Loves it!: London Edition

I've been a bad, bad, blogger. I have been so totally and completely swept up (as I tend be) in living my London Adventure that I've completely neglected to chronicle any of it! But, maybe that's not such as bad thing because I've spent that time pretending I'm a real Londoner, imagining that I actually live in this bustling, vibrant, rainy, diverse, buzzing city. And now, as my time here is drawing to a close, I can say that I really do feel like I've LIVED here. I feel at home. I love reading the trashy newspapers over the shoulders of fellow commuters as I ride the tube to and from White City. I love how everyone looks effortlessly stylish, even under mounds of winter coats and scarves. I love the markets scattered all over the city, each one full of unique treasures, just waiting to be discovered. I love the BBC and the fact that days go by in a snap, as I rush back and forth between Media Centre, White City, and our editing suite, or head out to an on-location shot somewhere around the city. I love drinking tea all day long. And I love how, after days of rain, the sky can open up to be a beautifully clear blue, as if the miserable grey days that preceeded it never happened.

The past few weeks have been full of the things that make London such a great place to be; going to see world class theatre, chatting away a rainy evening in a cozy pub, discovering new, funky neighborhoods, and making fabulous new friends from all over the world.

So how do I begin to describe the last month and a half? The truth is, it's not possible. Well, it is POSSIBLE...but you would stop reading about a eighth of the way through, so I won't even attempt. Instead, I'll try to distill my time here down to a couple of experiences that have made my time here so memorable.

ELECTION EXCITEMENT
London was abuzz right before the US presidential election. Well, I guess the whole world was abuzz. Throughout my travels I have been consistently surprised by the level of interest in the election. Even in places like Macedonia and Montenegro, local newspapers were plastered with photos of Barack Obama. In Istanbul, I had a lengthy discussion with a young Turkish waiter over his distaste for George Bush and his desire to see Obama win the White House.

Despite all of this, I wasn't prepared for just how caught up in the election people in Great Britain would be. In addition to wall to wall coverage of the election in the weeks preceeding November 4th, London was host to tons of election night watch parties. One party in particular boasted separate sections for Democrats and Republicans!

Once Obama's victory was a sure thing it was all anyone was talking about. As a (quasi) American it was fascinating to eavesdrop on all of the conversations happening around me. Seems that the Brits are just as eager as we are to see the embarrassment of the last eight years come to an end. Perhaps one of the most telling indicators of British sentiment was a front page headline I saw on the tube the day after the election. It read, "The Day America Became Sort of Cool Again."

FABULOUS FRIENDS
My time in London would not have been quite as fantastic had it not been for all of the wonderful people I've met. In fact, if it weren't for dancing the night away to AWFUL covers of American songs at Walkabout, navigating the tube with my two amigos on Halloween, seeing the largest tower of brownies known to man at Borough Market, getting hopelessly lost in Brixton mid super intense conversation, chatting chatting chatting over endless glasses on wine, eating several of the most amazing meals of my life after a month of bread and cheese, and listening amazing stories of love, loss, travel and home, London wouldn't have had as much lustre.
I know I've made some true blue, BFF, kindred spirit type friends in the past few weeks...we're working together to plot my return to the UK.

MIRACULOUS MARKETS
London's unebelievable markets are hands-down my FAVORITE thing about the city. Granted, I have a soft spot for all markets, not just the ones in London. In fact, in every city I've visited, finding a local market is one of the first things I do. Maybe it's because meandering through a market, watching as people go about their daily business, buy food for dinner, choose flowers for their home, or scout out fabulous vintage finds, makes me feel like less of a tourist. Being surrounded by people that actually live in the city I'm temporarily calling home makes me feel at home. And HOME seems to be my buzz word these days.

The best thing about London markets is that they're all so very different from each other. Each one has its own distinct personality. Camden Market is young, hip, alternative, and teeming with punked out 16 year olds in tattered fishnets and Converse. Borough Market is the oldest outdoor market in London and is a foodie's heaven. You can spend an entire afternoon in the market, sampling everything from pate to elderflower cordial as you hop from booth to booth. Brick Lane markets are artsy, original and the best place for great vintage finds and tasty curry. Portobello Market is full charm. The street is packed with old world antiques, allegedly priceless art (one man swore one of his paintings was a Klimt) and English kitsch.

The stories from London are endless. I could go on forever. Really.

On Monday I fly back to the U.S. to family and friends I've missed dearly, to a new beginning that I haven't yet figured out how to begin, and to days full of everyday adventures. But, I don't think London and I are through. In fact, I have a sneaky feeling that I'll be back again very, very soon...

Photos Galore!

I may have gone a little photo crazy on this trip. But I've finally narrowed down 900 of my favorite photos :) You can view them here or on my Picasa album.

Turn on the telly...to the BBC!!!

After having spent September and October traveling through Eastern Europe at lightning speed, I arrived in London exhausted and physically and emotionally drained. My time in London was originally intended to be a precursor to my return to the states. A sort of two week readjustment phase if you will. However, about a week into my stay, and a week before my original return date, I received a call from the BBC regarding an application for their work placement program that I had submitted way back in August. I had all but forgotten about the application as I was certain that if I had been selected I would have heard long, long ago. Turns out that's not quite how the BBC works. In fact, most work experience placements aren't informed of their selection until 1 to 2 weeks before the start date.

By this time I was pretty committed to returning home. I missed the California sun and London was just starting to get chilly. I was tired of having to meet new people everywhere I went and just wanted to spend time with people who already knew and loved me. I dreamt of putting on something other than the 4 shirts and two pairs of pants I had been wearing for the last 6 weeks. And I really, really, really wanted a Chipotle chicken burrito (fresh tomato and roasted chili-corn salsa, no beans). But alas, this was not to be because when the BBC calls, you damn well better answer.

As it happens, I had been offered a placement on a program that couldn't have been better for me! Imagine, is an arts and culture documentary series that produces mini-documentaries on HUGE artists like film director Werner Herzog and photographer Annie Leibovitz, actress Juliette Binoche and rapstar Jay-Z. It's basically a dream come true.

So here I am. Grabbing the opportunity to explore London for another month, shivering through weather colder than anything I've experienced since I moved from Canada, searching out the best local pubs, hoping to get a jump start on a new career, and pretending I'm a legitimate Londoner as I ride the tube to work in the morning, all the while feeling the slightest tinge of homesickness and (secretly) counting down the days until my return. And, even though I'll be spending most of my time at the BBC offices in White City instead of strolling through unfamiliar streets, I'm sure there will be many everyday adventures to write about.

Une seule femme a Londres

There's something about London that is so familiar to me. Maybe it's because it's grey and rainy, just like my beloved and much missed San Francisco. Maybe it's because I was born in the UK and thus a love for London is built into my DNA. Or maybe it's because my dad's family is British on both sides, something that is evidenced by the fact that we sit down for tea four times a day, listen to the Queen's Christmas Day address every year, eat (and enjoy!) classic British food like Bangers & Mash, Shepard's Pie and Digestive Biscuits, and have large collections of British porcelain china like Royal Doulton and Wedgewood. Whatever it is, I felt immediately at home when I arrived in London last Tuesday (and no...not JUST because it's the first English speaking country I've been to in a month and a half. Although, I do have to admit, it almost seemed like a nice surprise to walk down the streets and not have to guess what people were saying...or wonder whether or not they were making fun of you for taking so many pictures of the same statue...)

For the first time in my travels I have an entire week to spend alone. I'll be meeting up with a few friends for a drink or a curry here and there, but for the most part it's going to be one-on-one, Kristen-on-Kristen time. I'm surprisingly excited about this whole idea, especially since I've never wanted to travel alone before. I've always felt like traveling isn't really traveling unless you have someone to share that "Oh my god, I can't believe I'm actually here!!" moment with. However, over the past month I have met so many WOMEN who are traveling alone. In fact, the number of solo female travelers I've met has outnumbered the solo men travelers by at least 10-1.

So I started to think that maybe this whole traveling alone thing is worth a shot. I mean, just thinking of having the freedom to determine my own itinerary everyday, wander at my own pace, get lost in a cool neighborhood for hours at a time, or stop in a park to write whenever I feel the urge was enough to get me excited for my lone London experience.

So, what does une femme seule do in London? A few things:

1) Walk, walk, walk everywhere
London is an amazingly walkable city. Sure, sometimes the streets get a little crowded, or it starts pouring rain out of seemingly nowhere, but there's so much going on all over the city that you'd miss if you didn't set out on foot.


For example, on my second day here (my first day was used almost entirely for sleeping and laundry purposes) I walked the path along the Thames from the apartment I'm staying at in a slightly stodgy Pimlico neighorhood, to the Tate Britain, and then on to the Victoria Tower Gardens, right beside the Houses of Parliament, bringing me to the first example of things you miss when you don't walk. No sooner had I entered the park than I noticed a fairly large group of people milling about, all of them with beautiful dogs in tow. That's right! Turns out the Westminster Dog Club was crowning "Dog of the Year" that day. I'm afraid I missed the crowning of the grand champion and runner-up, but I did manage to catch third place dog receiving his ribbon and obligatory time in the sun.

After snapping a few sneaky pictures of the dogs and their owners I was just about to head out of the park when I saw a group of boys, all in grey uniforms, sitting on the lawn, pencils in hand, sketching the Parliament. I'd seen a couple of other groups doing the same thing, and in days to follow would see many more uniformed school children drawing the Houses of Parliament. But there was something about these children that was just a little odd. Then I noticed that they were sitting in a very particular formation, and that every so often, as they sat there sketching, a well dressed headmaster type would come by one particular group of boys and offer help. Stepping back a little bit I was able to finally figure out what was going on when I noticed the camera crew filming the scene. "Oops!" I thought, stumbling across their shot, and snapping more candids on my way out of the park.

Once back on the street I headed past Parliament, poked around the Westminster Abbey grounds, stopped to admire the sheer fortitude of the stoic troopers of the Household Cavalry stationed in front of the Horse Guards building, and continued down Whitehall, all the while passing large groups of people carrying flags with the Union Jack on one side and the Visa logo on the back. I had no idea exactly what was going on, but as soon as I got to Trafalgar Square I found out.

Turns out that, in celebration of Great Britain's record medal take at the Beijing Olympics, the city of London was throwing a giant celebration in Trafalgar Square, with the Olympic and Para-Olympic team in full attendance, "London Calling" on repeat, and a very special guest appearance by Mr. Boris Johnson, who is not only kind of funny looking, but also actually quite humorous.

Now, I never would have seen any of that if I hadn't been walking.

2) Museum hop
There are so many museums and galleries in London it's impossible to think I could ever get to see all of them. Or even a fraction of them. Maybe if I was here for a year I'd be able to make a dent. But, I am resolved to try to stop by a museum or gallery every day....or at least every other day. Even if I only wander through one wing I'll be happy ( I get museum head pretty quickly).

So far I feel like I've done fairly well, knocking out Tate Britain and the National Gallery (well, parts of it) over the last week. And, as luck would have it, the National Portrait Gallery is hosting the Annie Liebovitz exhibit that I had meant to catch in San Francisco a few months ago.

3) Drink as many lager and limes as I can manage (not at one time).
When my family and I visited London three years ago my mom introduced me to a drink that I've tried to re-create countless times since...lager and lime. I don't know what it is about a lager and lime that is so delicious, but I can't get enough. I've have been drinking them since I got here...and I don't plan on stopping anytime soon.

4) Spend my remaining few travel dollars on theatre tickets.
One of the best things about London, in my opinion, is the theatre scene. Last time I was here I was ASTOUNDED at the number of people who were in attendance at a show at the National on a Wednesday night. Last night when I went to see The Last Five Years I was once again impressed by the huge number of young people who had come out to see the show. And when you take into account that you can catch some of the world's best actors are onstage here, including Kenneth Branagh (my absolute favorite actor- ever!) and Dame Judi Dench, and a few big Hollywood stars like Josh Hartnett, it's basically a dream come true.

5) Shop
Aside from one of those cheesy open-roof bus tours, the last time I was in London I did very little actual sightseeing. I'm not exactly sure why this was, most likely because my family and I were exhausted from our previous two weeks of travel, stressed because of some family concerns back in Canada, and slightly on edge because of the London tube bombings only a few weeks earlier. Needless to say, all of us kind of reverted to a place of comfort; my dad and brother visited every war and military museum they could find, my mum and I shopped and drank tea.

Needless to say, on this visit I am determined not to spend all of my time shopping. However, there is just something about London that screams "Shop!" So much so that I just can't help it. I start my day off heading to a museum and end up in the crazy department store Pimark being crushed to death by frantic shoppers as they surge for the rack of recently restocked boots. It's crazy. I don't even have any money and yet I will hop on a train to Camden Town, spend all day wandering the markets and return with a pair of legwarmers. Don't ask me why I do it. This strange phenomenon has now happened on two separate trips and I'm not going to try to fight it...I'm just going to accept...and scout out another shopping destination for tomorrow.

London and Budapest!

End of Chapter One

Before I left on this trip my parents each gave me parting advice.

From my dad, "Don't take any wooden nickles. And don't drink and drive. And don't do drugs."

Okay, no problem Dad.

My mum's advice was a little more philosophical, "Keep an open heart and an open mind. And always, always, trust yourself."

This advice, especially the part about trusting, is a little more difficult for me. I'm the kind of person who, as a little girl, would skip to the end of a book to read the last chapter, just to make sure that everything turned out okay. I like being able to see the whole picture before I've even started drawing it.

Unfortunately, that's not in the cards when you travel. You can't foresee getting stuck in Zagreb for a day on your way to Italy, or that your travel partner will fall in love with a Greek man, thus extending your time on the islands. You have absolutely no way of knowing that you'll run out of money more quickly than you thought you would, or that it will be MUCH colder in Munich than you anticipated. You can't know. And that's alright.

So the moral of the story? The moral of this part of the story at least?

My mom is right, of course. This experience has taught me to trust myself, and not only in everyday travel decisions like, "Should I visit the castle or see the opera?" , but also on a much bigger life decisions scale. This trip is something I've been planning in my head and seeing in my dreams for longer than I can remember. But, even though I've known that I've needed to go off and do something like this, I've never had the courage to actually trust myself to do it. I've always felt like there were so many other things I should be doing and that I couldn't step out of my well-planned life for one moment. I couldn't trust that maybe THIS is part of the plan.

Last night as Elissa, Michael and I were wandering the streets of Budapest with our new friend/local tour guide Adam, we thought how amazing it would be to one day have a reunion of all of the people we've met on this trip. Looking back, it's actually astounding to me not only how many locals we've befriended, but also how many fellow travelers we've adopted or were adopted by as we've gone along. We've been creating a little makeshift family of friends and kindred spirits.

Today is the last day that the three of us will be traveling together. Tomorrow Elissa will fly home to San Francisco, and Michael will go to Berlin. I'm on my way to London and after that, I have no idea. That's right, the girl that always has a plan does not have a plan, or really even the smallest semblance of a plan. My heart is pulling me in so many different directions right now and for once I'm just going to trust it and know that whatever happens, no matter how scary, it will be right.

Germany, Austria and Czech!

Hullo...Welcome to Prague!

Someone who knows me very well told me recently, after I had just finished gushing about how much I LOVED Croatia, "Kristen, you leave your heart everywhere you go."

Okay, I admit, it doesn't take much for me to fall in love with a place. I have a soft spot for things that are new and different and beautiful.

So of course it makes sense that I enjoyed spending the last few days in Prague, a city so beautiful that it's almost overwhelming.

Prague managed to emerge from WWII with very little damage. In fact, the city itself was barely bombed at all, leaving it one of the most well preserved cities in Europe. Walking through Old Town today you feel as if you've been transported back in time serveral hundred years. It's easy to imagine what Prague looked like in the time of Maria Theresa, Franz Kafka and Alfons Mucha because, aside from the souvenir shops and corner Starbucks, much of the city is virtually the same now as it was back then.

But, aside from the general splendor of the city, Prague earned its piece of my heart for several other reasons.

1) HOT WINE!
As my dear friend Alex will attest, I adore mulled wine. As soon as there's a chill in the air I whip out the mulling spices and merlot. In Prague they sell mulled wine on the street! For only 40 kc you can keep cozy as you meander the cobbled streets of Old Town with a fragrant mug of holiday cheer.

2) FALL
It's been many, many years since I've witnessed leaves changing colour as summer turns to fall. In Alberta the change is dramatic and sudden, with deep shades of purple, red, orange and yellow on every tree seemingly overnight. When we arrived in Prague, one of the first things I noticed was the colourful groves of trees along the Vltata River, a sight that made me instantly homesick but also instantly at home.

3) Czech Food!
Dominated by hearty dishes like goulash, dumplings, potato pancakes and sauerkraut, eating traditional Czech food turned out to be a surprising delight. Maybe it's because everything we ate reminded me of the Polish food my grandma makes, but every meal we ate in Prague tasted like it was homecooked.

4) Hidden Treasures
Prague is full of all kinds of hidden gems just waiting to be discovered around one dark alley or another. Two of my favorites were:

Dobra Cajovna- a vibrant Asian style teahouse that is a sanctuary of peace and quiet amidst the bustling and touristy Wenceslas Square. All of the teas have wonderfully poetic names like Scent of Kashmir and Memories of Jerusalem. We managed to try about six different teas over the course of a few hours and emerged from the teahouse relaxed and rejuvenated.

Bar & Books- a smokey little cigar bar, styled like a private library and complete with a librarian hostess. We spent an entire evening sipping cocktails and whiskey, eating all types of delicious European cheese and pate, and puffing away on Cuban cigars. We happened upon this place purely by accident, but it turned out to be one of our most enjoyable adventures in Prague.

And then there were three!

"You Americans. Everything is always 'amazing this' and 'amazing that.' Everything is sooooo ammmaaazzzinnggg all the time."

Like most young travelers, we've spent most of our trip is a state of constant amazement over everything we've seen. Christiane, a German student who, along with her boyfriend Flo, adopted us during our stay in Munich, was quick to point out that this overuse of superlatives (i.e. describing everything as amazing, wonderful, beautiful, etc.) is strictly a North American tendency.

I'd never realized my overuse of superlatives until that moment. I mean, how many times on this trip have Elissa and I met people who we enjoyed spending time with and, immediately after waving goodbye, turned to each other and said, "Oh my gosh. I LOVED them!" The answer is many, many times.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love a good superlative. But, I could see Christiane's point. How can you apply the same word you use with someone for whom you have deep affection to a group of strangers with whom you enjoyed sharing a beer?

So, as a personal challenge I'm going to attempt to describe some of the experiences from the last week without drifting into a superlative slump.

LONG LOST FRIENDS
Stephanie and I go way back. Before there was a California Kristen there was Stephanie, Lindsay and Kristen, three goofy 12 year olds who became best of friends over one week at summer camp. Over the years, Steph and I drifted apart a little. I moved to California. She lives in Calgary. Still, we've always been the kind of friends that, no matter how much time has passed, we always start each conversation as if it has only been a few days since we last talked, instead of a few years.

When I found out that Steph and her husband, Matt, were living in Bologna for a few months I made plans for a day trip during our stop in Padova.

As I waited for Steph and Matt is the town center, I couldn't help but wonder what our day would be like. It's been at least three years since we've seen each other and, even though we're the same age, our lives seem so different. She's been working full time for ages, is married and has even owned a home. That's pretty much as far away from my unemployed, unattached, uncommitted life as it gets.

Still, the moment I saw Steph all of those concerns disappeared. We were back to that place we always ended up at. It was like nothing had changed except, instead of giggling around a campfire at Lake Chestermere, we were sipping espresso in Bologna.

As it turns out Steph, despite living a life that seems so foreign to me, is in very much the same place that I've found myself over the past year, questioning everything, looking for answers, seeking adventure, creating new experiences and opening herself up to all kinds of possibilities. It almost felt as if our lives had kind of aligned for a minute in Bologna, as a reminder that we're both on the right path, heading in the right direction.

We talked all afternoon. About everything. And when all had been said I waved goodbye and left for the train station, wondering when the universe would see fit for our lives to align again, and what kind of adventures we would find ourselves on in between.

PROST!
"Viva Cologne!"

It's been four hours and this is the only Oktoberfest song we know, mostly because it doesn't really have any other words. Okay, that's a lie. We also know the song that has "la la la" as its only lyrics and when the live band in the middle of the beer tent plays American classic rock songs like "Proud Mary" and "I Will Survive" you can bet we sing our hearts out with the 3000 Germans around us, all of whom are dancing on tables in lederhosen and dirndls and shouting "prost!"

I'm going to use a superlative here and say that this is the best party I've ever been to.

Our German friends, Christiane, Flo and Blade have somehow managed to snag us a table in the Spaten tent, something that is usually virtually impossible without a reservation, and within minutes we have half a dozen new German friends. There's the two medical students from Cologne who have spent the last year studying in Norway and so spend most of the evening speaking to me in Norwegian (which I kindly ask them to translate to English because the only Norwegian word I know is "skol") , the pair of middle aged men who do dead on impressions of Arnold Schwarzenegger, and a few lively dance partners who spin me around the wobbly wooden benches, precariously dipping me to within inches of the floor.

"What are we doing here!!!??" Elissa, Michael and I yell to each other over our beer steins.

The three of us had arrived in Munich early that morning, Elissa and I via our last (!) overnight train from Padova and Michael from New York. We were absolutely exhausted, but after a power nap at Christiane and Flo's apartment we were ready to hit the tents.

I'm not quite sure what I expected Oktoberfest to be like. Outdoor beer tents in the middle of grassy fields, where people leisurely sip their beer while listening to lively Bavarian music was the picture I had in my head. Turns out Oktoberfest is NOTHING like that.

First of all, everyone is in traditional Bavarian garb. The U Bahn and S Bahn were packed with men and women in lederhosen and dirndl. I felt so out of place that I had to go try on a dirndl the next day to make myself feel better.

Second, Oktoberfest does not take place in the middle of a green pasture. It takes place in the middle of a gigantic Disneyland-esque midway, full of puke-tastic rides, that has been constructed just for the event.

Among the midway rides there is every kind of food you could want, from GIANT pretzels to chocolate covered fruit, every kind of wurst you can imagine, and endless mounds of candy and nuts. I'm pretty sure we had a healthy sampling of just about everything.

And finally, finally, there are the beer tents. Twelve in all, each with a different and very specific theme and packed to the rafters with raucous Oktoberfesters and thousands of gallons of the world's best beer.

What could be better?

Looking back over pictures I took that night I'm not sure that I was able to capture the sheer joy that was on our three faces that evening. We had a hard time leaving Munich, not only because we ended up making wonderful friends and really felt at home in home in the city, but because the spirit of Munich, amidst all of the festivities, had gotten inside of us and we didn't want to see it go.

I'm still here.....

Spent the last week in Munich and Salzburg! Much Oktoberfest madness was enjoyed....I'll update as soon as I get all of the beer out of my system!

Beautiful, Beautiful Balkans

I have a love/hate relationship with my backpack. Traveling through the Balkans last week, lugging it from one night stay to one night stay and overnight bus to overnight bus, climbing staircase upon staircase in Dubrovnik, navigating the cobbled streets of Kotor, and trying to burn through 16 hours during an unscheduled stop in Zagreb, I kind of hated it. I mean, it's a big backpack. Probably weighs in at around 30lbs and has a frame that's a little too big for my body because it belongs to my ex-boyfriend. But, it's the only luggage I've brought with me, so when I put it on I'm truly carrying everything I need on my back. And that is exactly what I love about it. With my backpack I can go anywhere. It's all I really need to take off on a wild adventure (well, that and maybe some money-but even that's not always necessary). To me, my backpack is packed with possibilities and sometimes, when I heave it on first thing in the morning and walk out the door of the hostel, or guesthouse, or bus, I truly feel like anything, I mean anything, could happen.

Maybe I'll get stuck in a tropical storm in NYC, meet a Turkish filmmaker in Istanbul, become friends with a world class sommelier, eat figs the size of my fist in Kusadasi, sunbath on a nude beach in Samos, watch not one but two couples fall in love on Mykonos, follow my mum's footsteps in Macedonia,drive through Albania in the middle of the night, hike to the top of an ancient fortress in Kotor, drink coffee with Serbian high stakes poker players Montenegro, stand in awe of the beauty of the Dalmation Coast in Dubrovnik, see a Flemish theatre company play Antigone at an international theatre festival in Zagreb, eat the most amazing gelato of my life in Padova, meet long lost friends in Bologna, and learn (sort of) how to sleep on a bus. Just maybe... :)

To catch up: After a week of whirlwind travel through the Balkans, Elissa and I spent a few days in Italy and are now in Munich for Oktoberfest.

And now for the Balkans...I'll get in out of the way right now. That much talked about bus ride through Albania? Totally and completely uneventful. In fact, I slept through most of it. I may have opened my eyes to look out of the window a total of two or three times and all I saw was desolate, virtually uninhabited countryside. I know you were looking forward to a crazy story about this bus trip and I have to say that I too am pretty disappointed not to have one. Maybe next time!

However, aside from the uneventful busride through Albania, the rest of the trip through the Balkans was a dream (a slightly rushed, and moderately stressful dream, but a dream nonetheless.) I've written a couple of postcards from the Balkans and in each one I've tried not to overuse the word that, to me, best describes this part of the world: stunning. The Balkans are stunningly, stunningly, stunningly (how's that for overuse) beautiful. Macedonia and Montenegro are full of gorgeous forested hills, majestic black mountains and pristine prehistoric lakes. The Dalmation Coast is dotted with lush islands, which look like they've been scattered alongside the calm, green waters of the Adriatic by a discerning hand, and lit by the lights of quaint coastal towns, perched on rocky sea cliffs. Cities like Zagreb are one step away from being cosmopolitan without being pretentious. But perhaps the best thing about the Balkans? Aside from Dubrovnik (which unfortunately seems to have become a tourist city, a la Venice) Balkan cities are relatively undiscovered by North American tourists, making you feel like you're privy to a wonderful little secret (Europeans have known what a gem the Balkans are a long time, but tourism is only now starting to pick up again after the unrest of the 90s.)

When Elissa and I were planning this trip we received a lot of criticism from people about our plan to traverse the Balkans. Even seasoned travelers, somehow mislead to believe that the violence and turmoil that lead to the breakup of Yugoslavia is still raging, told me that they would never even consider venturing to that part of the world. "It's just far too dangerous," I was warned.

Now, to be fair, one of the things that was apparent during our travels through the Balkans is that there is definitely some residual hatred that exists between the different ethnic groups. Greeks hate Turks, Croatians don't much like Serbians, and Macedonians aren't big fans of Albanians. But, considering that this part of the world has been in pretty constant upheaval since before the Ottomans, it only makes sense that feelings like this exist. For North Americans, weaned on political correctness from a young age, hearing someone say, "I don't hate Turks, I just don't like them. They're not good people," might be a little jarring and difficult to understand, but by no means does it indicate a society that is in any way dangerous. If anything, opening yourself up to meeting people who have been through what people in the Balkans have been through will only help you to better understand yourself, your own prejudices, and the world around you.

So, my point. My point in all of this is that the Balkans should not be overlooked. Not only will you find gorgeous landscapes and fascinating history, but you'll also encounter incredibly hospitable and generous people. Forget about making that third trip to Paris or once again spending a few weeks in Hawaii. Take a chance. Put aside your misconceptions and go somewhere you would never have dreamed of going. I will tell you right now that the Balkans will be the best part of my trip. In fact, I'm already planning my next trip: backpacking through Croatia, island hopping, living in my bathing suit and carrying my backpack of possibility.

*see photos from the Balkans below*

Photos!!

Old City, Kotor














Dalmation Coast, Croatia














Graffiti in Athens














With my lovely childhood friend Steph in Bologna














Greece!














Sunset on Mykonos














Lake Ohrid, Macedonia














Kotor, Montenegro



















Dubrovnik, Croatia



















Dubrovnik, Croatia



















View from our campsite at Peraga Beach

"Are you a ghost?"

Thirty years ago, in the middle of her own European adventure, my mum found herself in Lake Ohrid, Yugoslavia. There she was introduced to the Zhutas, an Albanian Muslim family that welcomed her and her friend Dorothy into their home for a week, touring them around the ruins of the old city, feeding them pans of baklava, and making them feel that they had a home, thousands of miles away from their real homes in Alberta.

My mum kept in touch with the Zhutas and in the early 80s, just as tensions in Yugoslavia were on the rise, she received a letter from Mixharet, one of the daughters Zhuta, asking my family to sponsor them to come to Canada. My parents did everything they could, even extending an invitation to the Zhutas to attend their wedding, in the hopes that such an offer would help the Zhutas to get visas. They never heard back...

To this day my mum still speaks of the hospitality and generosity of the Zhutas, so when she found out that I was going to be stopping in Lake Ohrid on my way to Croatia she immediately asked that I try to locate them. Last Friday Elissa and I set out for Lake Ohrid on mission and armed with a thirty year old address, a few names, two pages of scanned photos, and the understanding that we may not find the Zhutas, or worse, we may find out the reason that they haven't been heard from in twenty-five years.

I have to admit, I sort of thought my mum was a little crazy when she asked me to find the Zhutas. I mean, first of all, I don't speak Macedonian, or Albanian or any of the other languages spoken in the Republic of Macedonia. And what would be the chance that the family still had the same address or phone number, or that anyone in Lake Ohrid would be able to identify any of the Zhutas out of pictures from thirty years ago?

You'll imagine my shock then when, 30 minutes into our stay in Lake Ohrid, I was chatting on the phone to Ekuran, the Zhutas only son.

I had told the owners of the house we were staying in about our mission to find the Zhutas, and after seeing the name and address, they pulled out the phone book and immediately found a listing for the family.

"I will come by in one hour," Ekuran said.

And that was it. We had found them.

Ekuran and his son, Ilber arrived at 7:30pm, just as Elissa and I were hanging up our laundry on the balcony outside our room.

"Are you a ghost?" Ekuran called up to me.

After tea at a cafe on the lake, Ekuran and Ilber took us to their home, the same home they lived in thirty years ago, and introduced us to the entire family, all the while filling us up with food and drink, laughing over the old pictures, and recounting stories of what my mum was like thirty years ago.

"Your madre," started Mazee, Ekuran's wife. She pointed to her face in imitation, a huge smile from ear to ear. Then she stared giggling. "Happy," she said.

For the next day and a half Ekuran's family took Elissa and I under their wing. His son Ilber helped to arrange our bus to Montenegro. His daughter-in-law, Arijeta,told us the difficulties of being an Albanian Muslim in Macedonia, toured us around the old city and took us to her home, where her mother made us a traditional Albanian lunch. His mother-in-law peeled and cracked fresh walnuts for us from the tree in their backyard. His daughter, Amide, translated during visits with the whole family and chatted to us about her favorite singers, Rihanna and Amy Winehouse. And his little five year old grandson, Johnny, gave us big hugs and kisses when we finally had to say goodbye. We look many, many pictures to commemorate our visit.

"You have a picture of your family?" Ekuran asked before I left.

"I do," I said, showing him a picture of the four of us that had been taken a couple of years ago at my grandparents 50th wedding anniversary (it's my favorite picture of us- that's why I brought it.)

Ekuran looked the the picture carefully. "Can I keep?"

"Absolutely," I said, turning the card over to write our names and address on the back.

Who knows, maybe thirty years from now one his grandkids will arrive at my door with a crumpled photo of Elissa and I, surrounded by the Zhutas, smiling and happy.

I left my heart in Greece

The beaches in Mykonos are the most beautiful I've ever seen. The sea is gorgeous blues and greens, so clean and clear it looks like it's never been touched. I tried to capture it's perfection on my camera, but no matter how many different settings I tried, or angles I shot from, it was never quite as stunning as what I saw with my own eyes.

This island stole our hearts. Elissa fell in love with one of the locals, and I fell in love with lazy days by the sea. Our original plan was to stay on Mykonos for only one or two nights, then hop to a few more islands before stopping in Athens on our way to Croatia. But the longer we stayed, the more difficult it was to leave. In fact, we almost considered skipping Croatia to spend more time on the islands, but ultimately couldn't fathom not taking the much anticipated bus ride through Macedonia and Albania.

"You don't want go through Albania," our friend Constantinos said.

"Very, very bad place," added George, Elissa's island boyfriend.

The Greeks hate Albanians, and Turks, so we took everything they said about either country with a grain of salt.

We spent our last days on Mykonos as lazily as possible, in anticipation of the marathon traveling that lay ahead. For two nights, we camped on a bluff overlooking Peraga Beach. If I had to venture a guess, I'd say that heaven must resemble the view from our tent flap, especially at dusk when the sun sinks behind the the hills of Mykonos, showering rays of yellow, red and pink light over the cerulean sea.

Our friends Constantinos (Sing Yi's Mykonian fling) and George were our personal tour guides during our four days on the island, taking us to the most secluded beaches and the best local restaurants, all the while regaling us with Greek myth and island folklore.

The fact that we actually survived driving with either of them however, is a miracle. Never have I ever seen such small cars drive at such fast speeds, on such incredibly narrow and often rocky and unpaved streets. On our third day on the island George took us to the most secluded beach on Mykonos (or so he says- and I guess he should know), which is usually only accessible by boat. We quickly found out why.

After driving for about half an hour through the paved streets of Mykonos (I don't know how anyone ever knows where they're going- there aren't any street signs to speak of), we arrived at the bottom of an incredibly steep and treacherous dirt path (I won't dare call it a road because that would be an insult to real roads.)

Fortunately, George's 1999 Smart car, which has been driven to and from the UK twice, and at the time had three girls crammed in the backseat and one seated in the permanently-stuck-in-full-recline front seat, was up to the task- or so George said.

"This car. Best car ever. No problem," he assured us.

I was not so inclined to agree with him.

Sure enough, about half-way up this completely desolate path in the middle of absolutely nowhere, the car (now named Gandolf) had a meltdown.

"Shit! I forget about the water!" George grumbled.

Fortunately, the view of the sea wasn't so bad from high up this rocky path, and after a few minutes Gandolf is ready to go again. This time the snappy little bugger made it the whole way without any trouble, and only a few prayers.

To be fair, the beach that George took us to was worth the terrifying car ride. Every beach I went to on Mykonos seemed like the most beautiful beach I'd ever seen, but this one, a completely secluded inlet with a sandy beach and rocks cliffs on two sides, easily took the cake.

After several hours of lazy sun bathing, sips of Prosecco, dips in the sea, and yoga on the beach (I did a headstand in the sand! Yay!), we headed back down the path, a bag of fruit balanced on the windshield because it wouldn't fit in the back of the car, finally ending up back at the boys' cliffside condo with a stunning view of Paradise Beach (this name could not be more appropriate), where we ended up staying until Friday, when we finally pried ourselves off of Mykonos and headed to Athens to begin the trek to Croatia.

Where's Janell?

Seated snuggly in the backseat of a RAV 4, we race through the hills of Mykonos and down the treacherously dark and windy streets that only a true Grecian can navigate. Having driven with Turks and Greeks, by now we're used to speeding down impossibly narrow streets, at incredibly high speeds, toward oncoming traffic, at the peril of all pedestrians nearby. So we don't worry too much as we barrel through Mykonos with our new Greek friends, Constantinos and George, even as they engage in a heated argument from the front seat. The five of us are on a mission, and right now it's the only thing on our minds.

"We find your friend," Constantinos and George promise.

That's right, only twelve hours into our Greek adventure and we've already lost someone.

To catch up: Elissa and I met two girls, Janell and Sing Yi, at our hostel in Istanbul. They decided to come with us to Greece and the four of us have been traveling together since we left Istanbul on Friday.

Our stay in Mykonos started off easily enough. We landed on the island on Sunday night via ferries from Kusadasi and Samos. We hadn't pre-arranged accomodations, so we were happy when we got off the ferry to be greeted by dozens Mykonians with rooms to rent. We struck a deal with a woman whose house had a stunning view of the harbor, crammed ourselves and our gigantic backpacks into her Smart car, and headed out.

As soon as we got to our room we headed out to town center to celebrate Janell's 31st birthday. (For those of you who are wondering if Mykonos is as crazy a party island as everything says it is- the answer is yes! Even during the off season...)

A bad experience with a Turkish "hamburger" the night before, coupled with the day long trip from Kusadasi had left me exhausted and slightly ill, so after a few hours of dancing and drinking at Scandanavian Bar I decided to pack it in early (2:30am). I couldn't find the others before I left, but I knew they wouldn't have trouble making it back. It's a small island after all. What's the worst that can happen?

When I woke up the next morning to do some yoga on our ocean view terrace (possibly one of the most amazing yoga experiences of my life) I was quick to learn that not everyone had made it back. Janell's bed was empty and all of her things were exactly where they had been the night before.

Dammit.

After a quick debrief with Elissa and Sing Yi it was determined that Janell was last seen with a guy she had met at one of the clubs. He had promised to bring her home later that morning.

"Okay, okay. It's only 10:30am, that's still morning, right? She'll show up soon," we assured ourselves.

Here's where things start to get a little tricky. The woman whose home we were staying in arrived to tell us that we had to check out by noon unless we wanted to pay for another night, and since we had already decided to camp at Peraga Beach we started to pack up our stuff. When Janell still hadn't returned an hour later we started to pack up her stuff too.

When the clock struck twelve with still no sign of Janell we asked the question that would become the most repeated and agonized phrase of the day. "What do we do?"

You would think we could just call Janell, find out where she was, and figure out a place to meet, right? That's what we thought too, until we realized that she didn't have her phone.

Additional challenges for getting in touch with Janell were as follows:
1) We had run out of minutes on our Estonian cell phone and could not for the life of us figure out how to add more time.
2) We had borrowed a cell phone to call and leave a message with the guy she took off with (Constan/Kostas/Cristos..tinos?) and then promptly lost his phone number.
3) Janell's phone (which we were hoping she would call us on) was dying and we had no way to recharge it.
4) We had just checked out of the only place where she knew to find us.

We decided that the next best way to contact her would be to send a facebook message, but when we finally found a computer and internet we were told that black outs the night before had knocked out internet across the island.

Great.

At this point our best options for finding Janell seemed to be:
1) Send up smoke signals.
2) Shoot off flares.

Fortunately, Mykonos is a small island and a little luck was about to come our way.

In between "how do we find Janell" strategy sessions I decided to take a nap by the pool, while Elissa and Sing Yi headed down to the beach (you can't spend all of your time worrying...right?). When I returned I was not at all surprised to find that the two of them had met some local boys who they had enlisted to aid our cause (I say "not surprised" because the girls I'm traveling with have this amazing talent of meeting men everywhere we go...it's kind of crazy).

"Don't worry, we find her," they reassured us. "But first, we take you to dinner."

So after dinner at a great taverna, complete with all kinds of fresh seafood and local wine, the five of us headed to town center, the site of Janell's disappearance.

The only piece of information that we had on this guy was that he worked at one of the restaurants on the waterfront.

"Ok, who is 'dis guy?" the boys asked. "We go talk to him."

"There he is!" Sing Yi shouted.

"Him? Gus?"

"Gus?? You mean Constant/Kostas/Cristos...tinos?"

So it turns out that Constant/Kostas/Cristos...tinos is actually named Gus, and that he's great friends with our new friends. In minutes we found out that Janell was fine. Great, actually. She'd spent all day touring the beaches with her new island crush and was now at an internet cafe around the corner.

"She's fine?! You mean, she hasn't spent all day looking for us? Searching the sky for smoke signals and flares? Frantically dashing to and from internet cafes hoping to have received a message from us?"

When we finally met up with Janell she couldn't have been happier.

"Oh yeah, I thought about getting in touch with you guys, but I kept forgetting. It's a small island, I figured I'd run into you eventually..."

We may have accidentally adopted a Turkish child...

*Thıs story was a joint endeavor by Kristen and Elissa

Elissa and I have a new best friend. He is Turkish, he's about 60 years old, and his name is Çetin.

Let's start at the very beginning. After visiting the Topkapi Palace this morning, Elissa and I hit the streets in search of food. Since it's Ramadan, food can be a little difficult to find because not all of the restaurants are open. We looked around for a little while and wound up in front of a restaurant called The Grand Vezir. While we were deciding whether or not to go in, our soon to be best friend, Çetin, introduced himself and asked where we were from. When we told him we were from California his eyes just lit up. He was even more excited to find out that Elissa lives near La Brea, the same area that he had lived in for seven years. Çetin hugged us and invited us into his rug shop for tea, an activity we had been told to avoid, and had so far succeeded at doing.

Once inside, Çetin served us apple tea and we started to chat. As it turns out, not only is Çetin a very friendly Turkish rug store proprieter, he is also a legendary Turkish director in the making. In fact, he has just submitted his first film to Sundance. The title has escaped us (probably because it is very long and complete engrish) but, the hook is something to the effect of: "Be very carefull with your children on vacation. It can be very dangerous."

When Çetin found out that Elissa is a theatre director he was eager to show us his masterpiece, confident that he had just found his ticket to Hollywood. While we waited, Çetin ran to get his laptop and Elissa and I turned to each other, slightly terrified.

Let us describe this movie. First off, it is in English. Terrible, terrible English. The location? Hollywood, California. (It is obviously NOT Hollywood. In fact, it is Turkey, which is pretty clear from the Turkish flag awning later in the film.) It begins at the front desk of a five star hotel where a mother and her daughter are checking in. Dun dun dun. The mother grabs the one laptop bag she has packed for their weekend getaway and the pair head across the lobby, where they are greeted by a suspiciously familiar security guard. Could it be? Çetin? Is that you? The writer, director, AND the star??? AMAZING! For some reason, Çetin the security guard gives the women an entire tour of the hotel and their room, even going so far as to tell them where their towels are in the bathroom.

Note: At this point the film's sound quality takes a dive and the actors' lines become virtually impossible to hear. So from now on, imagine this as a silent film, with the soundtrack from Jaws, gone wrong.

Anyway, as the story goes, the girls go out to the pool, and the woman leaves her daughter while she goes to get food. When she returns, AAAHHHH!, her daughter, who is suddenly named Judy, is gone!! "No! JUDDDDYYYYY!!!" A huge chase ensues, with the help of Çetin, action hero/security guard. While the mother races through the hallways, stopping at every rug shop in sight to search for Judy, Çetin is in hot pursuit out of doors. This whole suspenseful search goes on for quite some time until...in a flash of genius, Çetin knows what has happened to poor little Judy! She is drowning in the sea! Obviously, this calls for a jetski action scene, in which Cetin rides onto the scene, dramatically belly flops into the water, and clumsily free styles to Judy's rescue. In the end, all is well, Judy is saved, and we've learned our lesson.

That was the movie. It was amazing.

Çetın had been in and out while we were watching, and every once in a while we would turn to each other with looks of absolute bewilderment on our faces. When Çetin joined us again at the end of the film, we really didn't know what to do. "You like?" he said. "It was beautiful", Elissa said with great sincerity. She didn't know what else to say. Çetın told us that he had shot the movie in only two days in Anatolia. And there had been no screenplay. It has all come from his head. But he wondered, could this film win Sundance? He informed us it had already been accepted, but there were a hundred films, and he knew the competition would be stiff.

Since the film was such a treat, we were delighted when Çetin offered to introduce us to a very famous Turkish actress who had starred in many films. He ran outside and returned with his nine-year-old niece, who then performed a scene in the middle of the carpet shop. "Get ready for school", actor Çetin yelled at her. "Noooo", she said sleepily from the floor, rolling over dramatically onto her other side and curling up into a little ball. The rest of the scene continued in mix of English and Turkish, but one thing was for certain, she did not want to go to school.

"Bravo!" we cried when they were done.

"Come! Eat", Çetin offered, leading over to the restaurant next door.

Over soup, bread, dolma and dessert, Çetin told us that, believe it or not, he had never attended film school and was entirely self-taught. In fact, he was also a self-taught actor who had honed his craft by watching "A Streetcar Named Desire" 650 times. He's counted.

After we had assured Çetin that his film would have a solid chance at Sundance he invited us to live with his sister for three months in her mansion on the Bosphorous. But wait, there's just one catch. You see, since Çetin had decided that Elissa was a world renowned acting coach with deep connections to the Hollywood scene, she would be the perfect teacher for his little niece. In fact, he would send his niece to live with Elissa in New York or Los Angeles, or wherever she may be. Elissa would of course feed her and raise her as her own. And one day, this little girl would be a star.

As we left, Çetin kissed us on both cheeks and made us swear that we would help to bring he and his family great fortune and fame in America. He promised to visit and we are now both anticipating the arrival of a small Turkish child on our doorsteps...