Surfing couches and kangaroo pouches: Australia and New Zealand adventure part 3

After the new year, my host and his roomie had to go back to work, so I planned an extra little one-night trip to Newcastle to meet another former Couchsurfer from Australia (hi Ollie!) and his divine Chilean girlfriend. It's easy to take a 3-hour train ride from Sydney to Newcastle. Unlike Sydney, however, Newcastle doesn't have much intra-city transit, so we were pretty reliant on cars there. On the morning before I left to come back to Sydney, Ollie took us to one of the highlights of my trip: the Blackbutt animal reserve. He told me to google it to get the opening hours but I couldn't find anything with that name. I see now that I was typing "blackbart" because I assumed he was dropping the R's like everyone else in this part of the world. Or perhaps I assumed no one would ever name anything "blackbutt."

We went quite early in the morning, which Ollie said must be the way to go since he never saw the animals so active when he came in the afternoon.

You guys.

I petted.

A WALLABY.

Wallaby love.

A koala snoozing. 

A baby kangaroo getting into his mom's pouch.

Aussie accents talking about wombats. My life has definitely peaked.

After my quick Newcastle visit, I came back to Sydney to have a lovely and much needed home-cooked meal with a family friend (thanks, Karine and Thora!). From there, I spent one last night in Sydney before being on my way to the north and south islands of New Zealand, which will be what I write about next! 

Surfing couches and sipping champagne: Australia and New Zealand adventure part 2

After some much needed family time in Texas, I went to Sydney, Australia to celebrate the new year with a friend. My bag decided the trip was a bit far so it stayed in Los Angeles for an entire week, but at least I had myself and my phone in the right place.

This particular friend (hi Andrew!) was someone I had met when I hosted couchsurfers in Dallas. In fact, most of the people involved in this trip have a couchsurfing connection, with the exception of the very last people I stayed with. It's weird, because now I generally pay to stay places when I travel (hello, airbnb), probably because I'm 30. But 24 year old Amanda was all about hosting and traveling without any money exchanged, and present Amanda is definitely reaping the benefits from that period. So I stayed with a Sydney local and had the most amazing time!

Andrew picked me up at the airport and immediately started what would become the trip-long chore of getting me to sit on the correct side of the car, since they do EVERYthing on the opposite side down under. You'd think it would be limited to driving on the other side of the road, but no: steering wheels, sidewalk and escalator etiquette, even bathroom door locks require major mental acrobatics to get right. "Just do the opposite of what you think, Amanda," you say. "There are only two options, after all." Get out. You know that sort of logic is not welcome on this blog.

I finally got used to this... the day I came back to the states.

Andrew works for a major alcohol distributor, and we mostly hung out with his coworkers and their friends. This meant that almost every gathering featured rare and luxurious champagne that you've probably never heard of because you're not a millionaire. I knew it was going to be a swanky visit when we went to dinner at his friend/coworker's penthouse apartment which overlooked Sydney harbor. The view was stunning, and I took it in from my perch for the night: a multi-thousand dollar massage chair. I'm not kidding.

When I finally extricated myself from the loving embrace of this incredible chair, it was to have champagne with the boys on the balcony. I know what you're thinking: "They probably opened the champagne by cutting off the entire top part of the bottle with a huge knife, leaving the cork in it and just leaving a perfectly smooth glass opening, right?" Why, yes. Yes they did. Apparently this is called "sabrage" and people who are cooler than you and me do it all the time.

Here's that happening: https://www.instagram.com/p/BOj9CYbgIah/?taken-by=manda_goes

Andrew showed me all the beaches which, let's be honest, was my main focus since I was the color of receipt paper (white yet translucent). When I told him I wanted to go to Bon-dee beach, he looked at me quizzically. "You know, the famous one," I added. "Oooooooh," he said. "Bon-die." Hence began what would be another shameful chore I foisted upon my hosts: correcting my pronunciation of very simple words.

The beaches are of course, stunning. There is a great walk (or in our case, jog) to be had by going from Coogee beach to Bondi along the water. It's about 8 km (I hope you weren't trying to use imperial down here!) and makes for some gorgeous pics.

Along the Coogee to Bondi beach trail.

On December 31, we made our way next to the Opera House to set up shop and watch the 9pm and midnight fireworks over the bridge. I still had no bag, so had to throw together a hasty NYE outfit at a shop that is the Australian equivalent of Hot Topic. I tried to go to other shops first. I told Andrew what I was after and he patiently texted his female friends and helped me ask shopgirls where I might find such an outfit, since all the shops seemed to favor very prim formal wear.

Australian girls must either never dress up (most likely) or only dress up for work, because the dresses were mostly loose and long. I went from trying to sugar coat things: "Do you have anything a bit shorter?", "Do you have anything a little more fitted?" to eventually just leveling with people: "Do you have any skanky dresses, please?". More than once I was directed to what can only be described as a dominatrix lingerie shop. IS THERE NO MIDDLE GROUND, AUSSIES?

That "I'm about to have New Years in Sydney" smirk

Fireworks over the harbor in Sydney.

This fence kept out the thousands of other people trying to get at this view.

The night was gorgeous and super fun, even though the DJs were the type that play only their own stuff so you don't recognize any songs at all but the DJs have the time of their lives.

Side notes: the Sydney subway system is clean, efficient, and QUIET. This Boston girl was very impressed. Also, I had lunch at an amazing place called "Urban Orchard" which had tons of vegan/vegetarian options and which I definitely recommend.

This restaurant is located in "Circular Quay" and that Quay is pronounced "Kee" because nothing I do will ever be right.

http://www.gatewaysydney.com.au/retailer/urban-orchard/v

Sydney and my host treated me so well! As they began getting back to work, I had one last Aussie adventure in Newcastle, which will be the next entry.

Got both the bridge and the opera house in the handstand pic!

Book for this part of trip: The Bedwetter by Sarah Silverman, Why not me? by Mindy Kaling, Lies my teacher told me by James Loewen, by far the best one!

Night trains and CouchSurfing in Eastern Europe

After leading a lovely, charming life in a small town for several months almost uninterrupted, it was only a matter of time before things became too tame and predictable.  Fortunately, I knew just the remedy for such conditions: EuroRail Pass and CouchSurfing combo.

As usual, the impetus was being in France.  In America, a young(ish) lass traveling alone would have many reasons not to go to Eastern Europe, but probably the most convincing reason would be the sheer distance.  Obviously, that is not an issue in France.  After a short 2 hour flight I could be in Poland, and with a rail pass I could easily travel from Warsaw to Prague to Bratislava to Vienna to Budapest.  Other than not speaking any of the languages spoken in those countries, not knowing anyone in those countries, and having heard the incredulous outcries from friends/relatives several times regarding the danger in eastern europe ("Have you seen Taken?!?!"), I had no reason not to go.  How could I justify being so close to places I've never been, and not even bothering to go?  I know many people do not share that logic.  It's hard to articulate all my reasons for traveling and CSing to those people.  Others get it immediately.  I'm not saying one group is better than the other, I'm just saying that if you read this blog and still think, "She's crazy," I hope you are at least entertained!

I began requesting hosts in Poland, Czech Republic, Slovakia, Austria and Hungary.  I had found some lovely, generous people when this message popped up in my CS inbox:

Important: Protect your safety

Dear Amanda,

Our records indicate that you recently posted an Open Couch Request seeking a host in Budapest. We are contacting you because Couchsurfing has recently received information in this city that might help you have a safer experience.

We have received reports from other Couchsurfing members traveling in Budapest that a male, roughly aged 33-35, hosting in a home close to the West Railway station between the XIII and V districts, has allegedly been putting drugs in the drinks of his guests. We have removed several profiles which were previously associated with this person, which indicate that he speaks English and German on an expert level, and Hungarian on an intermediate level.

Now this was annoying.  I had accepted an offer from a host in Budapest who was blond, 32, spoked perfect English and lived closed to a train station.  But his profile looked quite legit, and there were many discrepancies between my host and the criminal.  (I can hear my mom/sisters/boyfriend now: "Oooooh, discrepancies!  On an online profile!  Yeah good call Amanda, you're tooooootally safe!")  Budapest would be the last night of my trip.  Do I just book a hotel instead?  Do I trust humanity and continue as planned?  This conflict was at the back of my mind the entire trip, which was irritating.  How dare some loser make me doubt the goodness in the world?

Anyway, on I went.  After a small disappointment in Warsaw (rude people at the train station, host that didn't show up), I caught the night train to Prague.  This train was extremely old and kinda smelly, but I didn't care because the compartment made me feel like Harry Potter.
Anyway, there was only one other person in my compartment so I got to lay down, which was great.  Made it to Prague around 8am the next morning and walked around a bit in the snow since it was too early to call my host.

Pretty Prague

Where the trolley with every-flavor beans at?

First glimpse of Prague, outside train station.

I slowly but surely navigated the metro and trolley until I arrived at my host's house (What's up Pavel?).  Within a few moments of meeting Pavel I had calmed down significantly from the somewhat dramatic events of the previous 24 hours (plane/absent host/rude people etc.).  He had a beautiful roommate and a cute little apartment in a quiet neighborhood.  We went out exploring (well, for me it was exploring, for him it was the same things he has seen on a daily basis for ages) and I decided that I love Prague.  It's a very colorful city full of museums and cafes and mass transit and people walking.  Just loved it.

As you saw from the picture, it had snowed heavily in the days before I came to Czech land, but the snow was beginning to melt.  This resulted in avalanches plummeting from rooftops about every 15 minutes.  We were walking toward the Charles bridge when we saw an elderly homeless lady on the side of the street to our left.

What happened next is something that I won't forget for a very long time.  In the midst of some small talk, we heard a muffled kind of "splat" sound.  To my horror, I saw that a big heap of snow had just fallen from a rooftop onto the homeless woman.  What the hell, mother nature?  What kind of sick sense of humor is that?  Pavel immediately went to check on her and we both gave her some coins.  She gave us a grateful smile and said something along the lines of "Thank you, have a nice day," from what I could understand.  But at that point, Pavel bent down, brushed some snow off of her, and started having a full conversation.  Over the next few moments the lady's face absolutely lit up, it was obvious that most people don't give her the time of day, much less engage her in civil conversation.  Being a stupid ignorant American, I could add nothing to this beautiful exchange, but I could at least snap a stealthy picture.

Did I mention CSing will restore your faith in humanity?  I did?  Good.

John Lennon tribute wall

Little snow creatures everywhere.

Is this a thing in the US?  I've seen it in Tours now and don't remember noticing it in the US.  A couple puts a lock on a bridge and then they throw the key into the water to symbolize their unity.  PS this particular spot on the Charles bridge is famous for the fact that if you touch it and make a wish, it comes true.  Pavel asked if I wanted to wait my turn to make a wish and I said actually everything's fine, don't need a wish.  He agreed and we went on our way.

Well, after a semi-late night meeting up with an old friend in Prague, I left for Bratislava.  As usual, I missed the train I planned to take and took one a few hours later (rail pass to the rescue!).  I arrived in Slovakia just as it was getting dark, and my awesome host Daniel (Hi Daniel!) showed me around downtown and other interesting spots.

Downtown Bratislava.

The next day, Daniel had to go to work so he told me how to get to the train station from the city center, where he dropped me off to take pictures.  He gave me a map and everything.  Needless to say  I got ridiculously lost.  Only after walking for an hour and realizing I was on a highway instead of a sidewalk did the small, feeble voice of reason make itself heard in my thick skull.  I accosted an old Slovak woman in the street for help, pointing to the train station on the map.  

May this woman's soul be blessed for the rest of her days.  

She walked me to a bus stop and asked everyone there if they could speak English.  When none could, she asked if I already had a bus ticket (through sign language, there is not even one remotely English-sounding word in Slovak) to which she also received a negative response.  I saw a brief moral dilemma churning in her head, and then a bus pulled up and she smiled at me, grabbed my arm, and pushed me into a seat.  20 minutes later we pulled up at a stop (where I had been walking hours before, smack in the city center) and she motioned over a hill saying "desať minút." I rejoiced in my short years of Russian study, because I recognized the number for "10," and indeed it was a ten minute walk from there. I caught the train shortly after. Thank you, thank you, Daniel and Slovak lady! 

I arrived in Vienna mid-afternoon, and met my badass host Leander. Leander lives in a sweet loft apartment with roommates straight out of l'auberge espagnole (except instead of being limited to Europe they were from as far as China and Saudi Arabia). Vienna was picture-perfect.  No one will ever have a better experience or host there.  I had famous viennese pastries (compliments of my host after he realized I hadn't tried Sachetorte), saw architectural wonder after architectural wonder, had an apple strudel in a café, and basically enjoyed my face off. Significantly, for the first time in my multi-lingual life, I had the desire to learn German. Austrian German is absolutely schön (beautiful). 

Leander has lived on almost every continent and was working on his thesis when I visited. I already thought of him as an extremely intelligent individual. Imagine my awe and delight when the next morning, I woke up to see the entire household chatting in the kitchen drinking tea, and in walked Leander in his house robe which can only be described as "wizard-like," he was wearing the hood up and everything.  After that moment I almost called him "Methuselah" instead of his real name. It was awesome.

Like this, but dark blue.

Sachertorte

Strudel and tea.

Well, then it was time to go to Budapest.  I hope you have not forgotten that I was rather anxious about this part of my trip.  I arrived before my host got off work, so I walked around the city a ton.  I stumbled upon the parliament building, which throughout all my travels, remains the most beautiful man-made thing I have ever seen.

Well, this was clearly the spot to take my obligatory handstand picture. But I had no host yet and no Hungarian language skills. I went around to the back side (not quite as pretty, but less populated) (twss) and set up my camera on self-timer. I ran and did my handstand perfectly on the first try, picked up the camera, and went on my way.

Hahaha! Good one, right?  Of course what actually happened is that I proceeded to initiate a sequence composed of squatting by the camera, running to a patch of grass, waiting for the red light, doing a frantic handstand, and running back to the camera to realize that I had taken a picture of a half-done handstand or my backpack or the grass or a car. This happened at least 10 times because I Never Give Up.  Rabid squirrels probably look less deranged than I did.  At that point a hungarian lady let me know (again through sign language) that she would take the picture.  In retrospect, I was grateful that she had witnessed my pathetic display beforehand, because now she knew The Deal with the handstand pic.  I have asked people in many countries to take the pic for me, and they always smile and agree, and I try to gesture that it won't be a normal picture, and they smile and agree, and then I go and do a handstand and they look at me like, "Why are you making me take this strange picture?" and "Well for god's sake, if you're going to ask for a handstand picture, you should really be better at handstands."  It's a valid point, my handstands last for about one second.  It takes a gifted photographer to make the magic happen.  Anyway the nice lady left and at that point a construction worker motioned to me.  I traipsed over to him and he showed me something on his phone.  That's right.  He had been taking pictures of my deranged squirrel routine.  He actually had some good ones though!

I walked some more and ended up by the beautiful Buda Castle.

After that, I walked back down to the main street and waited, somewhat uneasily, for my host.  When he made it after work, he looked like an absolute cherub.  Balint (what's up Balint!) is a born Hungarian who did a high school exchange program in, you guessed it, Missouri.  I immediately felt like I knew him for years.  I only had that night in Budapest, and I had the usual CS dilemma in mind: "Will he want to go straight home and relax and do nothing?  Will he want to party all night?"  Hosts are well within their rights to do either of those things.  As it turned out, Balint wanted dinner at a Hummus Bar (YES!), one drink at a club housed in a hollowed-out 18th century building (YES!), and then to go home and rest because he agreed to take me to the airport the next day at the obscene hour of 4am (YAHTZEE!).  It was couchsurfing perfection.

Humtronz.

I made it back to Tours just in time to teach my afternoon class.  I cannot thank my hosts enough for such an amazing trip.  To anyone thinking of traveling to "dangerous" places, please don't hesitate.  Make your own judgements about places, but only after you've been there.  Of course, keep your wits about you and your belongings under strict watch.  But don't let movies or media change the way you think about something!  You will miss out on so much if you do.

Afterthought:  Who would design "armor" that exposes boobs?  Discuss.

Courtesy of Vienna - Belvedere Palace

Venice, Greece, Turkey, Madrid (July 2012)

After traveling alone for ages, I was ecstatic to take a trip with one of my best friends, Julianne.  We had little snack/wine get togethers to plan our trip and it turned out marvelously.  We decided on a cruise, partly because it was fiscally within reach for both of us and partly because I had just spent a lot of energy planning minute details of my previous trip and I was ready to let someone else worry about filling the time.  Cruises do that job very well.


Arriving in Venice the night before our ship left the harbor, we met up with one of my couchsurfing friends, Luc.  We all had a lovely dinner together in Venice (with gelato of course) and stayed in an adorable hotel.  Despite the dizzying number of tourists in Venice, this hotel stays impeccable and lovely because, quite simply, it is impossible to find.  No one ever stays there, they wander around for hours and then collapse in the nearest Marriott.  Even with Julianne's supernatural orientation abilities, it took some major commitment to find that place.  Needless to say that if Julianne hadn't been there, I would still to this day be at the Venice airport.

Did you notice we're in ITALY?!

This is Luc, a french couch surfer!

Famous Venetian masks

Our gifted room attendant elicited lots of joy squeals with this penguin.

We left the next day and got on the boat, which was humongous and lovely.  We joked that we were on the "Jack floor," in reference to the movie Titanic, in which the lower-class passengers are heaped together in the festering under-belly of the ship with no hope of escape.  That was a bit of exaggeration for us, because our room was lovely, and also the escape route was only one floor down.

Pretty soon, we made some friends.  Garrett and his sister are from California.  Jakub is from Prague.  Probably our best buds were 3 brothers from South Africa/New Zealand whom we followed and tricked into talking in order to hear their glorious accents had some lovely conversations with and sometimes joined for dinner.

Garrett and his sis and juju and me in Santorini, Greece.

Check out that doric sweetness.

There was a reef far out in the Mediterranean, after I did this pose like a million other people did it too. 

This is the handstand for Izmir, and I haven't written about Turkey yet, but it's really hard to move these pictures in the blog.  Sorry.

I studied the whole time!  And got back to the states and aced my MA comprehensive exams.  I give all the credit to this daiquiri.

These are 2/3 of the NZ boyz.  

Every night we ate crêpes and watched sunsets.  Rough, rough, rough.

Me: God dammit Madrid, I'm not talking about you yet, get out of this picture slot!
This picture:  Haha no!  Try for another 20 minutes, see if that helps!!

Just lovely.

This is a real picture from one of our cameras.  

Venice bridge.

Re-enacting the sinking of the Titanic.  Would you jump into a lifeboat that was only half full and already descending?  The question merits visual aids.

This is Santorini.

Teaching everyone the ways of the "hand game".

This is how it felt when we left.

I tried to meet up with one of my Turkish friends from my study abroad in Strasbourg when we were in her city, Izmir.  We didn't get a hold of her.

However, in order to make sure that it wasn't just my phone acting up that prevented us from seeing her, we went to a place that had wifi.  This place happened to be a small restaurant in a strip mall.  I ordered veggie pizza and when asked what she wanted, Julianne shook her head and said, "I don't know, I can't decide, give me whatever you think is best."

My pizza came promptly and we both waited to see what surprise Julianne would get.  We waited and waited.  The waiter came over to ask why I wasn't eating my pizza and I replied that I was waiting for my friend to have her food too.  Like Julianne's request for food, this statement was not at all understood by the waiter; like Julianne's request for food, he acted like he spoke English and said ok.  After 45 minutes, we ended up just sharing the pizza, but not before a POLICE OFFICER came over and asked why I wasn't eating my pizza.  I tried to explain and when I turned around I saw that a crowd had gathered at the shop window, watching us sit around the uneaten pizza. It must have been very mysterious to everyone involved (I know it was for us).

After a dreamy few days, we went to Madrid to catch our flight home.  We couch-surfed with Jose in his lovely, vast apartment which used to be... what else?  A brothel owned by a former nun.  It was Julianne's first CS experience and she was a champ.  Jose and his friends prepared a lovely dinner for us which included gazpacho and vegetarian paella.  IT WAS AMAZING.  The whole trip was so fantastic.

I'm writing this as I sit just inside my apartment in Tours, France, with the windows open as rain pounds down.  I'm trying to limit the schadenfreude generated by the shrieks of people caught in the rain, and it's not working.  I'll tell you more about my French life later though.  For now, good night!

That's my buddy!

Israel, Jordan, Egypt, UAE (June 2012)

After hearing about a friend of a sister who had just gotten back from a free trip to Israel, I started checking out Birthright trips.  These are trips COMPLETELY sponsored by Jewish communities and the government of Israel in order to foster greater interest in young Jews about their heritage and history.  Other cultures don’t agree (I’ll get to that later), but I personally thought the whole trip was excellently organized and our guide knowledgeable (understatement there) and objective.  After being waitlisted for one program (Israel Outdoors, for anyone thinking of doing the trip), I was accepted by another (Amazing Israel).  It was pretty important that I went this summer because the age limit is 26 and thus I wouldn’t be able to go the next year.  After getting that lovely acceptance email, I started planning an extension for my trip.  If I’m going to travel to the other side of the world, I’m not going to stay in just one place! 

Of course, the Middle East is a tricky place for Americans to visit.  I don’t know if you’ve heard, but apparently there is some sort of spat going on over there.  Anyway, I decided to limit my travels to Jordan, Egypt, and the United Arab Emirates. 

But let’s go back to Israel for a second.  I joined a group of 39 other 18-26 year old Jewish kids at the JFK airport and got on my free flight to Tel Aviv.  We met our guide at the airport, a young, beautiful, extremely intelligent Israeli woman named Einat.  Throughout the trip, she took us on long hikes in 110 degree heat, all the while telling us the history of the place from whatever BC to present day, and she did it HILARIOUSLY.  Her English was almost perfect, and of course her Hebrew and Arabic were flawless.  She was constantly teaching us words and translating for us.  If you have studied another language to the advanced level, you know that the final step in full fluency is being able to make jokes in that language and have native speakers actually laugh.  No one seems to understand how hard this is to do. 

Example (in French):

Postal worker (seeing Texas on my ID): “Where’s the horse?”

Me (pause while I figure out what he means, then, suddenly): “I guess I forgot it with my boots! Hahaha”

Postal worker: Blank stare.

Anyway, Einat of course pulled this off and was constantly delivering one-liners worthy of comedy central in an adorable Israeli accent.  She was one of the main high points of the trip.  Here she is translating a not-so-funny topic, etymology and history of Bedouins.

During our stay, we traveled to basically every main city in the country.  This could be done in 11 days because Israel is tiny.  We went from south to north, ending up in Tel Aviv again after visiting the Golan Heights on the border with Lebanon (and the site of lots of fighting a few years ago).  About mid-way through the trip, 4 female and 4 male Israeli Defense Forces soldiers came to finish the journey with us.  As you might know, it is obligatory for Israeli youths to serve in the army immediately after high school.  It’s astonishing to see these young, smiling people with huge guns.

IDF kiddos

Interjection: Around the end of the trip, almost everyone came down with a rather disgusting strand of a virus, some sort of upper-respiratory infection.    Being a healthy vegetarian, the paragon implementer of nutrient-rich diet and heart pumping exercise, a “super human” if you will, I remained unscathed by this breakout.

In a bunker in the Golan Heights of Israel

Right after Israel, I stayed with a Palestinian (Christian, if you’re curious) friend from college.  I only stayed one night, but I got to see all the checkpoints first-hand as we drove to his apartment in the West Bank.  We went to a bar that night, where I stunned everyone with my sparkling wit and effortless travel chic appearance. Kidding! I staggered around like the undead while hacking up half a lung’s worth of upper-respiratory-infection drool and sweating with fever.  Somehow, telling people how healthy and special I was did not inoculate me, and I came down with that illness. Hard. 

I was definitely not ready for the “banter” with his Palestinian friends.

Young human rights lawyer at bar: “So what do you think of the birthright program?”

Me: “Well it was really cool to see this part of the world, and the guide was quite objective regarding the conflict, and it was free, so –"

Him: “Why do you think it was free?”

Me: “Well, I guess it’s in their best interest to preserve Jewish heritage by-"

Him: “So you don’t think it’s to indoctrinate young Americans to support the IDF and Israel and slowly diminish the Palestinian territories?  I see.” (scoffs)

He had a point, and I was in no position to defend billionaire-funded programs sending Americans to Israel.  All I know is I needed a bed and possibly a doctor. That wasn't in the cards, though, so the next day I packed my stuff and went to Jordan. 

I only stayed 2 nights in Jordan.  The virus was starting to tighten its choke hold, but nothing would stop me from visiting Petra and Wadi Rum.  My first sad surprise was that the only airport in Jordan, in Amman, was a 3 hour drive from my hotel in Petra.  My second sad surprise was that there was no public transport and a taxi was the only viable way to get to the hotel.  This was really expensive.

But!  I got to the hotel, which was lovely, and rested all afternoon in order to be ready to set out for the actual location of Petra the next day.  In the morning, I asked the concierge the best route there.  He said it was a 2 – minute taxi or a 30 minute walk, but the walk was easy and down-hill.  It was really hot outside (understatement), but I gamely draped myself in a shawl and long pants and a hat so as not to offend any Muslims with my repugnant flesh, and of course opted for the walk.

I was already really hot when I got to the entrance of Petra. I had no choice but to take off my shawl and jacket and show a little bit of irresistible arm skin. This might have been the catalyst for the disaster that was to follow.

There I looked at the map and realized that the actual buildings carved into stone were about a mile in to the city.  I was incessantly offered trinkets, maps and guides.  I indulged in a guide because, what the hell, I don’t know anything about Petra.

The guide offered a donkey, “for free,” to walk the mile to the city from the entrance.  “Or you could walk,” he added in disgust.  It seemed like quite the bargain, so I took the donkey, led by a nice Bedouin man.  When I got off, the Bedouin man held out his hand for money.  I looked at the guide, certain he would rectify this clerical error.  He said, “The donkey is free, but the driver works very hard…”  Ugh!  I paid him.

Not-so-free donkey. Oh wait that's a horse, my memory must have been fried by the virus.

The city itself is sprawled over about 3 miles of terrain.  Keep in mind it is crazy hot and I am wearing pants (having stashed my shawl), and also incubating a disgusting virus.  The guide, upon realizing my profession, says that he really needs someone to start a business with who can speak English, French and Spanish.  He said I could make millions.  He invited me to dinner with his wife and kids that night to discuss the matter.  I thought, why not stray from the tourist-beaten path?  I said sure.

After the end of the city, he got my hotel info and said he would send someone to pick me up that night at 7.  I didn’t get his contact info, but I knew his name was Ahmad.  Ahmad motioned further into the terrain we had trekked and said, “There’s a museum and a café down there if you want.  The tour is over.  See you later!”  And off he went.

Desperate for AC, I lugged myself to the museum.  Of course there was no AC there.  There were many interesting artifacts that my brain would have none of.  “AC,” begged my brain.  Into the overpriced café I went. 

I had a lovely $40 meal in the AC, and lots of water.  It was well worth the price.  However, when I got to the door of the café after eating, the sheer distance I had to cover made me swoon a bit.  Back to the city.  Through the city.  City to tourist entrance.  Tourist entrance back to hotel, all uphill this time.  I started putting one foot resignedly in front of the other.

This is where things went terribly wrong.

Swarming around the café were bedouins (think turbans and eyeliner) offering horses and donkeys to anyone who wasn’t already on a horse or donkey, and to some who WERE.  They apparently did not understand my extensive Arabic vocabulary, which consisted of “Lah,” the word for “no.”  Some of them were rather clever (“Air-conditioned donkey for the beautiful lady?”) and persistent.  One of them, however, would not leave me alone.  I kept walking, he walked with me, saying “It’s free!  It’s free!”  Ah, I knew better.  “There is no such thing as a free donkey” should be the motto for Jordan.  I continued.  Eventually he left.

Five minutes later, he came back, this time on a horse.  “My horse!” he said.  “Free for you.  Very far, to hotel!  Free.  I want to practice English.  Free free free.”  He was young, maybe 22. 

Me: Feverish, dragging step.

Him: “Free horse! Rest your legs!”

Me: Feverish, dragging step.

Him: “I buy bottle of water for you!”

Me: Feverish, dragging step.

Him: “Horse go fast, back to hotel!”

This went on for about 20 minutes.  Eventually, the heat and sickness and distance congealed in my brain, preventing reason from exiting.  I got on the horse.

The Bedouin immediately bought me water, the first fulfilled promise!  Why didn’t I say yes earlier!?  And we set off in the direction of the hotel. The Bedouin knew a short cut, so into a valley we went.  Short-cuts!  Great, absolutely, let's go!  The Bedouin was constantly on the phone speaking in Arabic.  Pretty soon there were no other people around and I had no idea where I was. I couldn’t even see the main road to the hotel. Uh oh. 

I said firmly, “Hotel.”  He glanced up at me on the horse and spat something in Arabic into the phone.  He said, “Yes.  Hotel.  First we let the horse drink.”  And we went to this little stream.  I was starting to feel vague waves of panic, which were alleviated when he said, “The way is narrow here, I cannot walk.”  I immediately volunteered to get off the horse and let him ride for a while.  I planned to make a dramatic escape on foot.  He said, “Too narrow for you too, only good for horse.”  And before I knew it he bounded off a rock and onto the horse with me.  He kicked the horse and it started galloping further into the valley.  He said, “Better to hold on” and put my hands on his waist.

Interjection: In writing this, it seems unreal.  I swear there is no exaggeration.

I was firmly complaining and shouting to go back to the hotel for around 15 minutes now.  For some reason, crying did not come up, thankfully.  Eventually we came to a small house in the middle of NOWHERE.  “My brother,” he said.  “Taxi driver.  He will take you to hotel since you do not want to stay with me.”  He actually seemed offended.  Well for God’s sake.  I'm glad he got the message, but now I’m supposed to get into a car?  Semi-consciously recognizing the fact that if they were going to kill me (or whatever), the house would be the best place to do it, I got in the cab.

To my surprise, the brother took me directly to the hotel.  He made a veiled request for me to kiss him in payment.  Of course I ignored him and ran into the hotel. 

After being “kidnapped,” (can I use that term since I voluntarily got on the horse?  Probably not.) the last thing I wanted to do was go to the dinner with the tour guide.  I went to the concierge and said, “I had a tour guide in Petra named Ahmad.  I need to cancel a dinner for tonight with him.  How can I find him?”  The concierge, of course, laughed.  That was ridiculous, there’s no way you could find a random guy named “Ahmad” in Jordan, there are thousands of them.

However, the concierge (let’s call him Hussein) smiled and picked up the phone.  He made about 20 calls in Arabic trying to track down the guide.  And he did it!  He gave me the number and I canceled the dinner.  Yaaaaaaaaay!!!  Hussein to the rescue.

Sick and traumatized and tired, I went to bed that night around 8pm.  Around 9:30pm, someone called my room.  I groggily picked up.  It was Hussein.  He gave me the loveliest, shyest, most respectful marriage proposal I have ever received over the phone.  I said I didn’t know what to say.  He said that was fine.  We kept in touch and the other day he told me that he is marrying his cousin and is really happy about it.  I think that was him canceling our wedding.  Sigh.

I left Jordan and went to Cairo.  I could see the pyramids from my window.  It was incredible.  It was also really exciting (scary?) because the presidential elections to replace ousted Hosni Mubarak would be taking place to when I was there, and there were plenty of riots demonstrations happening.  My guide made me swear to stay in my hotel after dark, which was fine, because I was quite close to many gathering spots for demonstrators.

View from my hotel window if I leaned reeeally far out.

Thank goodness for the pyramids, because Cairo is a festering poop-dump.  Literally, there is camel poop everywhere.  People drive 2 cars to one lane on 4 lane highways (do the math!), with rickshaws and donkeys competing for space all the while.  On-ramps to highways consistently have people driving the wrong way on them.  Despite my modest clothes, I got a lot of dirty looks and laughs. 

Like I said though, the pyramids were incredible.  There were some “lesser” pyramids that were actually older than the “big three” and my guide brought me there.  He said, “No pictures, and you can’t go inside.  But the guard might accept American money and let you do those things.”  That was an understatement.  A few bucks later, I was deep in the depths of an ancient pyramid, with a “guard” holding my camera and saying, “Pose there!  Now pretend like a mummy and lay down here!”  A regular fashion-photographer, that guard.

Wall absolutely covered in hieroglyphics

He absolutely insisted that I do this.  I said no about 10 times.

Priceless hieroglyphics and drawings, probably damaged by the flashes of "forbidden" tourist cameras.

Also in Cairo, I saw the famous death mask of King Tutankhamen.  This was in a rather large museum filled with all the other objects found in his grave.  There was no AC.  I was stunned to see that for everything, even the world-famous golden death mask, there were rudimentary wooden display cases with a bit of glass tacked on.  The labels for these priceless pieces consisted of a slip of yellowing paper with typewritten print on them held to the display case with thumb tacks.

Sicker than ever, and rather dejected by the rampant corruption and heat in Egypt, I went for my 9 hour layover in Dubai.

Tallest building in the world: Burj Khalifa in Dubai

Coming from Cairo, Dubai is like a glistening oasis.  An extensive metro system goes from your airport gate to downtown.  Men and (to a lesser extent) women in crisp suits go to work in unbelievable skyscrapers.  At night, there were traffic jams composed entirely of Lamborghinis, Audis and Ferraris.  But after having dinner and ice cream with my fantastic couchsurfing host (what’s up Zeeshan?), I got a better idea of the seedy underside of the city.  The glitz and glam is the smooth superficial side of a city riddled with corruption and government monopolies.  Well, I still loved it, especially after my adventures up to that point.

I sat in a middle seat on the 16-hour flight home.  Resting in Dallas, I got better and started looking forward to my trip to Greece and Turkey while trying to get my French visa paperwork moving along. 

Did I mention I love to travel?

Giza, Egypt

Israel

Petra, Jordan

Dead Sea tranquility.