Montserrat

By Megan

I knew that Montserrat was supposed to be gorgeous, but I had no idea. I also knew that it was of religious importance because the Black Madonna (wikipedia it for more information) and a monastery resided there, but other than those few things, I was in for a surprise. It was a delicious day in Catalunya when a friend and I headed out for a weekend adventure.

We purchased our tickets for 19.50 euros and woke early enough to catch the train that would take us outside of the city. After the train outside of the city, a cremallera (a 'zipper' train) took us to a the funicular de St. Joan, which pulled us up into a religious community nestled between these impressively smooth mountains. We grabbed some bocadillos (sandwiches) and a water bottle to split before exploring what we could of the church and other worship spaces. To be honest, I was really there for the outdoor views and the opportunity to explore a new space; the religious importance was of secondary interest to me.

By that point, the sun had come out and started to warm everything up and I was ready for a hike. Camera in hand, I spied a cross that stood out on a mountain side across a little valley, and decided that that was were I wanted to go. There was a path that lead us out there and the views were incredible. But, it was not enough. I had my purple wrap around skirt on, sweater stuffed in my heart print bag, and legs ready for climbing.

It was one of those adventures that made you feel as if you were the first person to discover that spot, the first to experience the thrill of standing that high on a mountain even though you knew that you were not the first and that it was not necessarily unique experience. Having a good hiking partner who was willing to go along with my desire to climb higher and higher also made the day lovely. Sometimes you just need that person to smile with and realize how wonderful something so simple can be.

You Can See The Stars

By Beth

My friend Alessandro is visiting the USA for the first time while I am in São Tomé (see included picture; he is on the left). I met Alessandro while living in Portugal. He was an Italian spending his time traveling around Europe and writing romance novels. He lived with a few American friends of mine in a big spacious apartment with no furniture.

Alessandro has a child's face and a small, tight, extremely muscular, body. He is your quintessential Italian stereotype- crazy about women and alive purely to enjoy the world around him and, when possible, the ladies in it. During the year he lived in Portugal, he got a huge tattoo of big black wings spread over his back. It took quite a few sessions and I remember seeing him with bandages over his back more often than not. He speaks very little English, but is one of those people that can amazingly communicate anything he wants using creative combinations of the few words he knows. On his Facebook profile, he has pictures of him having sex. This is Alessandro.

And Alessandro, for years, talked to us of his dream of coming to America, the land of the free. He wanted to see it for himself- the towering skyscrapers of New York, the rich and famous of Hollywood, the rolling plains of Iowa. Then one day he sent me and our American friend Jason, who also lived in DC at the time, a Facebook message. “My friends, I am coming to America! I will be there in April. I am in love to see the land of beauty that is your paradise.” This is a rough and very generous translation from the English that he typed to us.

So, a few months later, in October, we get another Facebook message. “I am coming to America in November! I have bought my tickets!” This is all good and well, except for the fact that I am in São Tomé and Jason is in Brazil doing a semester abroad. So Alessandro is on his own. Which doesn't bother him at all.

A couple of months ago I thought I would be a good non-hostess and check in. See how he was liking the States. What I get is a very romantic and poetic description of the majesty of New York, which Alessandro never wants to leave. He is in love with Greenwich Village. “Have you seen how much stars there are in the sky?” He types.

I laugh to myself. Stars?? In Greenwich Village?? I tell Ned, the American with whom I am living in São Tomé.

“Can you even SEE stars in Greenwich Village?” he asks me. I tell him I don't think so.

But it's such an Alessandro thing to say. In fact, maybe his poetic English has struck again. Countless times I look up into the night sky of a new place and am shocked by the number of stars I see there. It always seems like more than there are at home. In Portugal, São Tomé, the mountains of northern Maine- the stars are always a marvel. And perhaps it is the stars that allow you to experience the sheer awe of being in a new place- whether they're actually visible or not.

And in New York, where you can't see stars at all, maybe it is the Tim O'Brien way of saying that life is beautiful here. That in New York, Alessandro feels as liberated as if he had the whole universe to himself.

Australia Day Ponderings

Now that I have celebrated Australia Day for the first time, I have a confession to make. I had absolutely no idea what I was celebrating. I knew it was a big day – I don’t think I know anyone in Australia that didn’t spend Tuesday in the vicinity of a barbecue, and most likely some beers, Aussie banners and some body of water if you were lucky (or a kiddie pool in my case). I know I had a good day, listening to Triple J’s Hottest 100 songs of the year, eating steak and hot dogs and lounging in the inflatable pool. I even branded my cheek with the Australian flag (and a little British pride on my forehead...). But what was it all for?

First I tried comparing it to other holidays I am familiar with. England has St George’s Day. The day they celebrate their patron saint. It’s also England’s National Day. But to be honest – how many English people reading this right now can tell me when St George’s Day occurs? Not many I’m guessing. It’s April 23, but I just looked that up. All the nations in the UK have a day like this, most well known is easily St Patrick’s Day, when everyone in the Western world claims their however-distant Irish heritage and drinks a Guinness or two, or more… But Australia Day has nothing to do with patron saints.
The USA has Independence Day on July 4. They celebrate the day they officially claimed independence from Britain back in 1776. The celebrations are definitely similar. Lots of barbecues are brought out, as well as some classic American beers, and traditionally a lot of fireworks. But Australia never claimed independence from Britain. So that’s not it.
So what is it?

Turns out that Australia Day celebrates the arrival of the ‘First Fleet’ of British settlers. Or, in other words, it celebrates the invasion of Australia by the British. Some groups, including the indigenous population, not surprisingly, in fact call it Invasion Day, and it is not a date to be celebrated but rather a good day for a protest. For obvious reasons there is a lot of controversy surrounding the day. Drinking beer and having a barbecue doesn’t seem quite right when you’re celebrating invading a country and doing a good job of ruining the lives of the indigenous tribes. But, like all holidays, while it is based on historical events, I think the majority of people here see it as a day off work and a good excuse for a party. And who can blame them when it’s this hot outside? Plus, whether you believe it’s right or not, the descendants of those European invaders are still the ones who run this country so you can hardly blame them for celebrating their own history I suppose. To make things clear, I’m not condoning the way the indigenous population is treated now, but that’s a very long battle that is far far away from being solved.So is it really okay? I suppose that’s the question. Australia certainly isn’t the first, and probably won’t be the last to celebrate a day with such a dark history, but is it alright to celebrate a holiday when the origins and memories are so painful for at least one group of people? Something I’ll be pondering this week. But, whether you are an Australian or, like me, a visitor Down Under, I hope you enjoyed a day of good food and good company on a hot summer day.

Welcome, Karissa!

Putting together another warm Go Girl welcome for Karissa, a brand-new monthly writer.

Certainly a woman on the run, Karissa has lived in four countries and six states in the US.  She has traveled to over twenty countries and forty-three of America’s beautiful fifty.  And here’s to still counting.  Currently, home base is a tiny fishing village in the wilds of northern Japan where she teaches English to Junior High and Elementary students, explores the world of Japanese cuisine, reads and writes and gets outside as much as possible.  Follow Karissa’s explorations of Japan through the outdoor lens – worlds away from the Tokyo life that most people imagine.  More thoughts, adventures and photos can be found on her blog: http://sailforth.wordpress.com.

Check out her posts on the last Sunday of every month, beginning February 28th. You're going to love what she has to say about Japan and the world outside!

Ways to get your hot self in photos when you're traveling solo

By Lillie
Catch her adventures at http://aroundtheworldl.com

Ponder: If you're traveling alone, how do you get yourself in your photos? Here's a buffet of options.

1. Hold that arm out, grin at the wobbling lens, then click! This usually eats about forty shots before more of your face than your top hair tuft appears in the resulting photo. Furthermore, your big honkin' head will inevitably totally obscure the cool tourist attraction behind you. Hypothetically, if you are trying to photo yourself in front of Angkor Wat, the three massive spires of the temple may come out as two tiny devil horns atop your head and one puny and gray unicorn horn.

2. Just take photos of other things and people and hope your soul comes through in the artful way you shoot your subjects.

3. Feign utter incompetence at trying to take that one-handed shot of yourself. (This will not be hard.) Do a "click!", look at the resulting photo, then sigh loudly and tragically. Glance forlornly at all surrounding tourists. Make a big show of setting up the next one-handed photo and ensure that your arm wobbles like a delicate fern in the wind. Alternately, you could stop being so passive-aggressive and just ask for surrounding folks to snap that pic.

4. Stay close to Japanese tourists. They love taking photos, and they know how slick cameras work. They do! Inevitably, their guide will lead them (and thus you) to the best angle, then allow them ten minutes to set up their tripods and snap every permutation of photo. They will always offer to help you with your photos, too!

5. Steer clear, duh, of anyone who looks aching to steal your shiny camera, or, slightly less duh but still duh, people who look utterly electronically incompetent. One elderly Australian woman literally took twenty photos of my feet at a temple, all the while screaming: "I don't see the photo! Where is it? It's all black!" At last she gasped, "Ooh, I was just seeing black because I was wearing dark glasses. Whoopsie! Give me your camera again." Thank heavens her husband had grabbed the machine by then and had managed to fit my whole form into a shot.

6. Try to have friends! Clearly, this is not always possible (sniffle sniffle), but the best photos seem to be when one is nice and relaxed-- even extra creative or silly. When I tried to pull a "ta da!" pose in front of a temple, the entire flock of Japanese tourists taking the photo started chanting, "Ooohhh mama!" Sheesh-- all I was going for was, "ta da!"
In sum: Try everything. Something is bound to work eventually.

New Digs

Go Girl is going on its own adventures!! We, as you can see, are now located at the very cozy www.travelgogirl.com! We love the spot and hope you do, too.

And with the new home, we also have some fabulous new writers! Let's welcome Lakia, Anna and Wendy to the Go Girl Team!

Lakia lives, breathes, and sleeps learning of other languages, cultures, and nationalities; she has lived and studied abroad at La Universidad de Guanajuato in Mexico. Although, right now, she only travels within the United States (she is working on her Doctorate degree) she still has vivid memories and experiences about her travels abroad.   From how to apply for a visa to what not to wear, she gives her readers advice, tips, and suggestions on how to have fun and safe travels. You can also check out more of her writings at: http://lakiagordon.com. 

Born in Thailand to a hitchhiking, hippie father and a mother who traveled to places she read about, Anna has the traveling gene in her blood.  By the time she was three, she had been to Egypt and Saudi Arabia before moving to Southern California.  She has trekked across the US, Europe, and been to various cities in Mexico, Canada, China, and of course Thailand.  With an interest and degrees in Environmental Science, Anna hopes to experience all the beauty and wonder our world has to offer while understanding that there is a delicate balance it also sits on.  She used to reside in the San Francisco Bay Area until she decided to follow her gut and just go!  Her travels to Australia begin early February.  Watch for her biweekly postings at Go Girl starting February 2010 or catch up with her at http://annafrankel.wordpress.com.

Admittedly a bit green when it comes to travel, Wendy is ready to change that in a big way. Only dabbling in exploration in her life so far, visiting Italy, Mexico, St. Lucia, and everywhere up and down the East Coast, she and her husband are planning the ultimate American Road Trip. Starting in early 2010, they will camp and drive cross-country to the West Coast, working their way from New Mexico to Washington State and everywhere in between. Join them on this year-long journey as they make mistakes, work on organic farms, meet different people, experience things for the first time, and learn about themselves. All with 2 dogs in tow!

Read more about our other Go Girl writers by visiting our Contributors page.

Thanks for reading!

The Team at Go Girl

Gaudi's Barcelona

By Megan

My first visit to Barcelona was only a few short days, but Gaudí’s work inspired me so much that it pulled me back to the city to live amidst its wonder four years later.  Today, I’m going to tour Barcelona through the eyes of three of Antoni Gaudí’s masterworks.  And I refuse to apologize for all of the wonderful photos I was forced by sheer necessity to include.

1. PARC GÜELL
- The park was originally designed as a private, exclusive community and boasted access to fresh air.  The architecture of the space encourages exploration and imagination with colored tiles accenting curves and supporting beams designed to look like palm trees.  The entire community (that includes only two homes, neither designed by Gaudi) is set on a hillside overlooking the city, so as you stand in the whimsical central plaza you can see the mountains rise up behind you and the water beyond the city.  The central plaza is lined with benches that curve like a slithering snake around the primeter of the plaza that is set upon a platform.  These curves create private spaces even though they are open to the public and they are covered in the colorful tiles for which Gaudí is famous.  Street performers try to grab your attention, while “artisans” hawk their jewelry and trinkets, yet you still cannot help feeling that the sun-warmed cement space where you sit and gather your thought belongs to anyone but you, even if only for a moment.


If you go and visit, be ready for tourists.  Prepare yourself to look around the mass of people and mentally push aside the nearly constant camera flashes.  It does not cost anything to walk around the park, but admission is charged to enter the two buildings (one of which Gaudí lived in) on the property.  Tip:  Walk up the hill side on on the side path and sit underneath the cross, Gaudí’s holiest spot in the park, and enjoy views of the Sagrada Familia, the very masculine looking Torre Agbar, and Montjüic.




2. LA SAGRADA FAMILIA
- This massive church has been under construction since 1882 and will take at least 16 more years to finish.  Gaudí devoted over 50 years of his life working on this project and spent his last  twelve years living inside of the building, sleeping there overnight.  The entire structure is dripping with religious symbolism from the 18 towers representing apostles, evangelists, the Virgin Mary, and Jesus Christ as the tallest tower.  There are three facades depicting the Nativity, the Glory (yet to be finished), and the Passion.
Something else that I absolutely love about this structure are the playful geometric details, that were supposed to reflect natural elements, included as part of the physical structure of the building, the furniture for the space, and in the decoration that covers the structure.  It’s nearly impossible to imagine the detail that went into this project unless you visit for yourself.  Tip: GO INSIDE.  Get an audio tour and learn more about the project.  It’s worth the euros.



3. CASA MILÀ aka LA PEDRERA
- This building is located very near the center of the city and sticks out like a zebra-striped piggy bank on a Christmas day parade.  You cannot help but notice the unique outer structure of the work when you walk down the Passeig de Grácia (the ‘Funny’ Street, in English).  It has a similar curve as that of the benches in Parc Güell, but it is five stories tall and is still used as a residential facility.  You can walk into the building and wonder at the colors used in the atrium, and then head up into the first floor to view some of the architectural details on display along with free art displays.

This is another place where the cost is worth the tour.  GO ON THE TOUR!  Your ticket will grant you access to one of the apartments, still decorated with furniture designed by Gaudí.  Check out the unique handles on the doors and don’t forget to look up.  When you take the elevator to the roof, you might imagine that you are in some sort of skate boarders dream/nightmare, as the roof curves and drops in an almost unimaginable fashion.  Then enjoy in exhibit indoors of Gaudí’s furniture and designs.

4. LAMPOSTS AND SIDEWALKS
- Okay, I know I said three, but I cannot help but mention the designs in the pavement on Passeig de Grácia and the lamposts in Plaça Reial, Gaudí’s first project in Barcelona.  Keep your eyes peeled while in the city because his work and inspiration are everywhere.

(Photos by Me, Ana Aebi (Mom!), and Amy John)

35,000 Dobras

By Beth

“35,000 dobras????”  Kilson looks at me in disgust. “Can you believe that?”

I'm out getting beers with Kilson and his cousin and they are in absolute shock over the check. The beers at this restaurant in the small oceanside city of Pantufo, in São Tomé, are almost three times the cost of other areas- they ring up for 35,000 dobras each, or a whopping $2.50. I smile, saying nothing. It's not that things are always much cheaper here- they aren't always. But they are most of the time. In the USA where prices are stacked higher and higher in order to benefit the many people who work within the production chain, here in São Tomé things are priced only slightly higher than the cost for which they are purchased or produced. There is little profit. I noticed that when I was living in Portugal, too- you could buy a loaf of bread there for less than 0.50 EUR, when loaves of bread in the USA are $2 or $3 at the very least. But here the prices are even lower.

Well, like, I said, most of the time.

I learned the hard way to bring more clothes- especially clothes for going out- the next time I come back to São Tomé. A simple cotton dress, one of those light summery pieces with little flavor or design that you can pick up at any K-Mart for less than $10, retail here for about 400,000 dobras, or $26. And those are the cheapest dresses I could find.

Imported African wax print, 30,000 Dobras, or $2, per meter

If you want something that actually looks nice, Kilson's mom owns a store in town. The dresses there, something I could pick up at TJ Maxx for $20, cost about 2 million dobras, or $125. Something so shocking I now understand why so many of the poorer women in town wear pieces of fabric tied around their waist- because it's so expensive to do anything else!

You can buy a cerveja nacional, or the locally produced beer, for 10,000 dobras, or about $0.70. For 10,000 dobras you can also buy:

A taxi ride anywhere in the city, provided you don't mind sharing with a car-full of people, which is how they do it here.

A patching on your motorcycle tire and filling of air, which I learned the hard way- but if you're with Kilson, because he knows everyone in town, that's free.

Two cinnamon bun-type pastries at the local padaria

Ten pieces of chewing gum or five lollipops (that are equivalent to Blow-Pops, with gum in the center)
A one-scoop ice cream cone (though let me tell you, the ice cream culture here is depressing)

Palm wine I think we spent about 25,000 Dobras on for a three-gallon jug

For 30,000 dobras, or about $2.10, you can get order a conch appetizer at a restaurant, or about eight small espetadas (shish kabobs). You can successfully eat a filling dinner at a restaurant, consisting of two cervejas nacionais, an appetizer, two entrees and two coffees for about 180,000 dobras, for $12.
Which is why Kilson almost shrieked with delight when, on my last night here, I was paid for teaching the English classes that I thought I was doing for free, leaving us with about 400,000 dobras to spend in one night (because who cares about saving, really?). “We can do ANYTHING,” he said to me with a smile. That night we ate like kings.

The People Working - AND LIVING - in and Around Angkor Wat

By Lillie
Catch more of her adventures at http://www.aroundtheworldl.com/
His tiny form flitted past the hole in the stone wall so fast I thought he might be a forest spirit. But then there he was again: sparkling eyes, tiny body in a grubby orange shirt, barefoot... He disappeared again, and I was ten minutes further into the thick jungle path to the next temple when he materialized right beside me.

"Hello lady!" he said with a smile. "This used to be the Grand Palace, almost a thousand years ago. See those big and small pools over there?" I looked, seeing glistening water through the sunlit green foliage. "Big pool for woman, small pool for man. You know why?" I didn't. "One king, many concubines!"
The boy continued his informative chatter by my waist for the next three jungle temples, and to tell the truth I could use the company, as these sites, though extremely famous, were eerily deserted at this time of day. But I suppose I knew the inevitable would come soon enough.
"Do you live here?" I asked, gesturing to the tangled expanse. "Yes, I have no mother and father, so I live with the monks here," he said. "In the afternoons I go to school and learn Khymer, English and Thai." Indeed, his English was excellent.

I neared my meeting point with Sopheak, and so I turned to wish the little one well. When he realized I was leaving, his eyes turned suddenly dead.
"Give me some money for school," he said so quietly and robotically that I could barely hear.

"I'm sorry, but I don't give anyone money at the temples," I said truthfully. Much has been written about how young children are being pulled out of school across Cambodia to shill trinkets to tourists, and to beg for money-- all of which goes right back in the pockets of the unscrupulous adults.

"Give me some money. Just one dollar," the tiny boy intoned, holding out his hands. The dark jungle framed his body, and the incense from the nearby shrine wafted past us.
"Just a dollar. Give me money," he began chanting over and over, following me slower and slower until I reached the road. I could still hear his voice as I climbed into the tuk-tuk. By now, ten more children had surrounded the car, holding out scarves, postcards, flutes.
Every visitor who has been to Angkor Wat will remark on the intensity of the selling and begging. The moment your tuk-tuk or motorcycle pulls up, a hoard of young Cambodians will sprint up, screaming any and every combination of the following: "LADY! You come here, lady! Where you from? I give you good price. Scarf? For your mother? Nice cold drink? Batteries for your camera? Guidebook to Angkor Wat? You buy, you buy from me, okay? Maybe come back later, okay?"

Every visitor has different reactions-- all difficult. If you buy from her, are you supporting an unethical adult? If you buy from him, what happens to the forty children behind him that you don't buy from? The most common and consistent solution is to hold off on giving any money to these children, and rather make a larger donation to a reputable Cambodian organization.
Meeting this little boy, however, I became intensely curious about just who is living in and around Angkor Wat, and where. We know, since it is a working temple with many active shrines, that there are monks here. We also know from the boy that these monks have some orphans in their care.

I asked Sopheak, gesturing to the hundreds of rickety vendor stalls along the temple roads, "Do these people also sleep in the temple grounds?" "Oh no," he replied, "Police don't allow. They pay off police so they can sell here, maybe five dollar a month. But to live they have a village right outside."
I nodded. However, as the day wore on, I began to spot small tents and hammocks hidden in the jungle right behind the more obscure temples. "Are you sure people don't live here?" I asked Sopheak again. "Well," he said, "Sometimes, yes."
Imagine arising in your tattered tent, right under the eighth wonder of the world!

The Angkor Wat complex of temples stretches for miles upon miles, and in between there are villages. Sopheak and I drove nearly an hour straight each way today, and the villages we passed were as beautiful and fascinating as the temples. First, there were the stunningly green rice paddies, shimmering wetly, smattered with water buffalo, rice workers, and tiny children.

Then there were vendor stalls lining the road. So many stalls! Could they possibly sell more than two items a day with all that competition? While they waited the interminable hours for a customer to stop, the families cuddled together under palm roofs, playing with each others' hair and cooking smoky food. Slick naked bodies peeked out of the brown rivers we passed, and half-clothed men worked on engines. Whole families crowded onto mopeds and zoomed by us, the fourth child in the pile sometimes waving with glee.

And the mines. Cambodia is one of the most heavily landmined countries in the world, and thus you must never stray off a beaten path. Sure enough, six jungle patches we passed displayed signs: "Landmine field cleared by Japanese Armed Forces". We saw many group homes for people who had lost limbs in the explosions, signs saying they were funded by German or American organizations. Musical groups formed of amputees grace the paths of many temples.

Of course, not all the Cambodians in and around Angkor Wat are there to sell to tourists! Angkor Wat provides free entrance to any Cambodian national, and thus at least ten percent of the awe-struck temple viewers are from the land itself.
Today we passed a small Cambodian family climbing off their moped, laying out a blanket by the Angkor Wat lakeside, and diving into a rollicking picnic lunch. Beautiful!
"Hey honey, where should we take the kids to eat today?"
"How about in front of the biggest temple in the world?"
"Sounds good to me."

Traveler's Advocacy

By Erica

As some of you may have discovered after reading my bio, I've been traveling for most of my life. I've been through it all: trips with lost luggage, trips with terrible weather, trips with language barriers, trips where I got massively lost, and trips with grossly incompetent companies. There are enough horror stories out there to scare even the bravest of new adventurers, so I'll keep mine to a minimum, but it occurred to me that something that many guidebooks lack is a section on Traveler's Advocacy.
No, it's not a magical organization designed to assist travelers in negotiating reasonable room prices or provide free translation services. Simply put, it's a kind of mindset you grow as you become more experienced with travel- a combination of spine and intuition that allows you to know, among other things, when to hold 'em, when to fold 'em, and when to show 'em what you're made of. It's not something that's easily taught, because each person advocates for hirself differently, but there are general guidelines that are applicable to each person's experiences as they globetrot.

The first guideline I'd suggest is work on walking that fine line between nice and spineless. Often when we travel, it's easy to become overwhelmed by the complex array of transportation systems, busy people, and (possibly) strange locales. Add weather complications to the mix, and you've got a perfect recipe for chaos. If traveling between Point A (where you are) and Point B (where you want to be) is so important, it's worth the time and energy to swallow some of your frustration and confusion and be nice to the people who are supposed to facilitate your travel. Being a jerk, which seems to work for some people, only gets most of us to Point C (out on the curb on your ass) and makes the travel employees less pleasant for others to deal with. At the same time, however, it's also worth it to have a spine and advocate for your place in transit. Case in point: when I was stuck in Atlanta for 30 hours, it was because Delta insisted that it needed to board its red carpet customers first. The only reason I ever got put on a flight was because one of the employees recognized me from his earlier shift, 24 hours prior. After 15 hours, with flights running on schedule, it would have been more than reasonable for me to be a little firmer about getting on a plane.

The second guideline I'd suggest is to brush up on your pantomime, or let go of any performance anxiety you might have. If you're in a country where you don't speak the language, you're going to do a lot of dancing around and waving your arms. Alternatively, you can do what my partner did and use Google translate to write notecards in the host language before you leave that have critical phrases such as "I don't speak ______" on them. Regardless, whichever you use, be patient: sign language isn't universal, and it may take a while before you and the person you want to communicate with to settle on the meaning of your gestures. It's worth knowing, too, that in some parts of the world people will use their social networks to translate your madness. On Okinawa, for example, Nick and I failed at pantomime in a little shop and were amazed when the shop owner decided to call her friend, who spoke a tiny amount of English, to translate for us over the phone. Between the friend and the pantomime, it all worked out, and the three of us laughed about it over a cup of tea in the back of her store afterwards.

The third guideline I'm going to pass along, which is less amusing, is to know how to keep yourself (and, if you have any, your stuff) safe wherever you're going. One of my friends told me a story about traveling in Italy, in which his hotel room was burglarized and his replacement stuff was stolen out of his rental car two days later while parked in a friend's driveway. This kind of awareness, about keeping yourself safe, isn't just about knowing where to hide your things, what neighbourhoods to avoid, or having a black belt. It's also about knowing the local resources- laws, police, informal networks- that can support you in case something DOES happen. For my friend, that meant going inside to explain to his friend what had happened; 20 minutes after his friend called some of the neighbours, all of the stuff was returned to his car. Sometimes knowing these resources isn't easy to accomplish in advance, in which case I suggest seeking out other, more experienced travelers or recommended hotel/restaurant/museum guides to offer advice.

Above all, enjoy the adventures and roll with the punches. You're never going to be completely in control of any travel experience, so keep a good sense of humour when things go awry, for as long as you can. Just be ready to put some of that Traveler's Advocacy into practice when you reach an impasse.

Beginnings and Endings

by Lisa

My mission for the evening was simple: to watch football.

You see, it was a Thursday night.  It was also opening day of the 2004-2005 football season, and that night's game was a match-up I was really looking forward to: Tom Brady of my beloved Patriots was facing Peyton Manning and the Colts.  But there was a problem.  I wasn't in Boston.  I was in Springdale, Utah, just south of Zion National Park, and my lodgings for the night were a bare bones private campground.  My tent doesn't have a television.

I asked around, stopping here and there (hotels, outfitters, souvenir shops) along the main road to ask where I might watch the game, and preferably drink some beer and eat dinner while I was at it.  The consensus was clear.

So, shortly before game time, I strolled in to the Bit 'N' Spur, a Mexican restaurant a short way down the road from my campsite, and settled myself on a bar stool.  The (ruggedly adorable) bartender kindly agreed to put the game on one of the televisions, I ordered a drink and some dinner, and dug in to watch the game.

A little while later, an older couple took the stools to my left.  The gentleman heard me zealously rooting for my team, and asked me if I was a Pats fan.  He asked if I was from Boston.  I said yes to both, and introduced myself.  We got to talking.

I explained that I was on a cross country road trip to celebrate graduating from law school and surviving the bar exam before starting my legal career.  He was a just-retired District Attorney from San Diego, on a cross country road trip with his wife, celebrating the end of his legal career.  We got along famously.

His wife, upon hearing that I was traveling solo, immediately asked, "Isn't your mother worried?"  Yes, probably.  "Aren't you scared out here on your own?"  No, not at all.  She told me that she'd chew her fingernails off with worry if her twenty-six year-old daughter took off on a trip alone.  I assured her that it's not that bad, particularly if you pay attention and don't take unnecessary risks.

Her husband jumped back in.  He didn't want to talk about my trip, he wanted to talk about the law. 

Where was I going to practice?  Did I have a specialty?  Where did I go to school?

A few hours later, the game was over (27-24 Pats, thank you very much).  The couple got up from their stools.

"It was a pleasure to meet you," he said, shaking my hand, "and I wish you congratulations on success in law school, and a long and fruitful legal career."

I thanked him.  "Maybe I'll start planning my own retirement road trip," I teased, "since it seems to be working out so well for you."

She shook my hand too.  "Good luck, and call your mother.  As often as possible.  And tell her another mother is worrying about you too."

We said goodnight.  I settled my bill, and returned to my campground.

Mission accomplished, with a little career encouragement thrown in.  A good night, indeed.

Vienna Art

By Megan

The train took two hours longer than expected and really would not have been that bad if we understood what was going on.  And maybe it would have been nice if we had remembered to bring snacks other than our 'Orbit' gum.  But honestly, I did not care a bit that we were drenched in sweat and sleepy, because our train for Wien (Vienna) and I was ready for regal beauty in Mozart's old stomping grounds.

Our first morning in the city- after a night of freak hail storms- was spent in the traditional Viennese style; at brunch.  It was a simple meal with to die for coffee, that was nestled in an adorable vine-covered courtyard.  Young families passed babies off to friends, and older couple read bits of the local paper aloud to each other.

A night at the museum

For some unknown reason, this had become the city of museum visits extraordinaire for me:  I had been to the Prado, enjoyed the best in the mid-west (thank you, Chicago), and fell for Paris.  Wien had become my museum mecca.  I was on a mission to find the Klimt mother load and I was not going to leave the city disappointed.

Step 1:  The Leopold Museum, post-brunch.  The building itself was imposing, let alone their collection.  Room after room was filled with stunning works and tourists from all over the world.  But alas, there were fewer Klimt works than I had been lead to believe.  After the amazing beauty we enjoyed indoors, we took in the sunshine outdoors in the garden, and tried not to be too mischievous.

Outside of the Albertina Palais Museum

We both wanted to visit the opera or potentially the Vienna Boys Choir, but decided that our shabby-chic looks would not quite make the cut, so I instead inquired about common past times in Wien for early June and found out that swimming in the river was quite popular.  So off to the 'beach' we went, bathing suit already on.  The train let us off right near a bank of the river and did not take me long to jump into the river with my travel buddy looking on.  As I swam in the water with the other older gentlemen, I realized where I was-- I was SWIMMING in the Strauss' BLUE DANUBE!  I dried in the sun and thought that my music teachers would be proud.

Step 2: The Albertina Palais Museum.  While my travel partner rested, I went to the Albertina which was beautifully situated in the center of town.  I also remembered enjoying the reduced ticket price for students and the pistachio/nutella gelato I had as a snack.  No Klimts in sight.

A dip in the Danube

Step 3:  The Belvedere Palace.  Finally, I got to see some of Gustav Klimt's expressive works and they did not let me down.  I must have spent 15 minutes enjoying each piece the museum featured until we were both so exhausted that we needed another ice cream, just to keep on going.

Our time in UpEurope was coming to an end, and we were heading back home to Barcelona.  I was even excited to take my exams and finish my time at the university.  Come on paper writing- give me your worst!  Barcelona even smelled better, but I still long for swims in Wien, long walks in Prague, and rhinos in Berlin.