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...

"Hello. Hi! Excuse me miss. I love you! You are my sunshine."

Istanbul is magic. I really don't know any other way to describe it. Our hostel, Bahaus Guesthouse, is in the Sultanhemet district of Istanbul and only steps away from the Blue Mosque, the Underground Cistern, Hagia Sophia, etc. We arrived yesterday afternoon after an uneventful flight and a unscheduled detour through Taksime (pedestrian center of New Town) and immediately lay down for a quick nap. We had set our alarm for an hour but were woken around 5 o'clock not by its buzzing, but by the call to prayer. The call to prayer (adhan) happens five times everyday (calculated according to the movement of the sun) and is recited in Arabic from the minaret of mosque by a muezzin, who is chosen for the task based on his recitation skills and character. The adhan is broadcast over loud speakers and can be heard everywhere in the city. It is an amazing, beautiful thing to hear, especially when standing in between the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia. Hearing the prayer as it is recited (sung is more like it) by the muezzins on the spires of each mosque is like hearing the most beautiful call and response chant. The sound echoes all over the city and everything seems to sort of stops until it's over.

Once Elissa and I woke from our nap we dragged ourselves upstairs to the hostel's rooftop bar (best in the city!) for some kabab and apple tea. If you ever end up in Turkey, make sure to visit someplace (or stay someplace) with a rooftop bar or patio. They seem fairly common and they are wonderful! When Elissa and I walked up the stairs to the patio we were thrilled to see the entire roof was filled with oversized pillows, cushions, water pipes, and backgammon boards, and had a fabulous 360 degree view of the Bosphorous and the rest of the city.

After or kabab dinner (served with ketchup and mayonnaise? maybe it's because we're from the U.S....) we decided that under no condition could we fall asleep at 6:30pm (even though we really wanted to...) so we headed to the bathhouse. We had been told by many people that a visit to the hammam is something we HAD to experience while in Turkey and we figured that after 12 hours of traveling, getting a good scrub and massage wasn't such a bad idea. We got directions from our hostel and took off.

The streets in Istanbul are heavy with the scent or sisha and burning coals. The air is sweet and aromatic and exactly what you would imagine it to smell like. Even when walking through the most touristy areas of the city you don't feel like you're in a huge metropolis. Istanbul has this amazingly open and airy feel about it which, for a city of 17 million (!) people, is astounding.

Once on the street we immediately got lost and had to stop for directions. Fortunately (actually unfortunately alot of the time) people on the street, well actually men on the street, are very friendly and are more than happy to help give you directions (especially if you buy something from them afterwards). In fact, "Are you lost?"along with "Hello miss. Can I talk to you?", "Are you looking for me?", " I am here!" , "I love you!", "You are my sunshine!", and various lyrics from American songs are the most common things heard on the streets. This is actually the only thing I DON'T like about Istanbul so far. Ultimately, it's harmless and more of an annoyance than anything. Elissa is nice about it and smiles and says hello back, I just ignore and keep on walking.

Çemberlitaş Hamani had been recommended by our hostel as the best place for our baths. It's a historical bath house that was comissioned by the wife of Sultan Selim II in 1584. Elissa and I had read up on the baths so we would know what to expect, but we still didn't really know what we were getting into. The bathhouse is segregated by sex. Men have one side of the bathhouse and women have the other. Once there you can elect to have one of three treatments: self-service, traditional or deluxe. Elissa and I both chose the traditional option and were then sent upstairs to change. For those of you who are a little on the bashful side, you may want to know that the baths are public and, while you may choose to wear a swim suit or underwear, most people go nude. Once we had our peptemal wrapped tightly around us we were directed through two sets of heavy wooden doors and into the "hot room." The room is lit by round and star shaped skylights that are set in a high domed ceiling and an enormous circular slab of marble sits in the middle of the room.

Since neither Elissa nor I really knew the protocol for this place we just tried to oberve what everyone else was doing. Eventually we figured out that the only thing to do was to set our little towel down on the concrete slab and sweat. So we did. Every so often someone got up and walked over to one of the small marble sinks that lined the perimeter of the chamber and poured bowls of water over themselves. So we did that too. After awhile Elissa and I felt like we were done with the sweating and wondered when the actually "bath" part of the experience would take place. The room had suddenly become very crowded with a lot of naked women so we got up to leave the chamber in search of our scrub and massage.

"No! No!" one of the women shouted at us. "Sit!"

Then we figured it out. These women, these naked women were going to wash us. So we sat. And the women started washing. First they scrub you down with a "silk mitten", which is kind of like a loofah I suppose. Once you've been exfoliated (and patches of your skin have nearly been ripped off) you are soaped up, given a massage, and your hair is washed. It kind of reminded me of being bathed by my parents when I was too little to do it for myself (except that they were always clothed...). "Turn!", the woman who washed me would say when she was ready to wash the other side. "Sit", she growled when she was ready to scrub my my neck and behind my ears. "No!", she would shout when I turned the wrong way, or got up too soon, or thought that the bath was over. When we were finished we dressed and headed back to the hostel, fresh and clean and ready to really start our adventure!

Let the adventures begin!

We're in Istanbul! Elissa and I are both EXHAUSTED after the extremely long trip. I didn't sleep much at all...but we did get free beer and wine on the flight (thanks Lufthansa!) Istanbul is magical... I can't even really put it into words right now because I can't really think. Our hostel is AMAZING...there is a gorgeous upstairs area with a view of the Bosphorous. Elissa and I are going to head up there now for shisha and Turkish Coffee. I'll write a full update of our adventures in Istanbul soon!

New York City Snapshots

Empire State Building

Emilie, Kristina and Tropical Storm Hanna

Waiting out the rain...

Highbar's only patrons....awkward...good thing we're really dressed up

Tropical Storm Hanna and Other Small Disasters...

"There's a tropical storm headed this way," my friend Brian mentioned over lunch at S'MAC (a restaurant in the East Village that serves only MAC N'CHEESE i.e. my dream come true :) I don't know whether it was the Mac N'Cheese induced food coma or the fact that I didn't really know a tropical storm could hit New York City that caused these words of caution to fly in one ear and out the other, but whatever it was they did, because only several hours after Brian had issued his words of warning I found myself, along with my friends Jenn and Emilie, soaked to the bone in Washington Square while frantically hailing every taxi that drove by. I don't think I have ever had so much fun in the rain...

The evening had started off civilized enough. Jenn and I had had a lovely dinner at Klong in SoHo. Emilie joined us after the Dolce & Gabana show. We met up with Elissa and Michael (Euro travel buddies) at a bar nearby. Then the evening went to hell. We had decided to take pictures in Washington Square, but as soon as we arrived at the square Tropical Storm Hanna started to rage. The rain was literally coming down in sheets. We did our best to stay dry, but there was just no avoiding it. After almost an hour of trying to hail a cab we decided to make a run for the Subway, where we arrived completely soaked (we were literally wringing out our dresses in the station). We had a lot of laughs over the whole evening and went to bed, sure that the storm would blow over by morning.

After our eventful evening in the rain, Jenn, Emilie and I headed to the Theatre District in the morning to get student rush tickets for "Spring Awakening" (great! I would definitely recommend). We decided to hang around Times Square for a bit so that Emilie and I could take some pictures and while we were there we happened upon a little street fair with vendors selling clothes, jewelry, tacky souvenirs, etc. It was then that we discovered that my camera had been stolen. Surprise!! I guess I'm not the savvy traveler that I pretend to be because I made the mistake of putting the camera in the outside pocket of my backpack...oops! But, these things are bound to happen so it's probably best if they happen at the beginning of the trip, right? I made a quick call to my dad who, after consulting Consumer Report, suggested that I get a Canon Powershot SD 1100. It takes great pictures AND comes with a USB cable so that I can upload photos to share (I had lost the cable for my other camera- so there's a silver lining to all of this I suppose).

The day carried on in this same strange manner. Jenn's phone had been ruined in the rain the night before so we almost missed the matinee when we couldn't find her roommate, Kristina...or her phone number...Most of the early afternoon was incredibly muggy and after getting out of the matinee Hanna had returned, only this time in full force. I've never seen such a downpour. Jenn, Emilie, Kristina and I decided to take refuge in a cafe around the corner from the theatre until the storm passed....which didn't actually happen...so we got soaked, again, and then finally made it back to Jenn's apartment for some much needed rest. I've never wanted a nap so badly in my entire life...

Unfortunately, the nap wasn't meant to be because no sooner had we arrive home than we were out the door again, heading to a bar that Emilie had heard about called Highbar. Apparently this roof-top, semi-enclosed, cabana style bar is extremely difficult to get in to, but we found out a way to beat the system....go during a tropical storm! Awesome! That way not only are you guaranteed to get in, but you're also guaranteed to have the entire place to yourself! Yes, it happened...and it was really awkward.....especially since we were dressed to the nines...and all alone....

Emilie took off to meet a friend at another fashion week show and Jenn and I headed home to grab a bite and to change into jeans before heading out to a winebar...but just as I was finishing my snack a friend of Jenn's called her to come meet up with them at Columbus Circle...where we had literally just been. So, we got back into the cab and headed to meet them, after which we crashed a party for Columbia MBA students at a club called Eden (it looked like the decor had been ripped from an episode of "Under the Umbrella Tree"). While all of the serious MBA students were networking we were dancing the remainder of the night away to awful, awful techno...thus ending the absolutely most bizarre day I have had in a very very long time...

I can see why all of my friends are moving here...

A couple of months ago everyone I knew suddenly decided that they HAD to move to New York City. Some are pursuing new career opportunities, some are going to grad school, some are trying to make it big in New York theatre, and some just feel this unbelievable need to be there because, for them, New York City is the absolute center of the universe. Having never been to New York City I could only piece together what I assumed their lives would be like in this new place...walking out of their appropriately small but also requisitely cute apartment on the _______ side, picnicking in Central Park, attending fabulously glamorous events, partying all night at some hot new club, and of course, appearing in Broadway shows. All of this imagining of what New York would be like, coupled with the fact that at least half of my nearest and dearest friends are calling this city their new home for some undetermined amount of time got me thinking...maybe I should move to New York City too? Of course I have no reason to do such a thing. Only an absolute DREAM JOB could tear me away from the West Coast right now...but maybe this five day stay in New York City before heading off to Europe can serve as a testing ground to see what life might be like if I lived here.....

So here we go....

Elissa and I arrived in New York last night...I don't think I've ever seen a more stunning view from the airplane window as when we began our descent over the city.

After navigating our way out of JFK and into a cab (the cabbie was pretty certain that Elissa and I were contestants on ANTM) we ended up at our first destination of the trip, Elissa's best friend's apartment in SoHa (South Harlem). Slightly exhausted and kind of surprised by the humidity (humidity of any kind surprises me....I thought L.A. was humid when I first moved there) we encountered our first true test as backpackers...a fifth floor walk-up....with a very narrow staircase. After a few missteps and one or two tricky backpack maneuvers we made it. We were officially in New York City!

The heat kept Elissa and I both up most of the night last night (no ac in the fifth floor walk-up) so we started out pretty early, meeting the third member of our travel team at his lovely apartment near Central Park. Over brunch at Good Enough to Eat (easily one of the best breakfast places I've been in awhile....L.A. people think Toast...or Doughboys; SF people...I don't think I've ever had breakfast in the city...so you're out of luck) the three of us decided that we absolutely MUST have a secret handshake and mantra to start every day of our trip. Although we're still brainstorming, the winning mantra from today went something like this "Elissa, Kristen, Michael, YAY! We're going to have an awesome day." Yeah........

The rest of the day went as follows: walking tours of Times Square and Midtown, searching desperately for a pub because after not sleeping all night and walking around in the sticky heat all day all Elissa and I wanted was a beer, taking the subway several stops out of the way when I was left to my own devices, meeting my lovely friend Jenn at her GORGEOUS apartment on the Upper East Side, FINALLY getting that beer at Brother Jimmy's BBQ, ending the night with a Tasti D-Lite and a glass of wine.

I'm completely exhausted. This city has an energy like I've never seen.