An explorer of souls and cities
After this week, I realized why I like traveling so much. It's not really the destination or the place. No, don't get me wrong. I mean, yeah I really enjoy the beauty of each place I've passed by, and absolutely, I've loved meeting the people there, both locals and travelers like myself.
I don't know what it is, but I think I just really revel in the unknown, the journey to get there. We were on the bus leaving Athens, and my brother said, do you know where this bus goes? And I remember shrugging, um, I think it goes to Corfu. I'm pretty sure it goes to Corfu. Really, are you sure. No, but I'm pretty sure.
And I was giddy happy. I was happy being on this crazy bus with people speaking a foreign language, going somewhere I've never been to, or at least I thought it was going there.
When we left Gin's house in the Amalfi coast, we had a rough idea that we were going to Athens, and that was all. We were gonna try to make it there, but I don't think I would have minded if we ended up somewhere else.
So I think I just learned something about myself. Or relearned. That I am really a crazy and potentially unsafe travel partner.
Oh, and I took the title of this post from Jack Kerouac's
Mexico City Blues, 33rd Chorus:
... I'm an idealist
who has outgrown
my idealism
I have nothing to do
the rest of my life
but do it
and the rest of my life
to do it...
Such a beautiful book. Get a copy. I recommend.
Burnt in Corfu
It hurts. Everything hurts. Well, everything where the sun burnt my skin hurts. I'm now black, red, and burnt.
Today there was a celebration of the Orthodox Easter in Corfu town, and Alexandros, a Greek friend I met told us that we should go see it. Only problem is, the Pink Palace is on the other side of the island, and definitely not walkable. It's Easter so the buses don't run, and we
could take the ATVs, but we think they're rather obnoxious to take into town and be all loud. So there, no exploring Corfu town.
Yes, I'm pouting. Big time.
On to plan B, we decided to join Jen and Amanda sea kayaking. We got all the way out to a little island, but couldn't land cuz there's no beach, so we turned around and found a quiet alcove and laid out in the sun. I climbed around on the boulders on the beach, and got weird look from a guy who owns the bar facing them.
Nikki, Amanda, and Jen. Kayaking extraordinaires. A few more weeks at the Pink Palace and we could go pro. Or check in an alcohol rehab. Or both.
I still have no sunscreen on. Yes, I'm
brilliant.
Quan wanted to go back and go in the jacuzzi, so we paddled back. I opted out of the jacuzzi though. I mean, really, it's nicknamed the local sperm bank for a reason. So yeah, um, NO THANKS. Yes, I know the chlorine kills everything, but the thought of submersing myself around dead sperms is somehow a little revolting.
Anyway, that night there was a Pink Toga Party. What's a Pink Toga Party you ask? It's a brilliant, brilliant scam. You convince everyone to get into a pink toga, which they have to rent for 10 euros and they get 9 back if they remember to return it. Then, in order to avoid feeling a little ridiculous they'd have to get lots and lots of alcohol from your bar. And hoorah! Mulah baby. Mulah!
Oh Quaaaan, you look so lovely in pink.
Pink toga party, the pinkest scam in the world.
Corfu, Pink Palace
Nikki macking... err... making friends. We met Allexandros, who was coming home to Corfu for Easter weekend. Props to him because he taught us some Greek, knowing full well we will never really get it.
Corfu town. View from the ferry.
I am officially black. From now on, I will be checking the "African American" box on application forms and things like that, because my skin is as black as can be.
Actually, come and think about it, I wish my skin were all black, and not have some kind of cafe latte, chocolate vanilla thing going on.
So yeah, I did nothing today. Nothing. I got to the Pink Palace, had a shot of ouzo, dropped off my bag, and laid out in the sun, hanging out with Lindsay and a bus load of Canadian boys.
I was a lazy bastard today for a good reason. A very good reason.
Last night we decided that we saw enough of Athens, and hopped on a bus to Corfu. Oh Lord, it was a bus ride from hell. We left at 9, and the bus would keep stopping every other hour, for whatever goddamn reason. And the guy behind me must have thought it was Disco night at Roxy's or something, because he blasted his music to like 500 dB.
Then, we got off the bus at five in the morning, lined up to get tickets to get on the ferry. The ferry was cramped like Noah's ark, and everyone was smoking like a chimney in December.
So I got to the Pink Palace and crashed. Crashed and burnt.
I laid out in the sun without any sun block. I'm Asian. I don't burn. Yeah, WRONG. More wrong than wrong. Oh yeah, I burnt big time. I took a shower before dinner and wondered why the shower was so hot. Then I realized, oh, it's not the water that's burning, it's my skin.
Athens
Woot! We enjoyed the Acropolis very much and not so much the National Archaeology Museum, mainly because it was closed when we got there.
What kind of museum closed at freaking 3 in the afternoon????
Alright alright, so maybe we should have checked the time, but that would go against the laissez-faire spirit of our trip.
So honestly, Athens is kinda overhyped. I mean, it's chocked full of historical importance, for sure, but there is only so much you can take in before exploding with facts and figures and dates and Greek and Roman names. It's also a great city if you have a fat wallet, which we definitely do not. So, we're gonna book it tonight and head to Corfu for some fun in the sun.
Yay!
Don't ever, ever, EVER tell these Greeks they are Turks
Patras to Athens
Holy bloody hell! We made it to Athens. I mean, really. When we woke up yesterday in Gin's house in Vietri, we were like, yup, back on the road again, and we're going to Athens. That was
all we knew. Weren't sure how, when, or where, just had some really, really, I mean
really vague idea that it would involve hopping on some buses and trains and maybe a ferry or two.
But bullocks, we made it.
(Not done, will write more later)
Amalfi Coast, Vietri
We did it.
We survived the craziness in Roma. And now we're in heaven. Or somewhere very close to it, but only better, because it's reachable by a three hour train ride from Roma Termini, and you don't have to confess all your sins for admission.
We're staying at Gin's place in
Vietri, which sits on top of the hill overlooking the whole coast, and we honestly cannot stop rubbing our eyes or pinching our eyes asking, am I dreaming?
So yes, the Amalfi coast and Gin's hospitality have stolen our hearts.
You may never hear from us again. Or maybe not for a little while, because we will be busy laying on his rooftop soaking up the sun, playing with the kitty, and taking in the salty ocean air.
Someone put that song "Heaven" on.
Survival of the luckiest
So yes, we have come to the conclusion that Charles Darwin might have been right about the survival of the fittest, but when you are in Rome, being fit has nothing to do with it. It is all about pushing your luck.
At least when it comes to traffic and crossing the street. I cannot tell you how many times we've been thisclose to going to meet the maker.
It's our last day here, and with any luck, and we've been doing good on that so far, we'll make it down to the Amalfi coast tonight.
And for that, I'll say a little Amen, even though I'm not religious, which probably puts me in the minority here in this town, because it seems like
everybody is here for the whole Pope thing. And the end of the war celebration too. Lots of celebrating.
So yes, add total anarchy to a truck load of people from all over the world.
Hooray. We will for sure pray to lady luck tonight.
Anyway, the sun is shining and the gelato is calling. We are leaving the hostel now. Gonna go play with the cats on Palantino hill and chill on St. Peter's square for a little while, and marvel in the fact that we are still indeed miraculously walking among the million flying mopeds.
Bella.
Italian parking. Because my car might take up too much of the road, I'll use the sidewalk too.
Stuck in Rome
Ok, you haven't
really been to France or Italy until you live through this,
a STRIKE
Yeah, that's right. We are in Rome, with nowhere to go, and all the sites to see, because the Italian public transportation system is on strike.
We are stuck.
Yay.
Rome
Hey look, it's Ariel's dad!
Quan ponders the meaning of life. Or dreaming about the next coco gelato.
I can't help it. Nikki bouldering in the Colosseum.
Leaving Firenze and coming to Roma
Oh my god. The line. The lines. Both the lines to the Ufizzi and the Academy are as long as the history of this town. Jesus.
It rained. We stood in line for a total of 5 hours for both museums. And paid way to much to see David. I shouldn't have gone in. I don't know why I did. Oh yeah, I thought there was a student or youth reduction and I was paying and the guy is like, yeah, NO reduction sorry, then didn't even wait for me to say nay or yay, but just took my money and gave us the tickets and went, ok next. Bastard.
So I saw David again and five million other pieces of sculptures, which paled in comparison to David and looked like garbage after seeing David.
Who died and made you the art critic, Nikki?
Oh woops.
And then the Ufizzi line was ridiculous. Quan and Chris stood in line and talked about sports stats for three hours. I now understand why guys keep track of that sort of things. Wait, no, I don't, but at least it kept the boys occupied while I walked to the train station and got tickets to Rome.
Then inside the Ufizzi I walked straight to the Botticelli room and sat staring at Primevera and Birth of Venus.
Fast forward to Rome. We got here super late. The metro closed at 9 something, which is so retarded because it's a big metropolitan city, and we could not understand how the metro could close so early. So I asked in broken Italian how to catch the bus to Alessandro's place. We packed into this sardined bus, and I had NO idea where the stop was and when to get off, and by some miracle this guy understood my Italian enough to tell me when. We got off, realized the train stopped running, and Alessandro had to come get us. We were waiting for him at the deserted train station not knowing where the hell we were and wondered how he could find us.
Plan B was that we would take shifts sleeping.
But Alessandro came and took us home and cooked us dinner and we were once again spoiled rotten.
Train ride from Florence to Rome
Florence
So we got here yesterday, and I tried to update but the server sucked. I think the content of the post was something like this:
Dead. So dead. Beyond dead. Going out now. Gonna be even more dead. Bye.
Ok anyway, we walked around to the Duomo and Santa Croce today, and up the hill to see Florence in all of its glory from up high.
At Matteo's place right now, eating, drinking, sleeping for free. Sweet deal, although the floor is cold to sleep on at night.
On the road again tomorrow. To Rome.
Ah yes, Roma.
And then to Naples.
Gonna sleep now. Later.
Spring in Florence
Florence
Finally in Florence. At Matteo's house now. So dead. Dead. Dead. Beyond dead. But I guess we are going out now, so I will be beyond beyond dead after tonight.
See you on the other side.
Mateo's kitchen floor. Why yes indeed we did sleep here.
Pisa
Oh yes, obligatory cheesy overused and abused tourist pose
A crack in everything - last night in the French Riviera
So yes, the much anticipated event of the day did not happen today.
I am talking about going climbing at Annot, and how the weather god said, Nuh uh I don't think so.
"I was bummed out" is putting it lightly.
The day ended, though, in the best way I could ever imagine. George made a yummilicious dinner, and we drank, ate, and listened to some of the best songs I've ever heard.
One being
Anthem by Leonard Cohen. And my favorite lines go:
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in
So this is it. Life on the Riviera. It's been pleasant, and the living's been easy and relaxing. Tomorrow, actually, make that in a couple hours, we will pull our backpacks over our shoulders yet once more, and hit the road. Going down to Pisa, and over to Florence to say hi to David.
I am dead tired, and the absinth is hitting, so I'll be signing out here.
Ciao bella.
As American as ...
On my last day in Barcelona, after having searched for my stable: peanut butter, for forever, I found a small jar of peanut buttter-ish in a small shop tucked in a corner near La Rambla.
Quan said, "Why do they call it as American as apple pie? You can get apple pie anywhere, but not peanut butter."
"Omg! I know! That's right on!" I exclaimed.
Then here in France George was so excited when he came home from Paris, and he was boasting about how he just got a huge jar of extra crunchy Jif.
You'd understand too, if you walked in a grocery store and there are three aisles dedicated to Nutella, but not a peanut shell is in site.
I thought Quan had a good observation, so from now on, I'll say, "as American as peanut butter." And when I come home, I am going to buy a big tub of
Adam's All Natural Extra Crunchy, and bask in all of its glory.
Travel essentials
I was telling Quan this, about how travelling makes you realize the things you really need in life, not what you want, but what you need, the basic human needs.
I made a list: food, shelter, water, toilet paper, hot showers...
Then Quan said: um, digital camera, and people who speak English, hello!
Oh yeah, and don't forget, high speed internet connection.
There you have it, travel wisdom from us, free or your money back.
Travelling with Quan
I have this brother, Quan.
He's a riot.
When we embarked on this trip, I was pretty sure we'd be fine, although I had no idea how it'd be with us hanging out with each other 24/7.
So far, it's been super fun. He makes fun of me. I make him walk all over the place, and he whines like a cat. "I was expecting beaches and women in bikini, not a hike!"
I have been to most of the cities we are passing by, but this time around with Quan it's not just about marathons of museums and racing through town to see everything built since the Ice Age. We just chill, hang out with locals, laugh at anything and everything. Nothing is sacred.
It's been awesome, and he's having loads of fun too. I told him there are no more hills from here on out, and no more high places to walk up to, except for Firenze, and Roma, and ...
Woopsies.
Home
So I named this post "Home" because I'm listening to that song right now. Have you heard it? By Michael Buble?
I'm sitting in George's living room right now, in a small town called
Mandelieu la Napoule, 10 minutes by train from Cannes. I have fallen in love with this place. When I crossed over from Spain, and when I arrived here, just last Monday, there was this sense of... coming home.
You know how there are places that are nice to see and nice to visit, but you're not sure if you could really live there. And there are places that you say, "yeah, I could live here", and the Côte d'Azur is definitely one of those places for me.
It is icky outside. Heavy rain tapping the seas, and the trees are doing yoga. It is both a blessing and a curse to me, because I was soooo ready to go to
Annot to
pull on some blocs. I woke up, realized that I had to run like Dash from the Incredibles and get to the train at some unhuman speed. Threw my stuff in the bag, and ran out the door, bumped into George. "Okay guys gotta run", I yelled. "Um, where are you going, and have you looked outside." Sure enough I could see Noah building his ark. Dropped my bag on the floor and pouted, "what, you mean I can't go climbing? Whaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!!"
So the blessing is that I can get caught up on a few things, like laundry, and emails, and sitting around talking to George, and watching funny and raunchy commercials in every other language. And especially sitting down and writing all the thoughts I've had bottling up inside.
It is a chill day. I am not being a tourist. I live here. It feels like I do, at least.
I would tell Quan a bunch of times, "I could live here", and he's like, "without Internet?" And I'd go, um... negative.
People ask if I miss home, and I do, and don't. I do and I don't. It's weird, sometimes I feel like I can call any place home, and then sometimes I'm like, no, I've got to go home. Home home. Seattle home.
I guess I don't have a very solid notion of "home". Sometimes I am a stranger in my own town. I was walking around in Porto, talking to Rui, and I realized for one brief moment that I absolutely loved... that moment. There was no past or present or up or down, just now. Just here. So naturally, with the help of Port wine, I philosophised.
When you know that you only have so many hours and minutes at a certain place, you just... you take it all in and say, ok, this moment, I belong here. I won't be here long, but while I am here I will be here. Then that song by the Postal Service came to my mind, "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight", and I kept singing over and over,
I am just a visitor here, I am not permanent. It wasn't just Portugal, or Europe, or even Seattle, I felt like a visitor to this... this world, this life.
Nice
PicturesSo, Nice is kinda boring.
Yes, yes, I know, I'm a snob.
First, everything is under either construction or restoration. So you are walking by a large poster of what something *would* look like if it weren't covered by ladders and nets. But that's ok, really, since we are not big on being a super tourist.
Then, the beach has no sand, and you are sitting on a large field of rocks. Plus, the wind chill factor made it a little uncomfortable. It's hard to enjoy a day at the beach when you are huddling in a little ball, trying to avoid hypothermia.
We walked up to the castle, and that was nice to see the coast from up high, but we were hungry and Quan was seriously hating walking, so we booked it hella fast.
The highlight of the day in Nice was probably eating really good crepes.
The train back to George's place even sucked because there were so many people packed in, I rode half of the way standing up.
So Nice, maybe we'll have better luck with it next time.
Mandelieu la Napoule
PicturesLounged around for half a day and finally got up on our asses to walk to the beach. I know, how lazy can you be to be lazy to just walk to the beach, which is 15 minutes away?
Yes, life is hard.
Hoy, there's a castle!
Sur la plage, en plus!
So of course I had to boulder around every corner, while my brother rolled his eyes and whined, "Do you have to climb
everything?"
Ah, and George came home from his business trip, so we finally met up and hung out, where else, on the beach, of course.
Sunrise over Mandelieu from George's deck
The French Riviera
Getting to Cannes in the morning
The rest of the pictures
Day 15 - Barcelona, a walk through
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Day 14 - Barcelona, fun with haggling, and um are we still in Spain?
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Day 13 - Barcelona
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Segovia, fun with aquaduct
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Day 11 - Madrid, fun with museum
So we went from Lisbon to Porto to get some
wine, and then to Madrid, which is where we are right now. In an Internet café on Gran Via. I know, I know. I said I´d write detailed updates. But things happened and I didn´t. I´ll probably have some chill time later in Cannes where I´m staying at a friend´s house, and I´ll give a jour-à-jour update. Or maybe not, the place is a 15 minute walk from the beach, so yeah.
As for pictures, they are beautiful, starring me and all, but they are all still in the flash card, so hold still.
We are heading to the
Prado and the
Thyssen for some culture, and then crash, because we spent all night sitting upright, or in my case, curling in a fetal position.
Tomorrow we´re heading to
Segovia and then to Barcelona the day after that.
I´m hoping to go climbing in Barcelona, but haven´t found anyone willing to take me yet, so I just might have to be happy with climbing in Portugal for a while.
It´s nice and sunny here, and I just had some yummy paellas, and seafood soaked in butter and alcohol. What´s going on in your part of the world? Drop a line.
Love and kisses, and sunglasses tan lines rule.
N
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Lisbon, Castle St Jorge, Resto, Alfama
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Belem, Cascais, Portugal
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Sesimbra
PicturesAfter getting over all the wine and beer of yesterday, we went to Sesimbra, a beach town near Lisboa.
Helga drove, and her rearview mirror is held up by brown tape, and it was getting dark and wet and windy. And Lisboa has something like the highest car-related death rate in Europe.
We made it both there and back, and had some crazy rainy windy time at the seashore.
Lisbon! Lisboa! - Dia sete
Obrigada!
Means "Thank you!" And that was my first word in Portuguese. So right. We decided that we had had enough of San Sebastian, and while bar skipping would have been fun, we had just begun our trip and our liver needed to function alright for the next two months, so we hopped on a 12 hour train to Lisbon on Thursday night.
The train ride was still cold, but I got to lay down bc Quan and I had the whole cabin to ourselves.
Portugal is beee ew tee ful. The rugged country side was just so cool to look at. I know, since I am full of prose and eloquent words, let´s just say that it was super duper wicked cool to see.
In Lisbon, we ran into a Canadian guy who´s doing a 4 month tour of Europe, and he gave us some good tips for good times in Greece. We wandered around town trying to figure out things on very limited Portuguese vocabulary. And by limited I mean none. Oh, except for "thank you". You gotta be polite, even if you´re an ignorant traveler.
Later on that day we met up with Helga, a girl I met from couchsurfing. She is awesome. The best host ever. We´re staying at her place for the next 4 days, and I´m using her computer right now as we speak, or read, type, whatever. It´s a sweet set up since cybercafes have raping rates, and their computers don´t even have random porn site pop ups.
So I went out to check out the Lisbon night life with Helga and her friends. Walked around the narrow streets lined with bars with a bunch of Portuguese and one Canadian, an aspiring actor/film maker who´s wandering around Europe for six months. God it was wicked fun. Like, fun to the fun degree. We just walked, drank, joked, stood around, surrounded by hundreds of other fun loving bar hoppers.
Oh, and did I mention Portuguese speak excellent English? My god they speak better English than some people back home!
So I got home at 5 in the morning, that was a couple hours ago. I´m up everyone´s asleep, even Helga´s hyper kitty is in sweet slumber. Oh, the cat. The cat stole my heart. It is so freakin cute! And it climbs! It´s a climbing cat! It climbed up the window screen and stayed there, working on some lock off strength I´m sure.
Anyway I think I´m gonna go back to sleep now. My neck is seriously torturing me like the Chinese army on human rights. Today we´re gonna head to a beach town an hour away, maybe, when we wake up. Then have a traditional Portuguese dinner with some friends.
Okay I am dropping like the 506th Parachute Infantry, so I´ll sign off here. Oh, here´s a stolen picture from the web: postcard Lisboa
Oh, and don´t ask for pictures from last night.
Just kidding nothing happened. Hi mom!
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