1940s vibe. I mean, the design was inspired by the movie, but that was difficult to ascertain from the exterior. The interior probably did a better job but since we didn’t want to get gouged by steep beer prices we passed.

Instead, we made our way along the water to check out the world’s third biggest mosque — Hassan II — an ominous sight, with a low layer of fog hugging the building. The minaret is the second largest in the world, so that had no problem sticking out of the translucent white blanket. Unfortunately, we were there at a weird time so we missed out on taking a tour of the inside. It was still by far the most interesting attraction we saw on our journey around the city.

(As a caveat, we didn’t visit La Corniche, which is apparently the beachy area where “the golden youth” hangs out. The nightlife was supposed to be decent there, but I’ll have to give that a shot on another trip.)

RABAT

Since we were unimpressed with Casablanca, we spontaneously decided to take a day trip to Rabat, which was a short train ride up the coast. It turned into a very worthwhile audible because it was easily the coolest place we encountered across our entire Moroccan adventure.

The main city had a slightly modern European vibe in terms of the layout and architecture. We made our way through the medina quickly until we reached the kasbah nestled on the mouth of an inlet. Inside, there were beautiful alleys of white and blue houses from around the 12th century. It would have been an awesome place to get lost in for a few hours. However, some guy took us on an unwanted 20 minute tour, whisking us through the place before requesting a ridiculous amount of money. A 2 hour walking tour in any major European city has more information and costs a quarter of what this guy was trying to charge. It was the only downside to the entire excursion.

Once we left his company, we found a free art museum inside a gorgeous palace courtyard. Then, we took a jaunt by the water and had lunch on a nice cafe patio.

From there, we made a gigantic loop around the freshly constructed part of the city until we wound up back at the train station.

Rabat had the potential to be a great 2-3 day destination, if only we had known beforehand.

On our last day, we took a train back to Marrakech and then a taxi to the airport. Jud disappeared through security in the early afternoon but my flight didn’t depart until around 7am the next morning. I made a quick trip back into the city to spend the rest of my dirham on some decent Christmas gifts. I rearranged my luggage for another 20+ hours of travel and stayed up chatting with friends until I was able to go to my gate.

Due to the lack of sleep and new destination excitement, I left my laptop smushed between bins at the security checkpoint. Surprisingly, I didn’t panic when I noticed hours later.

Thanks to a random travel mate connection, I was able to get it recovered. It was a painful and expensive process receiving it in Mexico, but now it’s back in my possession. Hooray! I’m going to blame that ordeal for the tiny abyss between posts.

Next I’ll have a summary of Morocco as well as a big look at my European leg. Hopefully sooner than later. Stay tuned!

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Ongoing Conflict Resolution

Everybody said that once you’d seen the bridge, you’d seen Mostar. But were they considering all the different angles you could find? Unsure.

It’s true that you can walk through the old town in around 15 minutes. However, there are a myriad of terraces and miscellaneous paths you can wander down. Like 7.

By the way, I’m talking about Bosnia & Herzegovina.

Ok. So, you can see Mostar in pretty much a day. If that’s the plan, you have to make Sheva’s walking tour a mandatory activity at some point on that day. It’s the only one that exists, presumably because it’s such a small town, but it’s also amazing. My group consisted of 4 people in total (low season). That was the perfect size to get in-depth on certain topics and make it more of a discourse. It seemed like every resident knew him, and in turn he knew everything about Mostar.

We started in the center of the old town and learned about the ancient history. The Muslim influence of the Ottoman Empire explained the plethora of minarets among the skyline. The name ‘Mostar’ means bridge-keeper, so…it makes sense that the thing is such a staple there.

Apparently it’s a rite of passage for every man to jump off the bridge into the river below. It’s a distance of 22 meters aka about 70 feet. They have their own method and everything. In the summer, there’s an entire diving competition. Even being in the middle of autumn, with the water temperature at 9º Celsius, there were still daily jumps. I witnessed one. Sheva told us that anybody could jump if they wanted, they just had to pass a test run of 16m. My interested was piqued.

That’s where it remained. Should I have done it? Perhaps. But I also enjoy being conscious and having my faculties, as dim as they may seem sometimes.

Once the foundational history was established, Sheva began to describe the more recent and difficult past surrounding the Bosnian war that spanned 1992-1995.

As Bosnia & Herzegovina is home to 3 different cultures of people (Bosnians, Croatians, and Serbians), it was complicated when Yugoslavia began to disband in 1991. Once the conflict really broke out, Mostar was divided into two halves: Croatians to the west and Bosnians to the east — the line of demarcation being the main road. We stood on a spot that was in the middle of two buildings that were still devastated.

From that point, he showed us an old bank building on the Croatian side of town that was used as a sniper tower. To this day, some 20 years later, it still sits there abandoned and a symbol of the death and destruction that occurred. A day later, I went and “snuck in” to take a closer look. Nowadays, it’s just a few stories of graffitied concrete and errant weeds. But if those walls could talk.

From Mostar, I took a bus to the capital of Sarajevo. Much more sprawling. The city center had clear influences of the two ruling powers. In fact, there was an actual line separating the Ottoman Empire section from the Austro-Hungarian side. The former featured short stone buildings, fountains and, of course, an important mosque; the latter had square, colored architecture with intricate detail. A relic of that era that I completely spaced on was the assassination site of Arch Duke Franz Ferdinand and his wife. I stood where Gavrilo Princip pulled the trigger and ignited World War I. Pretty wild to think about.

My favorite spot was an alley full of shops that offered hand-chiseled copper goods — an array of coffee sets, jewelry, and ornamental plates. Taking a stroll down this tiny avenue came with a soundtrack of ticking and tacking. It’s a shame I don’t enjoy coffee. Blasphemous in this region.

During my other exploring, I took a cable car up to the top of the nearby mountain and walked down. This gave me the opportunity to become an honorary olympian, albeit sledless. As Sarajevo hosted the 1984 Winter Olympic Games, there was an entire bobsled track up there…also abandoned and graffitied. It was a unique attraction, but I think it actually sounds cooler than it was.

The last major thing I did was tour the City Hall. It was originally the National and University Library of Bosnia. During the war, it was shelled so bad that almost all of the 1.5+ million books and rare manuscripts were damaged/burned beyond saving. The building was renovated over the course of almost 20 years and reopened in 2014 as a national monument. The interior molding, paintings, and sculptures are quite stunning.

As a special exhibit, they were screening a film called “Scream For Me Sarajevo” that documented a concert Iron Maiden played in the city while it was under siege in 1994. It was a well-crafted narrative from members of the band and citizens that attended the show. They gave their accounts of what life was like during the war and how they were willing to risk their lives to see Bruce Dickinson sing. The amount of influence and inspiration that one band and one gig had over the morale of a city’s population is astounding. I’m not sure it gets any better than that from a musician’s standpoint. The most meaningful show they’ll ever play I’m sure.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gYuNEF7Snok

Ending on a high note, I departed Sarajevo just as the consistent rain was rolling in. It was one more European bus journey before flying to Morocco to meet up with ole pal Judson. Onto a new continent, climate, and culture.

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Fjaka

It’s the Croatian coastal term for “the art of doing nothing.” I got into it. I got used it to. I enjoyed the hell out of it.

Croatia was runner-up at the most recent World Cup, as all the football/soccer fans out there would know. For those unaware, maybe you’re familiar with Yacht Week and all the glorious sailing? Still no? How about the birth place of the cravat? Ok, surely you knew that many Games of Thrones scenes were filmed in Dubrovnik then? I knew about 3 of the 4. As a frequent cravat wearer, I had no clue about Games of Thrones, obviously. What even is that?

While I didn’t make it down to Dubrovnik to experience the majesty of the King’s Landing set, I visited 3 other major cities throughout the country.

ZAGREB

I started in the capital city of Zagreb, not far from the Slovenian border. As I was recovering from Oktoberfest, I laid low for a few days. I literally only left the hostel to find food. I was also catching up on some freelance work and overall life admin.

Eventually, I decided to go on the free walking tour to learn about my surroundings. This revealed two legends: one about the checkerboard design used on the flag (a chess victory over the Italian King) and the origin of the city’s name (a love story of a girl grabbing water for a military general). Let’s not forget the gem about the cravat either.

We entered through the stone gate, visited St. Mark’s church, and watched the traditional firing of the canon at noon. While there was no canon ball projectile, there was a legit sound of the blast. Incredibly loud and unexpected.

Another notable thing I did was visit The Museum if Broken Relationships, which was started by a former Croatian couple. It is what it sounds like: a collection of items and first-hand accounts that tell the story of breakups from all over the world. Some were humorous, some were tragic, and some were unquestioningly odd. Like the 27 year old scab that someone’s partner saved. Love really knows no bounds.

ZADAR

My next stop was a few hours due south to the coastal settlement of Zadar. While the old town was very compact, it can best be described by one of my favorite adjectives — cozy.

It was a collection of narrow pathways and alleys that created a maze. Think Venice without the canals. That’s actually an accurate example since it was under Venetian rule several times throughout history.

There was an ancient forum in the center of town, circa 48 BC, that was mostly in ruins. Still, there were plenty of churches and old stone buildings to be amazed by. In addition to the historical landmarks, there were also two modern installations by the water. One was a series of tubes and steps built out into the Adriatic Sea that made music based on the waves.

Just a few feet away was a big digital sun set into the ground. It played a light show to keep everyone entertained after the incredible sunset had finished. On that subject, Alfred Hitchcock is on record saying that Zadar has the most beautiful sunsets in the world. Thanks for the tip, man. I did partake in viewing my fair share. No complaints.

For a one day excursion, I took a trip out to Plitvice National Park to see some nature. I didn’t even consider that the autumn colors would be in full effect. It was a gorgeous day to soak in the vibrant array of greens and oranges. Walking next to calm, reflective lakes and intricately shaped waterfalls was a pleasant way to spend a few hours walking.

SPLIT

I kept the coastal vibes flowing by continuing my tour down to Split. This was a more popular destination for tourist as it’s bigger and more of a hub for cruise ships and various island hopping.

The old town here was larger and impressive, the main palace dating back to the 4th century before the Christians came and gave it an update in the 1300s.

There were still tight winding avenues to get lost in, but also bigger promenades to accommodate the influx of people during peak season.

Split was established on a peninsula that has a modest hill you can quickly hike to enjoy a panoramic view of the landscape. I was too late to catch the literal sun setting thanks to daylight savings throwing me off, but that didn’t take away from the spectacle. I saw orange bouncing off the inland mountain range that hugs the city. A soft gradient of yellow outlined the peaks and gradually transitioned to blue. Opposite that, layers of pink and purple hovered above the water and blanketed the islands. Noice.

This is where I embraced fjaka. I went to the beach and just existed for a while. The beaches here are beds of small stones. At first I was skeptical, but I must say it gets my vote above sand. I wasn’t toting 10,000 grains with me for days after I left. Sure, it was a bit less comfortable to lay on, but with a proper towel or blanket it’s all good. I thought I’d missed out on swimming since it was deep into fall. On the contrary. Plenty of locals were taking refreshing dips so I did as well. While the water was by no means warm, it was totally manageable in the Mediterranean sun. Clear and salty. The fish were curious but seemed fine sharing.

After the much appreciated relaxation and vitamin D top up, I made arrangements to travel to Bosnia & Herzegovina. I wasn’t really aware of it as an option months ago, but fellow backpackers had good things to say. Might as well.

A mind is like a parachute.
It doesn’t work if it’s not open.

Frank Zappa

That was randomly pulled from the internet. Sounds good though.

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The Oktoberfest Black Hole

I got lost in a vacuum. Thankfully, it was the good kind of lost. For the better part of a month, I was in a whirlwind of German beer, party people, the S2 train, and rolling sleeping bags.

This was my most anticipated Workaway to date — an Oktoberfest with Festanation. I knew it was going to be camping for the entirety of the festival, but that was the only real information I had.

The majority of the volunteers arrived on a Sunday in the middle of September. It was a largely empty site at an old Olympic stadium/horse farm. The first day was all about icebreakers and orientation talk. There was something like 60 of us from 20 different countries. Everyone was preassigned a role and separated into a Camp 1 or Camp 2 faction.

The next day, the Camp 1 hooligans were shipped off to their temporary home and my Camp 2 fam began constructing the remainder of our drunken sanctuary. We had 3 intense days of setting up tents and teepees, building out a kitchen, and decorating and organizing to create some coziness.

While this phase was grueling at times, it gave everyone an opportunity to grow into a close crew. Especially when we finished for the day and the beers came out. We punished crate upon crate of €.29 Pilsner. Everyone quickly became pseudo-dependent on alcohol. It was like none of us could act normally without a few sips of something. But finally, we were ready for our first guests.

The first day of Oktoberfest, it was my responsibility to shepherd the guests in…even though I’d never done it before. Half of them immediately got on a train without me, so I guess that made things easier.

It was a beautiful day. All reports were that it would be impossible to find a table but we were able to snag one in the Biergarten at the Paulaner fest hall. After the mayor officially tapped the first keg at noon, the steins began flowing. It was a glorious thing to witness. The waiters and waitresses were carrying out 12 liters of beer at once. Insanity. I was with a group of fellow volunteers and the wheels came off the wagon relatively early. We kept losing each other amidst the crowd of other drunkards. We convened outside another tent and started snatching up abandoned beers next to the entrance. When I lost the group for the sixth time, I wandered around some more and decided to head back to camp.

Thus, the cycle had started.

Oktoberfest can be difficult to manage. I went in probably around 10 times. When you’re sober, it is significantly less fun! I couldn’t believe that parents were bringing their children there. When you’re there all day, it’s a proper test of drinking at the right pace. A liter of beer is a shit ton to start off with. But it’s also brewed at a higher percentage for the festival. The trouble is, “Ein Prosit” (drinking song), is played about every 5 minutes, so you’re continually pouring that sweet nectar down your gullet. Otherwise, you’ve got some jolly tablemates that want to cheers because everyone blinked. It’s continuous. And usually you forget to eat even though pretzels the size of a lion’s head pass by at a steady clip.

All that being said, it’s a hell of a time. Everybody is in positive spirits (because beer) and there’s rarely a place that you won’t make a fast friend. I saw more people being wheeled out on gurneys from extreme drunkenness than fights.

The most dangerous outings for me came when I got off of a late shift and went in for just two hours. By that time, the entire beer hall was standing on benches and singing along to classic tunes. The rate of consumption increased as the vividness of my memories decreased. There’s a reel or two missing, if you know what I mean.

A few days into the festival, I ran out of cellular data. At the camp, there was no WiFi, so I was feeling very disconnected from the rest of the world. Hence, the vacuum. The only world I knew was in front of me. Fellow volunteers. Taking the train. Drinking a stein. Standing on benches chatting with strangers. Eating eggs for breakfast. Spending an entire 7 hour shift cleaning and rolling sleeping bags. Repeat.

As an aside, some of the guests staying with us were heathens. I can’t even begin to describe the amount of vomit, piss, and sometimes shit we had to deal with during housekeeping shifts. “Shocking behavior!” as a fellow travel mate once said.

Back to the camp — tent life for a month is an unusual standard. First off, the bipolar German weather had us sweating during the day and absolutely freezing at night. Not to mention the amount of rain we had. Where do you hang your shower towel to dry when it’s pissing down? Second off, have you ever tried to stay organized when living inside a small plastic box for more than a week. I was losing shit left and right, which we know is uncharacteristic for my semi-OCD ass.

I still can’t believe how quickly the time evaporated. There were so many random, but amazing things that happened among the Festanation staff. Pranks on the regular. Virginity lost. Other hook ups. Wearing ridiculous outfits. Todd. Dancing to outlandish songs on repeat. Smuggling beverages. Turning a carrot into a trumpet. Stickers everywhere. Making fun of Flavio. Yes, that carrot thing really happened.

The overall event met, exceeded…disintegrated expectations? I don’t know. It ranks up there around incredibly unforgettable (except for the parts I forgot due to beer) on the scale of great experiences. The rag tag crew of people were an absolute riot. There’s one person, though, that I was lucky enough to really connect with throughout camp. Michelle stole me away. She is a positive, intelligent and creative person with an infectious laugh and an inescapable brightness. Plus, I don’t think she’s ever taken a bad photo. This is beyond any camp or festival fling. I’m starting to believe that sometimes you just know.

As the festival came to a close and our last guest checked out, the reality of what was next began to set in. The first few people left camp and it was depressing. Not only did we have to start tearing down everything we’d built and known for the past few weeks, but we also had to start saying goodbye. It really hit me when I saw the shop at the entrance that sold lederhosen and dirndls was completely empty. Also when they took our showers away and we still had 3 days of pack up left.

The camp 2 family went out for a last supper to celebrate the survival of Oktoberfest 2019. It wasn’t the whole group, but it was a quality time. We had an award ceremony and a final get smashed bash in what was left of the reception tent afterward.

The following day, people started to trickle out. Myself included. I went into Munich to spend one last night with Michelle.

Oh, yeah. Munich. I saw almost none of the city during the entire month. Remember that vacuum?

Anyway, the real goodbye was on a Friday morning. I got on a bus headed for Croatia. I crossed the border safely (which was good news for many reasons), and I wondered when I would see everyone next. Especially that special girl in Mexico.

Soon.

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Happy Anniversary

One year away from home. Actually, a few days longer, but who’s counting?

It was a thrilling prospect before I left. Uncharted territory. Like landing on the moon. Ok. Obviously not that significant. But, still a leap into the unknown. After being gone so long, the concept of home has changed. Life on the road has essentially morphed into my “normal.” So I guess it’s a battle of two adages: “home is where the heart is” or “home is where you hang your hat.” If we’re going by the former, it’s still Richmond. If we’re going by the latter…well, damn. I have been wearing hats a lot. And they’ve been hanging in so many different places. Counting the number of beds I’ve slept in over the past year would take a full day, so we’re going to have to settle for “heaps.”

As a person that loves the order and comfort of my own space, I’ve adapted as well as can be expected to messy hostels, a consistently uninteresting wardrobe, and living out of a backpack. Either I’ve relaxed the desire to control my environment (thus developing lazier habits) or I’m able to recognize that the situation is mostly temporary so I don’t sink effort into changing it for a day. I think my mindset would be different if I knew it was more permanent. The only way to know for sure is to make an assessment after I’ve returned.

By far, the most repetitive conversation I’ve had over my travels is: 

  • What’s your name? 
  • Where are you from?
  • How long have you been traveling?
  • Where have you been?
  • Where are you heading next?

I’ve considered getting the answers tattooed on myself. The frequency is somewhat painful, but it does lead to some worthwhile interactions with fellow travelers. The contacts list in my phone has definitely exploded. To be fair, I’m not communicating with all of them, but there’s about a dozen people I will continue to stay in touch with and likely meet up with again on my journey.

It’s impossible to list the incredible experiences I’ve had during this year abroad. Multi-day excursions, summit views, and activities…or entire locales that have taken me well outside of my comfort zone. As is the case with time, the memories are becoming fuzzier. Is my recall just bad or is it a universal problem for everyone? It seems next to impossible to vividly remember the exact details of a particularly great event. I can pinpoint some of the colors and shapes, but the reason or emotion is harder to summon. Even though they’re not totally gone, losing part of the shine on some these adventures already means it’ll be that much harder to relive in the future. I guess it’s somewhat of a conundrum trying to stack new memories on top of the old ones for fear of completely forgetting the past. Thankfully I can at least retrace the bread crumbs through some pictures and video.

One thing I haven’t grown out of is being a slave to money. I mean, I don’t have a dedicated budget, but I’m constantly choosing the cheapest possible option for almost every meal and accommodation. In retrospect, I think I went too fast and loose in New Zealand and Australia. I told myself before I left that I wouldn’t turn down an experience because of cost and I haven’t necessarily stuck to that principle. Now that I’m in Europe, I’ve got to be much more strategic with spending. Eliminating solo beers and unnecessary trips to the bar has helped. Also, lining up Workaways and housesits keeps the cash from flying out of my pocket.

While the volunteering opportunities have been good for my wallet, they’ve also given me a lot more down time. I’ve noticed a general malaise creeping up recently. I don’t think it’s a lack of energy because I’ve been getting decent sleep in the ever-changing beds. It might be a lack of motivation, though. For the past month or so, I’ve been coasting — very passive about exploring new areas and making decisions that stimulate the soul. I certainly recognize that I’m in a privileged situation to be able to travel like this, so I need to shake it off.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still thoroughly enjoying my time. I haven’t felt an inescapable thrall to return home yet.

Yet.

Perhaps it’s coming. Maybe the lack of lifestyle consistency is starting to take a toll. Or I just need to test the boundaries again. Time to challenge myself again. I’m on a quest for the invigorating and it’s going to be awesome.