Bluesfest!

Big news for Go Girl.

Marianne will be representing our writers at the Byron Bay Bluesfest in Australia!

The festival will be taking place on April 1-5, 2010 and will feature top artists such as Jack Johnson, The Fray, Gipsy Kings, Jeff Beck and others.

Stay tuned for some great news about how it goes-- and maybe an interview or two while we're at it, too!

City Crush- Prague

By Megan

We were in the middle of our 'northern' European trip, enjoying a white peony tea in a shop near Wenceslas Square when I knew- I was in love.  It was as if I had fallen into an Audrey Tautou movie, except my hair was convinced on growing dreadlocks and looking quite wild.  I braided my hair and opened my arms wide ready for an adventure.
Our hostel was adorable (SIR TOBY'S; see my favorites at http://letsgogirl.wordpress.com/2009/11/18/a-go-girls-guide-to-hosteling/) and filled with several interesting characters.  There was a father introducing his two young sons to hosteling and the charms of Prague, a boy from Singapore who had been backpacking for several weeks, and of course, my new friend Anton from Sweden.  The lady at the DELICIOUS homemade granola breakfast bar giggled when I informed her that the jug of agua was empty.  A helpful guy making pancakes translated my vocabulary slip-up for me with a thumbs up, as a refilled my cup of water.
Prague itself was warm and the tank tops finally started to pull their weight, especially on a walk across Charles Bridge towards the Prague Castle.  I still remember the torture chamber and tiny shop doors of the castle ground, but walking up the stairs to the castle was half of the fun.
The next evening, I went back to the castle with my new friends at night and hiked the stairs with the city lights in the background.  Prague had me swooning in the palm of its hand; romantic vistas, a bohemian style that didn't feel forced, and a music/arts scene so diverse that admirers still enjoy Mucha's art nouveau advertisements.  Speaking to the diversity of the city's arts, my friend and I enjoyed a concert through the Fringe Festival, in a small basement bar, by a Scottish singer/songwriter before walking through the historic Jewish quarters in search of dinner.
Later that night, with a so-so gelato in hand, I watched as the famous astronomical clock let 'death' chime in nine o'clock.  It wasn't too exciting to see, until I learned that it was built in the 1400s and nearly destroyed in WWII.  (Quite the commentary that 'death', represented by a skeleton, ticks away the time especially considering the new year...)

Our next day, we climbed the 'Eiffel' tower, which gave us fantastic views of the city and has very cool double helix stairs.  Then, we went across the city to view a most confusing t.v. tower covered in giant crawling babies.  I still don't get it.  It was decided that one more night in the country was necessary, so my travel partner decided to tour a concentration camp ,while I went with my new bud to Kutná Hora for a day trip.  The next day (and next week's entry) promised to be interesting...

Concerts, Confidence and Courage

by Lisa
I have a confession to make.

I love solo travel.  (That's not the confession...stick around a minute, I'm getting to it.)  When I'm traveling alone, I feel fearless about being alone.  I have no qualms about wandering museums, hiking trails, restaurants, and pubs by myself.  I am content with my own company, not shy about striking up conversations with others or tacking myself onto tour groups.

When I'm in my hometown, however, it's a different story.  (This is the confession part, for those playing along.)  I get nervous and self conscious when I eat alone in my hometown, or see a play, or a movie, or a museum, without having a friend or two along.  Why?  Maybe because, when I'm traveling solo, I'm the daring one, the interesting one, the trailblazer, who is grabbing life by the horns and enjoying the ride.  In my hometown, in contrast, I know a lot of people.  I should be able to find a companion, and if I don't have one -- even if I intended to be solo -- I feel self-conscious and judged by others.

I admit this is silly.  No one knows if I'm traveling or not.  I'm the only one who knows the difference.  And so, last Friday, I decided to try something new: act like a traveler in my own hometown.
It all started innocently enough.  I found out, a little late, that two of my current favorite bands were coming to town and performing in the same concert (Spoon and Phoenix, if anyone's interested).  Since I nearly missed this, the event was sold out.  The after-market brokers did have some pairs of tickets available, but at an astronomical price, and since most of my friends don't share my music taste, a pair of tickets wasn't really an option.  On the other hand, the single tickets were much cheaper.  And so I faced a dilemma.

Should I buy the single ticket, and see these bands I have been dying to see in person, or do I let my weird hometown insecurity prevail, and chicken out about going to a concert solo?  Put that way, my choice was clear.  I bought the ticket.

Friday night arrived.  I had dinner with a friend near the venue.  She thought my nervousness was ridiculous -- after all, I'm the same person who drove around the U.S. for six weeks alone, went to a dude ranch by myself, spent a week in Paris wandering solo (where I went to my first opera -- solo).  That's when I decided to pretend I was traveling.

Suddenly, I wasn't self-conscious.  Suddenly, I was daring.  I was a mystery.  No one around me knew who I was, where I came from, or what I was doing there.  I was magically freed from any concerns about what others were thinking about me -- if they knew me, they'd be awed and inspired, naturally.  Alone, I maneuvered easily through the crowded lobby and flirted my way to the front of the beer line.  Alone, I found my seat and kicked the young girl wearing too much makeup out of it, sending her to the back of the orchestra where she belonged.  Alone, I chatted with the usher, a very nice woman who was so excited to see Phoenix I thought she was going to faint.

There was a minor down point when the young boy next to me (seriously, this guy couldn't have been older than twenty -- I'd say twenty-one, but he and his friends weren't drinking) called me ma'am, but at least he was polite.

Then the lights went down, Phoenix took the stage, and I was transported by the music.  Again, being alone was perfect; there was no one I knew watching me make an uncoordinated fool of myself, so I was free to dance and jig to my heart's content, sing along and cheer and jump up and down.
At the end of the night, I walked out, smiling, and fully intending to be a solo traveler in my own hometown as often as possible.

How Dany's Playlist Covers the Ups and Downs of Feminism

By Beth
 
It is my third day in Sao Tome e Principe and already I feel like I have a family. I am very lucky to be able to say this. Dany decides to take me to explore the north coast today. He loves driving Ned's pick-up truck, cruising through the city streets at nearly 80km per hour. Without speed limits, we are free to ride the wind as we plunge from the city center to forests thick with banana trees, to shantytowns up in the mountains, to dry, vast meadows overlooking the disturbingly blue ocean.

We roll the windows down and drive, bounding over potholes and puddles, seatbelts off, free to live, free to die (on my first day I was made fun of so much for wearing a seatbelt that I promptly stopped. Apparently it's just not the Santomense way). The CD Dany plays is usually some mix of Sao Tome radio's best- mainly thick Kizomba beats from Cape Verde and Brazil. The first song is titled “I Need a Girlfriend”. For the past three days I have listened to this song with zeal, as the verses are sung with in densely African Portuguese but the phrases repeat in English. It's a cute song: “I need a girlfriend, a freakin' girlfriend, I need a girlfriend” and then something about how that girlfriend should be the woman that this man is singing to, I believe. I listen to it and smile at the vulnerability that this man presents to his future girlfriend. The urgent need for someone that he can love and protect. A need that isn't necessarily communicated, as I have seen, from African men. So it's nice to hear something of this flavor.

Until I come to today, that is, when I finally really listen to the bridge, which goes something like, “One girl, two girls, all these shorties ain't enough for me." Then we're back to square one.
Everywhere we drive there are beautiful painted murals with phrases above them. They are, for the most part, socially

A condom-filled tree reminds teens to use protection in order to prevent the spread of HIV and AIDS

conscious publicity tactics: promoting healthy living in hopes that the community will follow suit. A happy couple in bed is surrounded by mosquito nets, condoms dance and smile, babies doddle with syringes next to them (to encourage vaccination) and, my favorite, a cheerful, carefree family of four holds hands, above which it reads something along the lines of, “wouldn't you be happy to be able to give attention to all of your children?”, thus encouraging manageable family sizes. A few minutes down Dany's playlist comes a song  about these two people that send furtive text messages to each other. But the man isn't swayed by these flirtatious messages he receives. “Eu tenho lar, eu tenho filho, eu tenho ma mulher comigo,” he sings. “I have a home, I have a child, I have my wife with me.” There it is. Satisfaction in the nuclear family. The song breathes the spirit of the murals around town.

I bring these two songs up because, as Dany cautiously explained to me over lunch, polygamy is extremely common among Santomense men, and nearly extinct among the women. To each woman, her one man. But to each man, two or three women. And through this a thicket of jealousy grows. And rightly so, I might add. I can't help but ask where the women are when these two male singers indirectly debate the right of women to be treated as treasures, as monogamic entities. Apparently their voices have been taken from them. In these two songs at least.

Yet the irony rocks me. It seems wherever one goes, there are signs pressing the importance of condom use, of monogamy, and of other subject matter. But the numerous children that run through the streets are evidence enough that the murals and the real world here are entire opposites. They could quite possibly encompass entirely different worlds. In fact, the closest I think they have ever really gotten to each other is somewhere around the distance sound covers in four minutes; the length of the song that comes between them on Dany's ever-popular cruising playlist.