ADD Adventures to: {{ Rome, Italy }}

Kind of like Vienna, Rome is proving difficult for me to write about. I've been neglecting this post, or better, unable to even start it, because inside me I feel resistance and reluctance upon thinking about the eternal city. To be quite honest with you, I think I feel kinda mad at Rome. (O_o)

Rome is just about everything you'd imagine it to be. It's overflowing with monuments, pulsing with history, brimming with good food and life, and an idyllic place to let your imagination run wild and express your creativity. I'll never forget the feeling of possibility and wonder I had whilst standing there, looking at the ruins of The Ancient Rome at Il Foro. It was incredible to release myself to my creativity. I let it take over all my senses, while I came up with feelings to match the pictures and scenes I was making up in my mind of what she must have been like back then. It's the perfect place to play make believe, the perfect place to Imagine.

Il Foro

As my friend so aptly put it, "Just imagine all of this without the [new] buildings around it. It would be even more impressive." 

{{ Tip: all museums are free in Rome the first Sunday of the month, and lines for things like The Colosseum can be anywhere from no time to three or more hours. We somehow accidentally (truly it was an accident) cut the entire line, and ended up not only going in for free, but going in in under 10 minutes. Things my local friend said I should be quite proud of. haha. Also, with your ticket to The Colosseum, you can also enter the place pictured above. It says on your ticket until what time you can enter Il Foro. }}

The Colosseum still stands tall, a place whose history and technology remain exceptionally impressive, and though I didn't enter Vatican City, knowing it's there in its somewhat-impenetrable and untouchable ways made me feel a bit stronger, too. Which was good, because due to my first, only, and last experience eating Roman carbonara pasta and a couple cones of some mind-bogglingly-good gelato, all of which have fairly high doses of raw egg (or depend on it entirely), I destroyed the healthy bacteria lining my stomach and intestines, and left myself in an intestinal state I'm still recovering from more than a week later. But Giolitti gelato, you were so worth it! (I highly recommend the dark chocolate and blackberry, with cream. Always get the whipped cream.)

Giolitti, said to be the oldest gelateria in all of Rome, is definitely the place to go to try some! And my friend said it's the best in Rome, so why would you not? ;)

{{ Tip: you can only sit at the tables if you sit to order/pay, but it's cheaper to just pay at the register, then order at the ice cream bar. Plus, with all the amazing places to walk/sit/see in Rome, why not take the cone to go!? }} 

However, in spite of all the good food and good sights, time with friends and seeing new things, I was somehow very disappointed in Rome. And while I feel like it's a sin simply to say so, I must write with honesty.

I am upset with her for being so crowded with tourists, and allowing them to take over the city as they have. (Because naturally she has a choice in the matter.) I'm upset with them/her for letting them infiltrate her "I'm crazy, but only because I'm Rome, and in the end, we're just here to enjoy ourselves and relish in our cultural magnificence" types-of-ways with their, "I must go-see-do everything and all I can as quickly as possible, while gaining minimal enjoyment from any of it. AKA snap endless photos of monuments. Oh and by the way, I'll probably need a holiday after this one, because we're trying to do way too much" types-of-ways. I could feel it, and while I was in the city center, I got totally swept up in it. I had to consciously tell myself to stop anticipating what was next, and just be amazed and grateful for whatever and wherever I was at that moment. Because, it's Rome, and there are amazing things everywhere. Often all you have to do is look up.

People are flying around all over the place, the sidewalks are a traffic jam of their own, and anytime there's something from a guidebook nearby, you'll know, because of the swarm of fellow human beings gathered around and/or lined up.

In my mind, Rome was going to be a place teeming with Romans. A crazy-but-calm place. A place full of people eating gelato at all hours, sitting outside to enjoy tiny little Italian coffees, and spending even longer than the Spanish to enjoy a delicious lunch or break. A place chalk-full of women wearing tight clothes and lots of make-up, preferably with a little dog in tow, and heels that make your head spin, wondering how they still have surviving, thriving ankles in spite of all the cobblestone obstacles that surround them. A place with men whose clothes are tighter than the women's, their manicured ways almost too much to handle, and people making out everywhere you look. I expected to see more yelling and more hand gestures, more tanned skin and hair gel. I mean, honestly, I expected to hear more Italian on the streets. After all, that's how Elizabeth Gilbert described it in Eat, Pray, Love. (Hehehe. Sorry, but I can't go to Italy without thinking of the book and somehow trying to recreate scenes from it. It's had a major impact on my life and adventures, because I read it for the first time as I was beginning my big one.) But I suppose ten years time makes a huge difference in a place, and while I did see some of what I'd hoped for, I felt I was just another little ant lost in a sea of tourists trying to snap pictures with their newly purchased selfie sticks so we can all go home and say, "I've been to THE Rome!"

Piazza di Spagna, The Spanish Steps -- They were gorgeous, but truly, too hectic for me.

Although, looking at this picture again I do see we've captivated a couple lovers in an intense lip lock! Woo! That's the Rome I was hoping for! ;)

But now I'm starting to feel a little bad, and like I might be highlighting all the wrong sides of Rome. I don't want to give the impression that I didn't like it, and I certainly don't want to offend any Romans whose eyes might read this. Rome really is a great city, and the city I loved very much. I just didn't love being amid so many dang tourists and people shoving selfie sticks in my face every five minutes. (Even if I really do want one, I just couldn't bring myself to buy one under those circumstances. It's the hipster-anarchist-rebel side of me that does these things.) Which I realize is ironic, because I was one of these folks contributing to all this. But I am a traveler, so even whilst doing touristy-type things, we are still somehow unable to be called tourists. I'm not placing myself in a hierarchical travel system of any sort, I'm just stating a fact: travelers are not the same as tourists. And this is probably largely why I didn't enjoy being in Rome as much as I expected I would.

I spent a lot of time outside of Rome, since I was staying at my friend's parents' place in the countryside 30 minutes from the city (blessedly), and two of my four days there were spent in other places. So the time I did spend in Rome, was of course mostly spent in the touristic/historic center so I could see the main sights. City centers in touristic places are notorious for this: being filled with tourists. It makes sense. The center is walk-able, full of things to see, and usually the historic part of town. I mean, these places and parts don't become the fullest because they're anything less than interesting. But for me, someone who prefers to live in a place while visiting (pretend to be a local), getting caught up in the tourist buzz of it all doesn't make me leave a place with the best possible impression. And as far as Rome is concerned, my resulting sentiments are entirely my fault. I can't expect to get the greatest sense of a major city like Rome when I only spend two days in it and zero nights. I did go into the trip not expecting to see and do too much, because it's such a loaded place, and I wasn't going with much time. So I told Camilla from the start I wasn't concerned with doing/seeing so much, because I know it's really just the first of many trips to Rome. And to have the experiences I was blessed with outside the city, it was totally worth it to walk away a little mad at her (taking full blame)!

I flew into Fiumicino Airport and Camilla, whom I met through Couch Surfing when I hosted her in Sevilla last year, picked me up and we went straight to the beach! May 1st is a bank holiday in many places, including Italy, which meant everyone was headed to the beach for a day of partying, relaxing, and enjoying a long weekend. We spent the whole day there, I learned how to slackline, we ate good food, I met a bunch of her amazing friends, and we finished the evening off with some of her friends and a couple massive pitchers of cocktails with the longest straws I've ever seen, at a literally on-the-beach bar, complete with a massive gong they usually ring just as the sun is setting over the sea. And though we didn't get to witness that part because of the clouds, we took it upon ourselves to beat the gong with a wooden bowl nearby. It was the perfect re-initiation to the Italian culture I love so much, and the ideal way to start a mini vacation -- good times, good food, good friends, and lots of laughter and sand! 

The next two days were fairly full of hot sun and time spent around the center. On our first day in Rome, Camilla asked her father for a restaurant recommendation, and he sent us to an unassuming-looking place in the Jewish quarter of Rome. Often you find the best food comes from places that don't look the greatest from the outside. As is the case with Ristorante Al Pompiere, where he sent us. And my goodness gracious, after these photos you too will understand why I'm so glad he did...

 A Roman tradition: zucchini flower filled with mozzarella and a tiny piece of anchovie, breaded, then fried. You must, must, must try this. And I recommend you try it there. ;)

 My lovely date for the long weekend, featured with La Pasta Carbonara, the dish that destroyed me. 

But my goodness was it good!

The Roman dish of Guanciale -- pepper, guanciale (pig's cheek bacon), and pecorino cheese. This was good, but the time a Roman guy made it for me in Copenhagen, Denmark, with all Italian ingredients his mother had just brought him from Rome was actually quite superior to this. But it was still good. I'm not one to dislike a dish that's loaded with grated cheese and guanciale.  

Some people go to Italy for pizza, I go for pasta. Punto. 

On our second day in the city, a good friend I made in Sevilla came from his hometown to meet us and spend the day in Rome. We had our "Accidentally Cut Two Hours of Line" experience at The Colosseum, and then wandered around a bit. Ate breakfast in this darling piazza, whilst watching a man use tweezers to pick up every cigarette butt and bit of trash that was stuck between the cobblestones. Honestly, it was incredible to watch. None of us could believe the task he had, but could all easily appreciate the maintenance and care of the square. Then we walked through this amazing neighborhood that's full of vintage shops and alternative vibes, and went to an indoor artisan market to swoon over beautiful things. A bit of the afternoon was spent relaxing in the shade at a massive park that offers a fantastic view of the city, and then we relaxed a bit more amid some of the ruins.

All-in-all, the time I spent in the city was good, and I do love and appreciate Rome very much. But after a couple of long days spent walking around in the heat (I'd recommend going to Rome before you're facing 30 degrees every day), we were pretty beat, and I gratefully accepted Camilla's suggestion to spend the next day going to a couple different towns. And that is how Frascati and [Lake] Nemi were given the chance to steal my heart.

I know I'll be going back to Rome many times in my life, because well, it's Rome, and I have got to go to Vatican City at some point. In which case, I'd love some recommendations from any of you who've been!

Have a blessed and beautiful Sunday! Look up, give thanks, smile with every organ, and relax into the wonder of Being alive on Earth! I love you fam_{{ily}}!

With all I've got,

Allie-Sun <3 

There's Always an Adventure

Yesterday marked the start of my Easter holiday, and the start of a trip I have been so excited to take since I booked the flight four-or-so months ago!

For the next nine days, I am going to be exploring four new cities, in four different countries, all revolving around my plan to go to Hungary for the first time. It's the country where my grandfather was born, and the country he and his parents immigrated to the United States from, which means it's definitely influenced my life.

But before I can get to Hungary, I've got to get to Eastern Europe, and before I can get to Eastern Europe, I have had to journey a little through Southern Spain. (Not a bad place to have to start your trip.) So yesterday, I went from my town, Écija, to Córdoba (40 minutes) with some workmates when we finished at the high school, spent a few hours walking around and relaxing, then took a blablacar (rideshare) to Málaga (1 1/2 hours), where I am now, and where the adventure already has begun.

I really do not understand why it always seems to happen that I am arriving to a new place, trying to meet up with my host, ride, or person I'm meeting up with in said new place, and ALWAYS WITHOUT A PHONE! Seriously, I am notorious for showing up somewhere with less than 10% battery in my phone, therefore adding so much stress to trying to coordinate, use the map, contact my point of contact, and anything else that you usually need to do when you first arrive anywhere.

I don't know if you've been following along on my adventures, but the last time this happened, it left me in a serious This Will Be Funny Tomorrow-type of situation (which you can read about here), stranded in the Red Light District of Brussels. Thankfully, this time I'm in a country where I speak the language, it's not the middle of the night, and I'm not in a neighborhood where there are massive dildos and S&M toys displayed in all the windows surrounding me. But still.

So my ride left me near the football stadium here in Málaga, and I turned on my phone to tell my Couch Surfing host where he could meet me. He was going to come pick me up with his scooter to bring me to his house. I turned my phone on, nervous that there was only 4% battery left, told him I'd arrived, shared my location with him, and then turned it off, praying for the best. But when more than 15 minutes had passed and he still hadn't arrived, I felt a bit sure that something was going wrong.

I turned my phone back on to check in, but didn't end up writing to ask if everything was ok. I didn't want to make him feel like I was impatient, because really, not that much time had passed, and since he hadn't written me, I figured it was still ok. So I turned my phone back off, and waited a bit longer. But then, more time passed, and no scooter pulled up to pick me up, and I was more certain than ever he was having a hard time finding me. (Obviously.) This time, there were messages. Ones that made it clear I had messed up by having my phone off, he was driving in circles to find me, and he was a little annoyed. I managed to write down his phone number on my hand and get off a quick message about where I was, and was just about to call when my phone died. Grrreat.

I decided I would wait another 10 minutes, just in case he showed up, then go to a bar and charge my phone. He'd messaged me his address, so I knew I could get to his place, but not before I turned on my phone to get the address out of it. Then I decided I should definitely call him and tell him my plan, and started scoping out which person passing by I should ask. A nice looking gal was walking by with her dog, and I asked if I could use her phone to call someone. Thankfully she said yes and he answered, and we were able to sort out where I was. Unfortunately, he had just arrived back home, but after speaking to my new street friend, she explained where I was, and they set a meeting point for me. She was even kind enough to walk with me to get there, since it was on her route. During which time I learned that in Spain certain dogs that are labeled "dangerous dogs" (pitbulls and such) are required to wear a strap around their mouths when being walked around, or the owner can be fined. Ridiculous! Her dog was so sweet! But I digress..

It turns out that the location Google/Whatsapp shared with him was not where I was, and he'd been driving around five minutes from where I was standing, looking for me for over half an hour. It also turned out that the entrance to the stadium, a perfectly wonderful place to tell someone to meet you, was right in front of me (well, just down the street), but I had been looking at it as though it were a service entrance of some sort. Whoops.

Lesson learned: Do not show up somewhere without phone battery (again, anymore, of course), and if you're trying to meet someone, even if you're in a new city and know nothing about it, be proactive and just tell the person you'll meet them in an easy-to-find place. Even if you don't know where it is (the entrance to the stadium, for example), just say you'll meet them there, then walk around asking somewhere where it is till they tell you.

Sorry, Juan. And thanks for going in so many circles. And for the incredibly delicious dinner you cooked last night. :/

Always an adventure! Wouldn't be my life without some starting-off stories! Haha.

Love you guys, I hope you have a great weekend!

Blessings, Love, Light & Wonder,

Allison <3

Deactivation Adventure: Day Two

So naturally, since I've started to heal my mind, everything else is falling back into place, even though physically I'm deteriorating; with clouds and cobwebs in my chest and an incredibly sore throat. But that being the case, since now I'm feeling right as rain about myself and have my normal confidence level's coming back, I thought, "How silly to have deactivated my Facebook over all this. It was always my problem, of course, and now it seems so ridiculous to have taken it 'to the extreme' like I did. I feel completely better already, so maybe, I'll just reactivate and get on with a socially interactive online life!"

NO.

I may be feeling way better already mentally, but I know that this is probably just Satan trying to get me to go back to social media sooner than I'm really ready to. It happens this way a lot when we make a decision about something that we think/know will be better for us in the end -- we have our first 24 hours of success, start to feel stronger or "completely healed," and then think, "Hey, yeah, I can handle that. No problem! Let's just go right back to what was contributing to our unhealthy state," .................less than two days ago.

I mean, come on! Where's the logic in that? We may feeeel clear-minded and bright-eyed, but honey, I'm pretty sure that whatever it was that was getting you so down and messing you up so much can't be cured in just a day. That first day is just the beginning, so if you stop now and just go back into the old ways thinking that your "new mind" will take you through the same stuff as before but better, you are slightly twisted in your thinking.

That'd be like a drug addict stopping for one day, feeling like, "YES, I can! I am!" and then deciding to go to a party with all their old friends who do drugs, because THEY feel strong enough to say no. Not going to happen. (Take it from someone who has been trrrrying to quit smoking weed for the last five years, and has hardly liked it at all in the last nearly-12 years they've been doing it. Doesn't matter how many months I'm off the crap, I get around certain friends, those old habits kick back in, and before I know it, I'm sitting on the couch thinking, "Gosh dang it. Why did I smoke? I don't even like it! Ok, this is definitely the last time I'm smoking. The final test has been taken. I keep trying it, hoping I'll like it and it'll do something good for me, but nope... always the same. I. Am. Done!" ...till the next day the whatever-it-is gets passed my way, and I'm right back to that mental game of Foosball. [But hey! Proud to say I haven't smoked in almost two months, and that I truly am through with that not-serving-my-higher-self-or-purpose-stuff!!! Friends, please don't even try to pass it to me. I'm out!]) And that is exactly what is happening now with Facebook.

I was told I could go home when I showed up to work this morning, because I think I probably look about as bad as my throat/chest feels, so after finishing watching an AMAZINGLY PERFECTLY ALIGNED sermon at Elevation, the first class of my online Food, Nutrition, and Health course (open2study is a free, online resource full of cool courses to take!), and a ridiculous amount of BuzzFeed videos on YouTube, I decided to take a nap. You know what I dreamt about during my nap? I couldn't believe it when I woke up and remembered, and was freaking out in my dream when I had completed the act entirely unconsciously...

I dreamed I went on Facebook. 

My gosh, talk about shame! Yes. Yes, yes, I actually was dreaming I just signed on Facebook, was commenting on stuff, liking things, I had two notifications, and then, when I was clicking out of the page, I remembered, "Oh my gosh, I deactivated my account! That was just yesterday! I didn't even make it one day before I went on without thinking twice about it! How could I not realize that till now??" And so began again my thoughts of, "Maybe I should just stay activated now."

I can't wait to step into my 26th year of life on Earth after this 2 1/2 weeks break from all the input. And you know what I'm realizing? How many flipping times a day I would just go over to Facebook, because I was already on the computer, and didn't know what else to do. Now, I'm writing more on my blog, something I've been wanting to for the last three years, and I think, pretty soon, I'll start using the time to practice the banjo, juggling, poi-ing, and Italian! Awww yeah, this Deactivated Adventure is the one for me! ;-)

Love you all

Shine bright

Shine strong

Smile often

Live long

<3

A "This'll Be Funny When It's Finished" Adventure

An Incredibly Unexpected Adventure

AKA

This'll Be Funny When It's Finished

Upon dropping out of my Integrated Kinesiology course, I went straight to skyscanner.es and booked three weekend trips, partly to make myself feel better, and partly because more money and time to travel was one of my main reasons for dropping the course in the first place. The first trip I booked was to Brussels, Belgium, and so the last weekend I went.

In the end, my galpal decided to book with me, but since she would be arriving from London in the morning, we planned to meet at our host's house that night when I got in. My flight was scheduled to land at about 23h, and I figured I'd be at the house by half past. Our host (and now friend) had told us that from the airport to the station near the house, it was about 10 minutes, and then just a few minutes on foot to the house. She also informed us that they lived in the Red Light District (RLD), so if we found ourselves in front of a brothel, we were in the right place. Ok, no problem. I've got directions, screen shots of maps, and my friend is going to meet me at the train station when I arrive. Simple, simple, no stress. Wellllll, it wouldn't be my life nor my type of travel if something that seems so simple and straight-forward actually played out to be so.

When I arrived at the airport, I saw signs for the station and followed them, only to discover it was a bus station, not train. Confusion started to set in, and deepened the longer I looked for a train stop without finding one. I had thought my host spoke English well enough not to mix up "bus" and "train," but just couldn't seem to find any train. But I did find a shuttle service that would take me to the city, so I decided to confirm there was no train, and then take the shuttle. Well, you can imagine my surprise when I saw that the shuttle was going to cost 17€ for a one-way ticket! I had been trying to budget 20€/day, because I've got 5 nights in Italy coming up at the end of the month, so to have to use nearly that within the first 10 minutes I'd arrived, simply to get to the city...!? My gosh, I couldn't believe it! But it appeared there really was no other way to get there, so I bit the bullet and bought the ride.

Now, when I arrived, it was -1°C, and the line was so long, I had to wait in line for nearly half-an-hour to take the next shuttle that came. This wouldn't have been sooo bad, because I had plenty of layers, but I was concerned about arriving to the train station on time to catch the last one. Our host had told us the last one ran around midnight, and if we missed it, it'd be a costly cab to get to their place; and after having spent 17€ on the shuttle ride there, I was not in the mood for another expensive mode of transport! Finally, I was on the shuttle leaving the airport around 23:45. Hope of making the last train slowly dwindled, but I was trying to be optimistic.

Now, in the midst of not finding any train station and having to pay so much for a lift, I had started to think that maybe, just maybe, I hadn't flown into the actual Brussels airport. But since it said Brussels on the ticket, I assumed it was at least close to the city. It wasn't until I'd been on the shuttle for 25 minutes, and passed a sign on the highway that said 33km to Brussels, that I thought, "Oh yeah, I definitely didn't fly into the airport that any of us thought/were talking about." Thank you, Ryanair. Their money-saving ways are annoying in a somewhat-comical kind of way.

Note to all: Ryanair almost always uses airports that are a minimum of 40 minutes from the city they actually indicate/make you think you're going to. Check in advance so you can potentially avoid expensive to-the-city costs!

So, I changed my hopes of making the train, to hopes of arriving to the train station I needed to get to in the first place. My phone was at about 8% battery by this time, so I turned it off after sending some messages to my friend saying, "Did you have to pay 17€ for a shuttle to the city?? Holy smokes! Ok, well, I'm waiting in line for it now, see you soon!" Battery percentage is sacred while trying to arrive to a new place, and I somehow always find myself arriving whilst my battery is on it's last breaths.

We made it to the station around 00:30, and I tried asking everyone who got off the shuttle and headed for a taxi if they were going near where I was trying to get. Nope, no one. But not only was no one going to that area (probably because they hadn't booked their hotels in the Red Light District, I don't know, maybe..), but I was informed that it was also "very far" from where we were. Awesome. ("Very far" I would later find out on the trip, equaled a half hour walk, which usually I would be completely game for, but considering the hour, the cold, the backpack, and the lack-of-map/phone battery, it wasn't my best option in the moment.) So I got a cab, by myself. My cab driver, who was an incredibly kind man from Ghana, would later tell me that he was surprised when I told him the address I was going to. That usually, if it was a man, he'd ask what he was looking for -- African, East European, etc (in reference to the nationality/color of the women working in The District, since they all have their own streets), but that since I am a woman, he was a little confused and surprised.

I was actually quite glad to have gotten in his cab, because while I felt a little distressed about my budget deflating so fast upon arrival, he was so nice, and we chatted the whole way. He told me how many of the women working in the RLD had been brought over by someone, and owed them loads of money, so even if they made 1,000-2,000€/month, they might only live off 3 or 4 hundred because they had to pay the person back who'd gotten them into the country. (I would also later learn that the women pay about 1,100€/month to rent their work space, cannot live there and are forced to rent an apartment, too, and earn as low as 20-30€ for 10 minutes.) We talked about how we felt about the RLD's and how I never knew how to react to it as a woman (does looking them in the eye to share a smile come off as kind, or judgemental?), the difference between life in Africa and in the big cities, and I learned about his brother and the town he lives in 40km from Brussels/why he lives there (for the sense of community). And then, I arrived, after having driven through the entire African Area of the RLD at prime time. Another 20€ gone, but worth it to give him a fare and have a nice chat with a nice Being.

My glory moment had arrived! It was nearly 1 in the morning, I'd been in transit for over 6 hours, and was so looking forward to getting in the door and passing out. I turned my phone on to let my friend know I was downstairs, and was nervous to see she hadn't read any of my previous ones, but got off my "I'm here" messages just before my phone died. By this point, I was in the entryway of the building, kind of hiding in the dark behind the closed door because I didn't want the men passing on the street to see/hassle me.

The entryway has two doors in it, one which led to The Lady's workplace on the ground level, and the other, which led up to the house I was meant to stay in. So I'm standing there, and begin to knock fiercely on the door, hoping someone will hear it and come let me in. Well, no one opened the door I was hoping they would, but The Lady did happen to open her door, and there I am, in a dress, tights, boots, and layers, with a backpacker's backpack on, heart sunglasses perched on my head, and a stupid nervous/friendly/surprised smile plastered on my face. She thought I was a client trying to enter her place.

She's looking at me, and I just say, "Hi, sorry! I'm trying to get into the apartment. How do I get in there?" And she points to the door I knew I needed to get through, and says, "You enter through there." "Okay, thank you," I say, in my sweetest voice. She shuts her door, and in the following moment a 20-something guy walks in the entryway, looks at me, realizes that no, I'm not waiting for her, and enters her place. It is then that I begin to bang my head on the door and try to fight back the tears that are being brought on by exhaustion, desperation, and fears of spending the night sleeping in the entryway between a RDL Lady's door and the one I want to enter worse than Alice.

Then I result to buzzing every single button on the doorbell that there is, over, and over, and over, and over again. I figure that someone at least has to hear that, but when there is still no smiling face appearing to open the door, I begin to wonder, "Where the hell is she!?" and "What am I going to do?" And then, I notice there is a bar on the corner. I know this will mean walking down the street, past the slow-rolling cars, small groups of men, and windows lit up with red lighted frames, full of dildos, skyscraper heels, and S&M gear, but really, what other choice do I have at this point? I need to get my phone charged so I can try and contact someone, anyone, and, so I can begin to look for a backup sleeping plan, because it appears this one isn't going to work out.

The two friends of the 20-something who'd entered The Lady's place were waiting outside for him, and I ask them if the bar on the corner is open. Thankfully they speak English, and we chat for a moment, me explaining that I'm supposed to stay in the apartment upstairs, but my phone has died, no one is answering the door, and yes. They kindly ask me if I know the number, holding out their phones as a gesture of offering it to me, but I tell them that the numbers are in my phone, which is dead, so really, I need to charge it. And it is in this moment that the 20-something-year old comes strolling out the door and down the steps, hair frazzled, with a slightly goonish look on his face (the kind people wear after pleasure has been had), and he says hello. I ask him how he is, and he says he's good, to which I want so badly to reply, "Yeah, I bet you're good," in a highly sarcastic tone, but don't. Then I say goodbye and thank you, wish them a goodnight, and walk down the street to what would become the icing, whipped cream, and cherry on the cake...

As I'm approaching the bar, I notice it seems partially closed, but that it's still semi-full of people. There are a few young guys outside it, so I ask them if it's open, and it's about at the moment they are telling me yes and opening the door for me, that I realize that there is not a single woman there, nor is there anyone that isn't swagged out, drunk, high, or cross-faded or black.

A side-note: I am not racist, but I use these race/color adjectives to help paint a picture of my situation at the moment. I'd like to think it wouldn't have made a difference if I was walking into a bar full of white guys, Mexicans, Muslims, or any other color. Either way, I was in the Red Light District of a city I've never been in before, at 1 o'clock in the morning, by myself, with no phone, and carrying all my stuff on my back and in my purse.

So there I am, walking into this bar, backpack on, reggae music is blasting, beers are spilling, spliffs are being passed around, and it is no exaggeration to say that not a single head didn't turn and stare at me as I walked in, giving everyone my "Hello, how are you" smile. No one in the joint spoke highly-communicative English, so I took out my phone charger and held up my phone to signify, "Can I please charge my phone?" The man working invites me to come behind the bar, plugs in my phone, and then asks if I'd like something to drink. So I ask for a beer, thinking it might help me blend in a little more. I try to explain to him what is going on, while he is trying to tell one guy to calm the eff down, because, "Man. Muslim man see woman, go crazy. Get crazy because of woman. Man, see woman, is crazy." And then try to explain to a younger guy that no, no I won't give you my phone number, to which he continues to say, "You, give me phone number." And I continue to reply, "Yes, but why? Why would I give you my number? We don't even speak the same language. It wouldn't make any sense. It doesn't make sense. We can't even communicate. No, no, I'm not going to give you my number." All communication being done in broken English, and a blend of French on their parts, and English and Spanish on mine. I finally just divert my attention, and walk away to check the status of my phone.

By this point, I am ready to get out of the bar. The music is too loud, it's too late, I'm too tired, and it's not where I want to be at 2am. The place was loaded with cameras, so I had some sense of security, but I was also beginning to wonder what time it would close, and where I would go from there. There was plenty of money in my account to take a cab to a hotel or hostel, but I just couldn't come to grips with that plan quite yet. I was still holding out hope of getting into the house. I'd called my host, and she said she was at a party across town, but would try calling my friend, who was supposed to be waiting for me at the house. None of her housemates are home, so it's up to my friend to save the night.

It wasn't so comforting when she said that no one was going to be going home till about 6 am, and she couldn't get hold of my friend either. But I didn't want to worry her, even though I'd sent an SOS prayer request message to my family for optimism and humor to remain with me, and told her I'd figure something out. And, if all else failed, the man who worked at the bar had begun to tell me I could sleep in his apartment.

He kept asking if I had a hotel, I kept responding that I was supposed to stay in the house of a friend next door, and he kept telling me, "You, American, good people. You, you sleep. No problem. You sleeping, I no bother you, no problem. You is sleeping on couch, I is sleeping other room, no problem. Problem, you call politie (police). Apartment here, politie here (gesturing that the police station is next door to the apartment). Politie my friend. Problem, you call them, they come, they save you. You American, nothing happen to you. You no have no problem." I was actually seriously considering his offer, because at first I thought he meant the apartment was above the bar, and I knew there were cameras downstairs, so if anything were to go sour, I could jam downstairs and sit in plain view of one of them, or try to sleep in the smoking room off to the side.

In all honestly, I didn't have any bad intuitive feeling about it, and was incredibly curious to trust God so far as to go sleep on the couch of my new friend, but still a little hesitant, considering he was easily twice my size and I'd known him for less than two hours. We'd also been talking a lot about how he goes walking every morning, because that and smoking weed help his injured leg he got, from what I understood, in a walking accident? So he kept telling me, "You, you sleep. You is sleeping. You sleep on couch, I is sleeping, in the morning, we walk. We is walking. At 9 (shown with fingers and said in French), we is walking. You, me, walking." And I kept telling him, "At 9 (shown with fingers and said in English and then Spanish), me, sleeping." (It often helps in communication situations like this to speak back in the English you're spoken.)

Finally, everyone leaves the bar, with the exception of one Belgian guy who's missing a fair share of teeth (the only other non-dark-skinned person in the place), the man who works at the bar, and another guy (his friend?). He offered me another beer, and then after going through the "you sleeping, I sleeping, then in morning we is walking" conversation again, we started talking politics.

He is a HUGE fan of George Bush, well, both of them, Jr. and Sr.. He loves Republicans, and says, "George Bush, character. Straight man, good man. Yes, I like. Respect. Honest man, good man." As well as some, "America, good people. Good country. I like America. Yes, respect. No hurt each other, no cause problem, good people. You good people." (I didn't have the heart to tell him how many wars we've started or about all the murder records that are set in my hometown.) I just keep telling him that they're all the same, democrats and republicans, that I like neither, and giving him endearing looks of, "Well, if you think so."

Just before this, my host wrote me to tell me one of her housemates would be home in about an hour or so, so could I hang in there that much longer? By this point, it was 2:30, and I figured, well, if the bar will be open for another hour, I've already hung in there an hour and a half, what's another hour? I saw the silver lining, and knew that another hour would be a breeze so long as the bar stayed open. Thank You, God, we've got this!

We ran through the sleeping/walking convo a couple more times, I tried to learn some French, and then before I knew it, she was writing to tell me her housemate would be home sooner than expected, arriving in a few minutes! OH MY GOSH, YES! I have hung in there till the necessary moment, and am going to reap the reward for doing so -- entrance! A bed! Safety!

Of course by this time the conversation was going somewhere, and since I'd been given the gift of hope [entering the house], my mindset changed, and I was thoroughly enjoying myself, but I was also really ready to get inside. I told my new mates it was time for me to go, and Kaaba told me to wait, because he was going to walk me. Farewells were bid, and then I was finally on my way to entering! He walked me to the house, which was an incredibly sweet and appreciated thing to do, and as we arrived, I saw my coincidentally-Spanish savior. I said goodbye and thank you so much to Kaaba, and told him I'd go by the bar to have a coffee in the morning to make up for not going on "our walk."

It's 3am. I am inside the house. I receive a tour, and Juan says to me, as we're approaching the door my friend must be behind, "And this, is the guest room..." (Everyone involved in the situation was so curious to know what had come of her.) And as I open the door, there she is, lying on the mattress on the floor, under the covers, lights on, fast asleep.

I die. I can't even handle the look on her face when she shoots up and sees me standing there -- I wish I'd taken a photo. She's so dazed, she's no idea what time it is, nor of the adventure I've just had. She asks what time it is, and I tell her it's about 3am, and I've been hanging out at a bar down the street with what I think are likely the pimps of many of The Ladies on this block for the last two hours. It takes her a little while to figure out what she's just heard, then jumps up, hugs me, apologizes, and the three of us laugh heartily as I retell the story of what I've just lived.

In the moment it was happening, I had sent a message to my family saying, "Pray for me please. I'm currently living one of those, 'this'll be a funny story in the future' moments in Brussels. But I'm so tired, so my humor has been passed out for a long time. I'm not in danger, I'm just in a 'wtf is going on' time. :-P" My poor parents.

It really was one of those moments, and the funny-ness of it didn't take more than a couple minutes to set in. And truly, I think knowing how funny and wild of a story it would be in the end made it easier to accept it in the moment. Though I still wonder what would have happened if I'd taken the offer to sleep on the couch. When my friend and I went for a coffee the next morning, I asked her as we were walking away, "So, do you think I would have been safe?" And she said, "Well, he definitely would have tried something. The thing is, I don't know how forceful he would have been. But he definitely would have tried something." (Perhaps she decided this after he said, "I love you, baby," as we were leaving. Which was a pretty fast jump from him just calling me baby by the end of the previous night.)

Yes, quite the travel experience. And I don't want to say it was all brought on by my bratty attitude going into the trip of "I really don't want to go, I'm so tired, I just want to hang out here and relax in town, but my friend booked a flight, so I can't bail," but I am also quite curious to know how it would have gone had I been all positive and excited about it. However, no harm was done, and I did score a pretty good story out of it, so ;)

Unexpected Adventures

A couple weekend's back, I had such a typical "me" traveling experience. I went with two of my Italian friends to Portugal with a tent, sleeping bags and backpacks, and zero plan other than camping out at the beach in Faro, Portugal. What we ended up doing and experiencing was so much different than what we originally set out thinking, but proved to be such a blessing, and was time spent beautifully, as well as a reminder to just go with the flow and stay open to everything that comes along.

After arriving at Plaza de Armas (the bus station in Sevilla) on Friday afternoon, we found out the bus we intended to take to Faro was already full. So we looked into other options, and learned that we could take a different bus in just over an hour, and decided to take it, but get off in Tavira, about 40 minutes before Faro.We figured we could always make our way to Faro the next day, and that since we had a tent, we could sleep anywhere we wanted.

In Tavira, there's a little, nearly virgin island, and they have a boat that takes people back and forth all day long. We asked around, and learned that the campsite on the island was closed, but that if we just set up the tent for a night we wouldn't be bothered since it's not really the camping season yet and no police would pass. So, continuing with our going and flowing motion, we headed to the dock. And, since we were just going and flowing, not getting caught up on this or that along the way, it was no surprise we made it to the dock just five minutes before the last boat would be crossing to the island. Which worked out perfectly, because we definitely didn't have enough food or drink rations to last us on an island till the next afternoon. So we bought a couple sandwiches and beers apiece at the bar, and then loaded up for our big adventure!

Of the six people on the boat over to the island (a trip that costs 1.50€ round trip and takes about 5 minutes), two were working the boat, and three were us. When we arrived to the island, it was completely empty, aside from some fishermen finishing up their day down by the mini lighthouse. We took a short walk, looking for where we´d set up camp and make our home, and ended up on top of a flat dune right on the beach. It was perfect. We relaxed, roamed the beach, ate, watched the stars come out, and enjoyed each other´s company. Then, we turned in for the night.

The next morning was just as relaxed as the night before, even though someone came by to tell us we couldn't use a tent on the beach. We spent the day at the beach, and then decided to stroll through the town, have lunch, and then catch the bus to Faro. After 45 minutes, we arrived in Faro to continue our "finde sin plan" (weekend without a plan). We weren´t sure there was even a campsite in Faro, but we didn´t really care, because we knew there was a beach and that we had a tent. We asked around, learned there was a campsite, but that it was closed, but that again, if we set up a tent on the beach in a certain area, no one would bother us about it. So we caught a cab to the beach (about 10-15 minutes away by car, 15-20€ in a taxi), and started the trek to what we would call our home for the night.

At Faro Beach, there is a small-yet-expansive collection of magical little beach homes. Many belong to fishermen, and most are rented out during the summer to people coming to stay at the beach. They line the beach, and there is one small, narrow road that runs between them. There are restaurants, bars, and a mini market, but once you get to a certain point, it´s nearly all little beach homes. They are so literally beach homes, that the sand from the beach, is actually running up to the front doors. I saw sandbags in front of the entry ways to keep the sand from pouring into the entrance as it is at this house:

As we were walking, we arrived to the part where the street ends, and a wooden path begins, leading you to the beach. We had noticed a guy sitting in a beanbag chair outside his house in the sun, and after we´d walked a few minutes, started to hear someone yelling, "Guys! Guys! Come here!" We turned and made our way back, and then he asked us if we were planning on camping, and upon us saying yes, told us we could stay at his place for the night if we wanted. So after exchanging stares, thinking to ourselves, and going over the scenario, we accepted the offer and we went with it!

It ended up being the current home of a Portuguese guy and a Colombian guy (a Frenchie as well who was, of course, in Sevilla for the weekend), finishing a masters in Faro about marine biology, and it ended up being a fully-blessed experience!

By the time night had fallen, we had covered such a range of topics, that I was speaking to my friends, and we all agreed that it felt like we'd been staying with them the entire week, at least. Two amazing guys, incredibly motivated, and dripping with passion. It was so cool to see a couple people who are so amped on doing something to help the planet, and living lives that are full of experiences and learning. Any initial doubts any of us might have had vanished with each passing conversation and thing we learned.

The next day, I spent a couple hours talking with one of the guys, and we hit on some pretty heavy conversation topics. We talked about conservation, sharks (his thesis topic), the world and her population, religion, and one topic that we had more in common that anyone could have guessed upon our chance meeting -- nearly identical ex [gf/bf] situations. And it was in this conversation, that I really let myself open up. I hadn't talked about the situation with my ex to anyone else the way I did with him. I haven't ever asked anyone some of the heavy questions that I asked him. And what I learned, was that I am not alone.

Of course it shouldn't have taken that conversation for me to realize or know it, but it did. It took me asking someone else if they had moments like I had been having to know that ok, I am ok, I am not losing my mind, and no, I am not the only one who deals with this set of circumstances. Quite egotistical to think I would be, and had I stopped being so emotion-driven, I would have been able to reach this conclusion, hell, I probably already had, but to actually hear another person say it, see it in their eyes, I really knew. And something about that conversation, that opening of the wounds, bearing them to a stranger, and sharing it all, has helped me really get on the path of healing.

Since that, I have entered into my old ways of thinking -- positive, loving, guided in the bright direction. More importantly, now I actually care about guiding my thoughts in the positive direction. I didn't even realize before that I was depressed, but now that I can feel the difference in my thoughts and Being, I realize how far I was from my usual self.

It's amazing, really, to think about all that came out of a situation that all began with:
"Hey, we're going camping in Portugal this weekend, do you want to come?" "Yeah, I've got nothing to do, let's do it! What's the plan?" "We're going without one." "Perfect, let's do it."

Just another example of why it pays to stay open!

The sunset in Faro from the beach <3