Blog - Go Backpacking

Couchsurfing Connections

Couchsurfing in Medellin often means meeting people socially, versus staying with them as most Colombians live with their families until marriage.

I arranged to meet Jesusa from Couchsurfing downtown one afternoon.

She was going to take me on a walk past some of the sights I hadn't seen my first few days.

I was late because the taxi driver didn't understand where I wanted to go.

As we speeded past the city center, I realized the confusion and had him exit the highway immediately, and drop me off at the Universidad metro stop (so at least I recognized where we were).

I got in another cab and was able to communicate where I wanted to go more effectively.

The meeting spot was Ermita de la Veracruz, a church near the Botero Plaza, but I failed to realize there are a lot of churches in the city, and I was standing next to one in the right area but not the one I suggested to Jesusa.

The park and streets were crowded with people, and by a stroke of complete luck, she recognized me after having decided to check the second church since I wasn´t at the agreed upon meeting place.

We walked down a crowded pedestrian-only street to the Park of Lights, which consists of vertical poles which light up at night. During the day, it is a drab display in front of a modern library.

Next, we walked through the city´s government buildings, just as it began to rain.

We passed a convention center where a textile show was occurring (I think).

Textile manufacturing is one of Colombia´s biggest industries.

At one of the many small restaurants opposite the imposing Intelligence Building, we stopped for a light bite to eat.

I had a little dish of empanadas and a caipirinha, while Jesusa went with ice cream before we shared a taxi back toward El Poblado.

From right...Paola, Sirley, me, Natalia, Mary Luisa, and Catalina

The next evening, I met Sirley at the Poblado metro stop.

Sirley is one of the moderator´s for the Medellin Couchsurfing group, and she had an extensive list of references to back up her involvement. She was with two friends, Paola, and Catalina.

All three were biomedical engineers, and there would be more on the way.

We took a cab up to Parque Lleras and got a table at one of the many restaurants surrounding the park.

It was happy hour time, though deals on food and drinks exist all day at a lot of the bigger places.

The deal was two for one cocktail, so we began ordering mojitos. Or at least I did at first while the girls stuck to beer, but as more people arrived, mojitos took over!

Everyone spoke English, though some were more confident about it than others.

Sirley's friends continued to arrive, bolstering our numbers.

Among the arrivals was a girl with her new boyfriend, who they were all anxious to check out in person and Marcella, who was leaving for a year or more internship or study abroad program in Zurich, Switzerland.

There are a few questions I had to ask, such as what the girls thought of living at home with their parents until marriage and whether Shakira was a force for good or bad.

On the former, they appreciated the family support which cut down on their living expenses but felt it could be a bit stifling as well.

On the latter, Shakira being from Barranquilla (on the Caribbean coast), it was thought that she didn´t give back to the Colombian community as much as some of the other successful artists.

It was a fun night, and I stuck around until midnight with some of the people after Sirley left, including a Colombian business owner living and working along the gulf coast of Mississippi.

Medellin´s Cable Car

Medellin is very proud of its metro system, and unlike any other I´ve used, it features cable cars which extend off the train lines to reach up mountains to the poorer neighborhoods in the city. Based on the current exchange rate, the metro costs about 60 cents (US) per trip, including the metro cable if it is used. In fact, if I didn´t get off the cable car at the terminus for photos, I could´ve made a complete round trip from the train stop closest to my hostel for just 60 cents!

The ride offered a safe and sound way to view the poorer districts of the city which climb up the mountainsides. The higher and farther we went, the steeper the staircases and streets became. Based on some internet reading, I was riding over a part of the city where Pablo Escobar use to recruit his assassins.

In a sign of just how undeveloped the tourism industry remains in this country, you won´t find a restaurant at the cable car terminus, nor even a souvenir stand. It is used for transportation only, though I imagine it won´t be long before an industrious Colombian decides to take advantage of the tourists riding the system for the scenic views of the city.

Plaza Botero And Bandeja Paisa

On a beautiful Monday, I took the metro to Parque Berrio in the city´s center.

My first sight was the whitewashed Ermita de la Veracruz, considered to be the city´s oldest church with construction having begun in 1682.

Posing with one of the 20 Botero sculptures in a plaza

The main event of the day was a walk through Botero Plaza as it has been dubbed, on account of the more than 20 large bronze sculptures which pepper the space. Colombian tourists, as well as westerners like myself, take turns posing by them.

Given his proclivity for depictions of nude men and women (in particular his take on Adam and Eve), it is not surprising to see some scandalous photos being shot.

Fernando Botero´s depiction of Pablo Escobar´s rooftop death

I walked through the Museum of Antioquia, which is another of the many inexpensive cultural attractions the city has on offer. By the time I was finished, I´d had about as much of Fernando Botero as I could handle.

I took a photo in a dark gallery of a rendition of Pablo Escobar´s rooftop death in a hail of police gunfire, however I was soon tracked down by guard, having been clearly spotted on video camera no doubt.

For the record, even though I didn´t ask in this museum, photos without flash were allowed in Bogota´s Botero museum (which featured almost this exact same painting).

A fountain in the foreground, with the metro tracks behind

When it came time for lunch, I asked a tourist official for advice on how to find one of the eateries where Anthony Bourdain dined in Medellin on his Colombian episode of No Reservations in 2008.

While I had yet to watch the episode, I had obtained the information off of the Travel Channel´s website.

Unfortunately, La Queareparaenamorarte at Partidas de la Fe el Retiro in Antioquia is not actually within the city limits as the site suggested. It was an hour or more away by bus.

Instead, I asked for a recommendation from the guide and he suggested Hato Viejo (which I later found in Lonely Planet as well).

Plata Montanero at Restaurante Halto Viejo

I ordered the traditional dish of the region, Plata Montanero, which included spicy ground meat, beans, fried egg, rice, fried plantains, pork cracklings (known locally as chicharrones), avocado, and a slice of lettuce for good measure.

And all of this was on top of the free appetizer of arepas and mini empanadas. As you might imagine, I was unable to finish. I didn´t even touch the bowl of refried beans.

I managed to walk a little of my lunch off before heading back to the hostel to lie down. Along the way, I passed through Parque San Antonio which features two more of Botero's sculptures.

On the left, his original Bird of Peace (Pajero de Paz), which was damaged by a guerrilla-placed bomb. It was left in place, and now features a plaque dedicated to those who were killed or injured by the blast. A new Botero bird has since been placed alongside it.

Parks And Pueblito Paisa

Andres, the Argentinian, and I continued to walk around the Universidad metro after visiting the aquarium. We spent a little time in the wide open, concrete Park of Wishes, which sits adjacent the city´s planetarium. Kids were playing in the fountains and a large sand pit surrounded by shaded park benches. During the weekends, such parks are clearly a popular place for families and kids.

We then managed to take a backwards way up Cerro Nutibara, a natural hill turned park, rising up from the middle of the valley and city. It offers 360-degree views of Medellin, and we just happened to time it so that the sun was setting over the western mountains, and the lights of the city were turning on. There is a well manicured grassy area for lounging around, and a mock Antioquian rural village called Pueblito Paisa. It includes a little church, chemist, and barber shop, among souvenir shops and a few restaurants.

I was hungry, and bought an arepa before I knew it was a staple of the Colombian diet. Street vendors sell them in all sorts of ways. The version I bought was two thin tortillas with cheese in the middle, and sweet condensed milk (I think) drizzled on top. Light and tasty, I took the opportunity to pose for a photo with the pueblito behind me.

Music was playing, and there were mostly Colombians atop the hill. Andres and I took the time for a drink before heading back down to the city, where I opted to buy us a cab back to the hostel. Unlike Bogota, the taxi meters in Medellin reflect exactly what you pay. The cost is low by western standards, with most short trips costing about $2. A trip from one side of the city to the other might run $5. The cabs are all yellow, and easily identifiable, though the drivers usually don´t speak English. As in China, it helps to carry a piece of paper with the address of your destination to avoid confusion.

The Botanical Garden and New Aquarium

View of the city from the Universidad metro platform

The next morning, I had coffee and a cheese pastry at one of the cafes just below the hostel. I bought a map and was asking reception about sightseeing suggestions when Andres, a very tall Argentinian from Buenos Aires, on break from his medical residency, asked me where I was going for the day.

Since I was in a new town, I decided the companionship of this imposing man was a good thing, and we started talking on the 15-minute walk downhill to the Poblado metro station. The view across the valley was beautiful, and in stark contrast to the dreary Bogota weather, the strong sun was beaming down on us.

The Medellin Metro (and the only one in Colombia) is fast, clean, and cheap (about 70 cents per trip). It runs above ground, giving commuters constant views of the beautiful surroundings. There were security people at each stop, and on many of the cars. It felt safe.

Kids practicing their gymnastics in the park

We got off at the Universidad metro stop and headed for the Botanical Gardens first, as the line for the aquarium was long. At the time, we didn't know it was just opened about two months earlier, and was thus a popular draw for the locals, especially on a Sunday afternoon.

The Botanical Gardens were not as huge as some of the others I've visited in cities like Christchurch, New Zealand, however it was still a nice place to escape the traffic. We ran across kids practicing their gymnastics moves for cheerleading, and some type of Gandhi-Buddhist inspired peace gathering.

Andres chats with one of the girls working at the acquarium (over the horseshoe crab pool)

After lunch in the park, we stood in the 30-minute queue to access the city´s new pride and joy, what is considered to be one of the best aquariums in Latin America. By western standards, it was quite small, and my desire to seek sharks at some point was never met. I think I even missed which tanks held the Amazonian piranhas.

After exiting the aquarium, Andre was eager to play around in the Parque Explora, a giant adjacent plaza of interactive experiences tied to theories behind science and technology. While the descriptions of each activity were in Spanish, most of them reminded me of physics experiments from high school. Andre´s excitement was infectious, and I soon found myself having just as much fun as the future Argentinian orthopedist!

Travel Day

View on the flight from Bogota to Medellin

I managed one and a half hours of quality sleep after my night out in the Zona Rosa, leaving me incredibly hungover for the flight to Medellin. While the air time is only 25 minutes (as opposed to around 11 hours by bus), I still had to get to the airport, check in, pass security, etc. Getting from the hostel to the Avianca gate went smoothly, and I found myself waiting around with an hour and a half to kill.

There was some notable turbulence on the flight, but it was made up for by the views below of beautiful green mountains, rivers, and a giant cascading waterfall. And then I was in Medellin (or at least the major airport outside the city!).

Approaching Medellin´s international airport

I took the scenic airport shuttle bus to the city center. The airport is about 1,000 meters higher in elevation than the city which lies in a valley. The result of this geography was one of the most amazing bus rides I've ever taken from an airport to a city. The land seemed lush and tropical as we winded our way down the mountains and into the valley.

The city center was bustling on the wonderful, warm, sunny Saturday. It felt kinetic. I immediately caught a cab to Casa Kiwi Hostel, an American owned hostel in the upscale El Poblado district of the city, and just a few blocks from Medellin's Zona Rosa. It was a bit rough around the edges, and was undergoing massive renovations to improve rooms, and install a bar and pool, however it was full of people and I was still exhausted.

Everyone went out that Saturday night but me and a few others. I was self-conscious about it, but I simply didn't have the energy.

Friday Night In Bogota's Zona Rosa

Juliana's parents were coming for a visit, so Laura and Herman dropped me off at Hostel Fatima in the central La Candeleria district of the city I visited the first day.

I was surprised to have found the several hostels I called before them to be fully booked.

I settled in around mid-morning while my bunkmate Steven (Australia) was still asleep.

I made solid use of the free and fast broadband internet access located within the inner courtyard. Later, when Steven awoke, we got to talking, went out for lunch, played chess, and generally got along well.

He had previously met a guy named Todd (California), who he planned to go out with in the evening.

I had plans to attend a birthday party of Laura's friend, but they never materialized. Lacking a cell phone has only been a problem when it comes to coordinating social activities.

Todd arrived at the hostel while Dominic (England), on the older side of the backpacker spectrum like me, enjoyed a drink in the hostel bar.

We started in La Candelaria by going to a bar and getting some pizza.

Both places were packed with young people, predominantly students, enjoying the start of their Friday night.

Next, we hopped in a taxi and rode north to Zona Rosa, a district densely populated with bars and clubs.

We met up with one of Todd's lady friends, her sister, and a few Colombian guys at a bar.

I believe it was here that Nasser (Florida) joined the crew and another older American guy who lived and worked in Colombia.

(from right) Nasser, Steven, Colombian beauty, me

We had a few beers and shots of Aguardiente, Colombia's favorite anise-flavored liquor, before heading off in search of a club.

This turned into an unnecessarily long ordeal-the kind of situation which results from too many people trying to agree on a consensus.

We eventually entered a bar with a dance floor and some lounge-like seating. It was packed but not overcrowded, and I liked the vibe.

The male consensus was that every woman in the place was beautiful!

As is typical in Colombian bars and restaurants, bottle service is standard, so we got a few small whiskey bottles (I think).

Unfortunately for me, the Colombian company we arrived with didn't speak much English, but it didn't matter too much once we were dancing.

The bar closed down at 3 am, and we meandered into the street where typical end-of-the-night nonsense and chatter occurs.

One Colombian guy started screaming ¨Billy Corgan¨ in my direction, taking my photo.

Dominic, Steven, and I shared a taxi back to the hostel, where I faced a flight to Medellin the next day.

Photos From Around Bogota

On my last day with Laura, we took a cab to the more upscale, commercial district of northern BogotÃ¡ which included the Zona Rosa (red district). The term is used to describe a central area of nightlife, an important aspect of Colombia's major cities! There were plenty of pretty buildings for me to photo, though one, in particular, with blue doors was my favorite.

Taxis have meters, but the numbers correspond to a rate chart instead of signifying the cost of the ride.

BogotÃ¡ features A LOT of graffiti, which is unfortunate. Political statements are sprayed on any surface. Subjects include Colombia's President Uribe, America, and general artwork.

Laura lived in Il Campin, along the main north-south highway, and across the street from the city's futbol (soccer) stadium.

Laura said the burgers at a particular restaurant were all made of worm meat, so I had to eat there when we came to a popular park around lunchtime. The sole sunny day of my stay in the city necessitated a cold Mojito. The burger in no way looked or tasted like worm meat!

Poker Night With The Expat Community

Laura and Herman took me out to breakfast early at a small, unassuming restaurant in central Bogota. I had a large, delicious chicken tamale while they ordered a hardcore soup with meat on the bone and potatoes. Back at the apartment, I spent a few hours uploading photos and working on the blog.

In the evening, Laura dropped me off at her Colombian friend Angela's house, where 5 expats reside. It was the weekly poker night and I bought into the friendly game of Texas Hold'em. There were 10 players, and I went out in the middle, about two and a half hours into the night. I managed to win one big hand, but it wasn't enough to make up for my complete lack of skill at the game.

Still, it gave me a chance to spend some time with native English speakers, mostly American, and find out what they were doing in Colombia. The majority were English teachers, while Ryan (wearing the Steelers beanie) had originally arrived in the country as a journalist for FIFA. Grant, the dealer and landlord of the house, was working on research involving organic animal feed.

Laura called just as I was about to bet my remaining chips, with a poor hand no less. I told her I'd be ready to leave in a minute, promptly lost the hand, and heard the doorbell ring no more than thirty seconds later.

We picked up Herman's friend Abraham who lived in the neighborhood, and drove up to a viewpoint overlooking BogotÃ¡ along the side of a mountain. It was a beautiful sight, I thought, and no less so than Barcelona. This was a regular spot for locals (10-20 of whom were also up there with us), but not the kind of place you'd typically find as a backpacker, which is why I appreciated it so much. We talked for awhile on the chilly precipice while Latin music played from someone's stereo, and a few people danced, before returning to the apartment.

Cerro de Montserrat And Museo del Oro

I spent the morning watching CNN's coverage of Barack Obama's presidential inauguration. Laura had to pick up a kitten in the afternoon, a late birthday gift from her friend, so I was accompanied by her roommate, Juliana.

Juliana

I knew setting out from the apartment that the potential for good views from atop the mountain were limited, but I didn't want to have the attraction hanging over my head each day. We took a taxi to the cable car, and rode it to the top of the 3,030-meter peak. The best views were on the way up, before we rose into the clouds.

A surprisingly nice church sits atop the mountain, as does a gauntlet of souvenir stalls selling predominantly religious items. I bought a cup of a warm, local mixed drink to help make the most of the visit.

The other attraction unique to Bogota on the day's agenda was the Museo Del Oro (Gold Museum). We walked there in the pouring rain after coming down from the mountain. Juliana went over to her university while I toured the museum, ooh'ing and ahh'ing at the massive display of gold jewelery, masks, and ceremonial items. The descriptions were all in English as well as Spanish, and I found the museum deserved more than the 45 minutes I gave it.

The rain dampening the day, we took a taxi back to the apartment where Laura was already coddling the kitty. It was another low key night, playing with the cat and watching TV. In the evening, I met Laura's boyfriend, Herman, who was returning from a long vacation.

On this third night, my body finally adjusted to the new time zone, and I got a good night's sleep.

Bogota Living, La Candelaria, Botero's Art, And The Simpsons

Laura greeted me at the door, welcomed me into her spacious apartment, and introduced me to Juliana, her roommate. They had known each other from childhood, having both grown up in Cali. Tired from the long travel day, my body still operating on Spanish time, I kept it low key the first night by chatting, using their wonderful wi-fi internet access, and watching The Simpsons in Spanish.

My first night at Laura's was comfortable, but I didn't get much sleep. I awoke around 2am local time (8am Madrid time), and only slept intermittently thereafter. It was some of the worst jetlag I'd experienced on my trip. Juliana left for her first day of the new semester at university. She's majoring in architecture, while Laura started out with art and has since moved to international law. Her classes begin the following week, so she would have time to show me around.

We headed out mid-morning. I wanted to try the Trans-Millenia bus, the city's alternative to building a metro. It was crowded, a little more costly than the normal buses, but fast. Our first stop was the Juan Valdez cafe in La Candelaria district. The JV cafes are Colombia's version of Starbucks, which has yet to open shop in Colombia, though Laura said it was a possibility for the future (less for the coffee, more because it was symbolic of American culture). Needless to say, the coffee was good.

We then wandered through several interconnected museums...all free. What a concept! I had fun trying to improve my Spanish by using visual cues in the paintings to translate the titles. Laura helped when I got stuck. Between art galleries, and Spanish-dubbed episodes of The Simpsons, there's hope for me yet! I really enjoyed the Fernando Botero collection. As Colombia's most famous artist, he donated not only his own work but part of his private collection which was extensive, including works by Picasso, Degas, Dali, and Monet. We walked through the Mint museum too, seeing two jewel-encrusted, golden sculptures (housed in their own vault room) and plenty of coins.

Laura's friend Laura met up with us back at the cafe and we walked to the Plaza de Bolivar. It was filled with pigeons, and uncharacteristically I was told, a band playing live music. I had already shared with Laura my focus on food, and she made sure to steer us into a restaurant offering the typical regional cuisine. I liked the background music. I chose the traditional soup with tender shredded chicken, potatoes, onions, and cream. It arrived with a side of avocado and rice, the perfect accompaniment. The serving sizes were huge, an neither the Laura's, nor I, could finish half of what was given to us.

After lunch, we walked around another part of the city where the bullfighting stadium was located, but the rain was putting a damper on our walk so we returned to Laura's apartment via the regular bus, which was more comfortable than the Trans-Millenia, but far slower. The night was spent the same as the first, watching TV and hanging out. Again, I found myself awake at 2am from the jetlag, too tired to get up and not tired enough to fully fall asleep again.

My Latin American Arrival

Concerns on my mind during the Madrid metro ride to the airport:

my abdominal cramps, am I in for a repeat of the unpleasant Geneva to Bordeaux travel day?
my lack of a ticket out of Colombia, would Iberia let me board the flight from Spain....would Colombian officials let me into their country?
would I be able to easily withdraw money against my credit card at the Bogota airport?
should I move to New York City and live with my friend, or stay in the Washington, DC area?
if NYC, what if I don't find a job due to the recession and use up the last of my savings?
how will I move my stuff?

I arrived at the airport, which was huge, but fairly new and well signed. The toilets have too many urinals and not enough stalls. I hate auto-flushing toilets (the urinals are OK). The pharmacy doesn't dispense antibiotics without a prescription, unlike in France. I took two Immodium and hoped for the best. Ate a Serrano cured ham and cheese sandwich. Bought water and snacks. Still have 20 Euro left. Took airport train to satellite terminal, hustled to Gate U55, waited 15 minutes. Boarded flight, seat 11A over middle of the left wing. Seats are a bit small/cramped, my most comfortable flights are behind me (Air Tahiti, Thai Airways, Air Qatar). The man sitting next to me is big enough to require a seat belt extension, which also means he's big enough to noticeably encroach on my limited space. I am guessing he is as uncomfortable, if not more so, than me. We're taxing to the gate, running about 15 minutes late. 9hr 45min flight time, the last long haul of my journey.

We touched down in Bogota without issue. I almost didn't want the flight to end. There is an intangible quality to being in transit, especially when making such a big leap to a new continent and country. I was trying to savor the excitement and anticipation that comes just before landing, especially since my next long flight would be back to the United States.

The uncomfortable cramps which accompanied me the whole flight continued after I disembarked. I made a strategic decision to go through immigration before using the restroom so I could take advantage of my seat near the front of the plane. I was nervous about my lack of onward tickets ever since the South Africa debacle, but when it was my turn, everything went fine, I received a 60-day Visa, and I breathed a sigh of relief, before seeking out the restroom, collecting my backpack, and passing through customs.

I changed $20 and 20 Euro into Colombian Pesos, and used a great service which estimates your taxi fare to ensure you are not ripped off. You simply give a guy the destination address, and he hands you a small ticket with the estimated fare which you then show the taxi driver. It was about a ten minute ride to Laura's apartment, which featured a locked door and a private security guard in the lobby. The guard called up to her and I received the green light to take the little elevator to my first Colombian couchsurf.

Final Thoughts - Brussels, Netherlands, France, Switzerland, Spain

My return to Europe 10 years after my first backpacking trip there was a blast. No Visas, no currency exchanges, no need to show evidence of onward travel. The hospitality of my friends and couchsurfing hosts was amazing. I have definitely learned how to treat my future guests in the right way. Cathedrals, royal palaces, world class museums, and fine dining. Trains, planes, and buses driving on smooth asphalt.

Highlights -

couchsurfing with Geraldine my first night on the continent
partying in Brussels on Christmas Eve and night with a great group of guys
seeing Gela again and walking around desperately cold Holland
seeing Laura again, and drinking wine with her friends my first night
visiting Montmartre, the Pompidou, the Eiffel Tower (again) and the holiday-decorated Champs d' Elysees in Paris
New Year's Eve at a French house party
the high speed TGV train ride to Bern
hanging out with Stefan again
visiting the Einstein Museum
staying at Balmer's hostel, one of Europe's most popular
seeing the Swiss Alps (Eiger, Munch, Jungfrau) from atop Schilthorn's rotating restaurant and snowy platform at 10,000 feet
the train rides throughout Switzerland
couchsurfing with Calen in Geneva
touring the European HQ of the United Nations, and Red Cross Museum
being greeted by Magali and Sebastien at the Bordeaux airport
meeting Magali's brother, uncle, and mom
touring St. Emilion and the Monolithic Church, while in between, enjoying a wine tasting at a centuries old chateau and lunch by a roaring open fire
climbing Europe's largest sand dune, enjoying oysters in Arcachon, visiting the Point and climbing on the old WWII battlements, and being reminded of Anthony Bourdain's similar visit in A Cook's Tour
the guided night walk and daytime beach stroll in Barcelona
the Picasso Museum
Gaudi's Familia Sagrada
attending the FC Barcelona v. Atletico Madrid match at Camp Nou - front row center seat!
couchsurfing with Yair and drinking some beers with his friends at tapas bars
Retiro Park, the Prado Museum, and the Royal Palace

Lowlights -

losing my wallet and ATM card to a pickpocket in Barcelona

Eating -

Belgium - waffles, french fries with various sauces, chocolates, strong Trappist (monks') beer
Holland - Gela's home cooking, hot chocolate
France - tons of bread and cheese, croissants, pastries, Bordeaux wines, champagne, duck, foie gras, meat fondue, Arcachon oysters, coffee
Switzerland - chocolates, cheese fondue, risotto with red wine and a side of bone marrow
Spain - tapas, churros

# of Nights Couchsurfing -

18 - both by visiting friends and using the website

Average Cost Per Day -

$81

Plaza del Sol, Royal Palace, And La Latina

I slept late again, and struck out on a mission for cash and Colombia guidebook (in English). I tried at least four local banks, all of which denied my request for a cash advance against my credit card. One gentleman did point me in the right direction, toward Plaza del Sol, the city's commercial and tourist center.

After walking around the busy plaza for a half hour, I finally walked up to a Change place right outside the metro stairs, where I was happy to see a piece of paper in the window indicating they handled cash advances against credit cards. But I decided to hold off, as I would be flying to Colombia the following day. Instead, I cashed my final traveler´s check.

A little extra cash in my pocket, I headed off to the bookstore Yair looked up online which had the Colombia Lonely Planet in stock. I found it easily, paid the hefty price for a book with so few pages, and ate a Spanish omelet at a big restaurant nearby. Sitting at the bar, I paged through the guidebook, only to see a familiar face as a contributing author. Thomas Kohnstamm, author of Do Travel Writers Go To Hell, worked on the 2006 edition. On the television, the Audi FIS Ski World Cup was being broadcast live from Jungfrau, the mountain region I had recently visited in Switzerland.

I was split between visiting the city´s modern art museum, or the Royal Palace. I was closer to the palace and had already been to a museum the previous day, so I spent an hour walking through an ostentatious display of interior design (fit for a King, of course). No photos allowed.

After touring the palace, I returned to Yair´s apartment where I laid down on the fold-out futon, hoping my gurgling intestines would relax. As 9pm rolled around, I got up the energy to join Yair for a night out in La Latina - a popular and lively nightlife area near the city center.

The first bar we went to was packed. He introduced me to his friend's friend whose birthday was call for the get together. We had a few small beers. Yair explained the small glass size was to ensure the beers didn't get warm before being fully consumed. After hanging out for awhile, amongst more than a few English teachers, we went for a short walk to the basilica but it wasn´'t lit up.

We went to a smaller, less crowded bar for another beer, and I managed to order some potatoes with a spicy sauce before they completely closed the kitchen. One of Yair's friends met us there before the bar closed completely.

Barely 6 hours sleep to my credit, I awoke at 7:45am, showered, and tried to buy an Avianca flight from Cartagena, Colombia to Miami, but my Capital One card was rejected, and then the website didn´t work. Due to the theft, I had canceled my E*Trade card so I couldn´t use that either. Visions of being rejected entry into Colombia (a la South Africa) for lacking proof of onward travel kept my stress levels high.

Couchsurfing And The Prado Masterworks

I arrived in Madrid after a tiring 8 hour bus ride. We stopped every 2 hours for toilets and food though. Snow covered the ground 2 hours outside Madrid. I took the metro to meet Yair, my couchsurfing host in Madrid. As we chatted, he effortlessly cooked up a great ravioli dinner. When not playing Swedish chef in the kitchen by night, he is a software engineer. Between working in an Irish pub, and school, I barely saw his roommate during my stay.

On my first day, I set out toward Retiro Park. It was a short walk north from Yair's place, and I eventually came upon a big artificial pond complete with paddle boats. I sat on a bench and listened to an accordion player. It´s the type of park where people walk their pooches, stroll romantically (even in the cold), sit and enjoy the sun, or in my case, write. I imagine it is packed in summer, especially on the weekends.

From the park, I headed toward the Prado Museum, the main mission for the day. It was one of the best museums I´ve visited. The collection includes lots of masterpieces, but isn´t overwhelming like the Louvre. I recognized quite a few pieces from my college days, including:

The Annunciation by Fra Angelico (beautiful in person)
The Garden of Earthly Delights by Hieronymus Bosch (hard to miss, it is so close to the entrance!)
Self Portrait and Adam & Eve by Albrecht Durer
The Third of May, 1808 and Saturn Devouring His Children by Francisco Goya (the local hero)
Madonna of the Fish by Raphael

In the evening, I worked on the blog and later joined Yair and his two friends, Pablo and William, for beer, Nicaraguan rum (and Coke), and tapas at a bar near his apartment. Unlike the fancy tapas I paid for in Barcelona, the ones we got were free with the drinks. As a result, they were more low brow, but I still found it amazing that bars serve anything beyond peanuts for free!

What's In Your Wallet?

Thankfully not my Capital One credit card, which I had left in my money belt back at the hostel (locked in the top part of my backpack, which I didn't bother to put in the hostel locker). And it wasn't really a wallet I'd been using. I had purchased a small hemp-made pouch with the Rastafarian Lion of Zion stitched into it at the weekend market in Bangkok 6 months earlier.

The most important loss of the event was my E*Trade ATM card. Otherwise, I lost my driver's license, about 25 Euro ($35) cash, a photocopy of my passport, travel blog card, hostel business car, and ironically, my hostel locker key (meaning a deposit loss of 10 Euro or $13). Since I last accessed my money before the game started, and thereafter didn't leave my seat, and was seated in an expensive section (63 Euro/$83 per seat), I believe the theft occurred in the metro, which was obviously packed with people.

My blood pressure was boiling when I realized, sitting on my bed back at the hostel, that my wallet had been stolen. I mentioned it to Toti, the hostel owner, as I'd lost the locker key. He certainly warned me enough times to be careful around the city. Hell, even the barber I use my first day warned me about pickpockets! I had kept my right hand on my camera from departing the hostel to getting back because I was worried about theft. I would've been better off to have taken just enough cash for a cab ride back if I missed the last metro, instead of taking my ATM card thinking I might need to access cash for some unexpected reason. Around 1am, I used the hostel's free internet access to e-mail E*Trade to cancel my debit card, but I knew for security reasons, they would only go so far as to reissue it to my home address on record. I didn't remember the PIN number to my Capital One card, which I had never used for a cash withdrawal on the trip. I would have to make do with my emergency cash.

It wasn't easy, but I eventually fell asleep. When I awoke, I ate a quick hostel breakfast, and left for the bus station in a hurry, forgetting to ask for my key deposit back in light of my difficult money situation, and leaving some food behind by accident, though purposefully ditching my Egypt Rough Guide and copy of " Dark Star Safari."? I felt a bit closer to Paul Theroux at the end of his journey, as I too was carrying an intestinal bug from Africa, and to add insult to injury, had just been robbed at the end of my trip.

Next stop, Madrid.

FC Barcelona v. Atletico Madrid

My first view inside Camp Nou

I'm on the bus to Madrid. 8 hours, a long haul. About last night...

I got a bit of rest at the hostel and took the metro to the stadium, Camp Nou. It was pretty easy.

Got to the gate at 8pm, but they didn't open until thirty minutes later. I waited in the cold with the other early arrivals.

A pre-game sprinkle (as viewed from my seat)

Once inside the gates, I found my portal which was amongst a small section of fancy glass doors.

I found my seat, just as I'd expected based on the graphic I used to select it online at the hostel.

I was in the first row, behind the "Guest of Honor" box which was immediately surrounding the players' box.

"Awesome" was the first word from my mouth when I actually arrived at seat #1, on the aisle, about 10 meters from the center line.

I ate a pre-game sausage, and bought a water and Toblerone, before returning to my seat.

To my surprise, no alcoholic drinks were served in the stadium, a change I later learned was instituted about five years earlier due to problems with violence.

I wondered if such a rule could ever pass in the United States?

The stadium was big. Pre-game, sprinklers came up and watered the field, as they would also do at halftime.

TV announcers filed reports from the field. The players came out to pose for the cameras and warm up.

It was a great experience to be so close up to the players, coaches, and field.

Being a night game, the bright lights made photography (especially using zoom) and video difficult.

Loud cheers and jeers echoed and boomed around the stadium. The pace of play was very fast.

Passes weren't always perfect, and a few wide open shots on goal were squandered.

Atletico Madrid was coming into the game down two goals from the first match of the series. The team with the most goals after two matches moved on to the Spanish Cup's quarterfinals.

This was not a league match, which might have been why a mostly B-team squad started. French star Thierry Henri didn't play.

I saw more of Argentine striker Lionel Messi warming up than actually playing, as he was entered the game around the 70th minute.

And Brazilian wonder player, Ronaldinho, had already moved to AC Milan.

FC Barcelona won 2-1, but I couldn't afford to stick around until the very end.

The last metros stopped at midnight, so I left around the 85th minute, first trotting, and later running to the first metro, and then the second I needed to reach my hostel.

I had purchased a day pass so there was no need for me to stop and buy a ticket.

For some reason, I kept it in my back pocket instead of my wallet, which was in my left cargo leg pant.

It wasn't until after I reached the hostel, and was sitting on my bed in the dark, emptying my pockets that I realized how this decision made my life far easier than I imagined that night....as I discovered my wallet had been stolen.

Gaudi's La Sagrada Familia And Barca's Beaches

I took the metro to La Sagrada Familia, the grandiose yet unfinished cathedral of architect Antoni Gaudi. Upon exiting the metro station, I turned around to catch my first glimpse of the northern facade. Aye caramba - it was hideous!

I walked around the exterior to the southern entrance where I had a cup of coffee before buying a ticket. The cathedral was started 100 years ago and at least three large cranes were continuing the construction today. The anticipated completion date was 2026, assuming donations didn't dry up.

Despite the facade's gaudiness (pun intended), it was hard not to be curious about the man's vision and aesthetic. Inside, the support columns took the abstract form of trees, and the little stained glass installed so far, cast beautiful colors into the interior. I paid for the elevator up one of the spires, which offered superb views of the city, and the excitement of a long walk down to the ground floor.

Since Gaudi was one of the architects I studied in college, I figured it was worth the effort to see one of his apartment buildings as well. I walked to La Pedra, which featured his unique wave-like facade and organic balcony design. I found it more aesthetically pleasing than the cathedral.

I took the metro toward the Olympic village, but upon exiting the station, decided to head toward lunch by the beach instead. Along the way, I stopped for some photos of two large and prominent office buildings.

Given the chilly weather, it wasn't surprising to find the beach empty. I dined al fresco at Shoko restaurant and lounge. The price-fixed lunch menu was a good deal in comparison to my meals in Switzerland. Three courses, plus a drink (I chose wine), bottled water, and coffee. I opted for vegetarian sushi to start, orange veal for the main, and fresh fruit with coconut ice cream for dessert. As I enjoyed the meal, I imagined the beach scene in warmer weather, masses of barely clad Spaniards and tourists, soccer balls being knocked around, and everyone enjoying the warm Mediterranean waters.

I spent the rest of the afternoon walking along the beach, stopping from time to time to take photos and people watch. I heard a guy playing and singing " I'm Yours"? by Jason Mraz, a song I've had stuck in my head since I first started to hear it the past few weeks. More than any other city in Europe (at least in winter), street performers were out in force.

Walking Barcelona By Day And Night

My train arrived in Barcelona at 11pm as scheduled. I took the metro a few stops, and walked five minutes to the nearby family run, year and a half old, Mambo Tango hostel. They pride themselves on a friendly, peaceful, clean, respectful environment. The young, dreadlocked Spanish owner, Toti, warned me about pickpockets in the city, and suggested securing my valuables in the lockers provided at the hostel.

I woke up freezing at 7:30am because someone had turned off the room's heater during the night. I switched to a closer bed to ensure control of it going forward. At the free breakfast in the reception area, I learned of an FC Barcelona home game against Atletico Madrid at Europe's largest stadium, Camp Nou (holds 100,000 people). I asked the hostel owners for help in obtaining a ticket, and headed off to explore the city.

The first notable sight I happened across was the large market on Las Ramblas, the city's most popular street. It was the nicest one I'd seen my entire trip. Everything for sale looked great, meats, fresh fish, massive octopuses, cheeses, fresh fruits. There were some unique items too, such as entire pigs, one of which I witnessed being bought by a man. I bought a bit of local cheese, fresh mango juice, and headed south on Las Ramblas past the landmark statue of Christopher Columbus in front of the waterfront.

I walked past the harbor filled with sailboats awaiting warmer weather, watched a skateboarder attempt a wallride down into a steep embankment. His spotter was calling out to him from across the opposite embankment when there were no cars coming, for if he went at the wrong time, there would be enough momentum for him to land in the street and get destroyed by a car, whether he landed the trick or not. I stopped for a cappuccino on a sidewalk cafe near a big statue before continuing to the Barcelona Cathedral.

As often seems the case with important European churches, it was under renovation during my visit, and thus scaffolding covered the entire front facade. Inside, it was one of the best I'd seen in Europe. I walked around the interior arcades, admiring the centuries old altarpieces, stained glass, and Gothic architecture. Outside, in an alley between the cathedral and other buildings, a musician was performing on a guitar. I sat and enjoyed the moment, and music, before tipping him and walking the short distance to the Picasso Museum.

The museum was the first to be built while the artist was still alive, and the permanent collection focused on his early years working in Barcelona, though some of his cubist work were represented in a temporary exhibition. As I walked through the permanent collection, I overheard a teenage girl comment to her friends " this is his boring period"? which as vapid as it sounded, was a sentiment I could appreciate.

On the way back to the metro, I ducked into a small shop for a sugar rush. I ordered churros, dough nut-like pastries, which came sprinkled with sugar and a cup of chocolate for dipping (and in my case, drinking). Pure pleasure!

In the evening, I joined Toti and a bunch of other hostel guests for a night walk up the hill in the western part of the city on which is situated a castle. Before leaving the hostel, he suggested we leave all money and valuables behind, which I found odd given we were a group of about 10, with him as our guide.

First, we saw a great view of the downtown area all lit up at night, followed by a walk to the other side of the hill which offered views of the very large port. The fast-paced, one and a half hour tour wrapped up with a look at the castle's facade, before we walked back to the hostel where, with the assistance of Toti's Argentine girlfriend, Marina, I bought (to my surprise and delight) a front row, center, ticket to the FC Barcelona match.

I invited a Taiwanese girl from the tour, and my dorm room, for tapas at the recommended joint next to the hostel. We struggled to pick out dishes, given the staff didn't speak much English, and the menu was in Spanish. We managed to point our way to a few tapas, including bread topped with yogurt, salmon, honey and a few drops of soy sauce. The multiple ingredients and careful presentation already meant they were on a level above anything I'd experienced in the States. A glass of Catalonian red wine completed the experience.

The Trains To Spain

12:45 pm

I'm on the 7.5 hours train to Barcelona via Narbonne in southeast France.

The weather has turned, the sky now gray and cloudy. We all slept in this morning.

I showered around 10 am, enjoyed a croissant, indulged in another pastry, champagne, and white chocolate mousse, and sipped hot chocolate.

Would life ever be so tasty at home?

Checked e-mail, packed up, and was driven to Gare St. Jean by Magali and Seb, the former whose driving resembles that of a Formula-1 race car driver.

They both helped me collect my ticket, and saw me to the proper coach, number 14, seat 48.

While not a TGV, it is a clean, comfortable, and spacious train.

Passing vineyards, the region is beautiful. I will be back to Bordeaux, and France, for sure.

4:42 pm

My first train was delayed 20-30 minutes so I missed my Barcelona connection in Narbonne.

I have one hour and forty-minute wait, plus another changeover. I'll be arriving at 11 pm instead of 8 pm.

Hopefully, the hostel has a 24-hour reception.

7:36 pm

Left Narbonne at 6:18 pm and am speeding in a southerly direction, the darkness obscuring any potential views of the Pyrenees mountains separating France and Spain.

Finished the second of four ham and cheese sandwiches Magali's mom had made for my journey, and " Dark Star Safari."

Theroux was robbed in Jo'burg at the end, and suffering from intestinal parasites for months after his return home.

He seemed to struggle with the ending of his trip the same way I am.

8:52 pm

Off and running on the so far bumpy train to Barcelona, two hours further south!

The Grand Tour Of Arcachon Bay

On this day, Magali working a long shift at the bakery, Sebastien took me around the Bay of Arcachon. Biganos, the town where Magali's mom lived, was at the southeast edge of the bay. First, we drove southwest to the Dune of Pilat, Europe's biggest sand dune. Formed during the 18^th century, it was 104 meters high, 2.7km long, 500 meters wide, and consisted of 60 million cubic meters of sand.

I was wheezing on the way up, my heart pounding as though I were back in the Himalaya. The steady diet of chocolate and cheese was taking its toll. Atop the dune, the views of the surrounding pine forests and oyster farms near the entrance of the bay were stupendous. It was around this time I began to recall images of Anthony Bourdain's return to France in his Food Network show (and book) " A Cook's Tour."?

Next, we backtracked a little to walk through the town of Arcachon. It was very pretty, and despite the cold, the sunshine was nice and I could imagine what it would be like in Spring or Summer when the sidewalks and cafes would be busy with French and European vacationers.

We stopped in a little shop to try some oysters. Based on the tourism brochure I read, it seemed mandatory, but I didn't expect to enjoy them. I was wrong. They were fresh, three years old, and delicious with a squeeze of lemon. As Sebastien had mentioned, the flavor of sea water is tasty. We each had three, then ordered a second set of six since there are probably few oysters on Earth that would taste so good.

They're not particularly filling, but with a glass of white wine and some bread and butter, divine. This moment also reminded me of the way Bourdain talks about tasting his first oyster in France as a child as a defining moment in his life.

We then drove all the way around the bay toward Cape Ferret, stopping to walk through a village of oyster farmers along the way. It was rather deserted, being the low season, but perfect for taking a few photos. At La Pointe, we parked the car and went for a walk on the beach. There were quite a few people and dogs doing just the same.

It was only from this vantage point across the bay that I could gain a real appreciation for the monumental size of the sand dune we climbed in the morning. When we reached the old WWII embattlements, mostly covered by sand and graffiti, I was all but sure Bourdain's " France"? chapter/episode took place on the same beach, as he reminisced about playing around on the relics of the past. Our last stop before returning home was a trip up the local lighthouse for a 360-degree view of the bay.

Back at the house, I dug up confirmation online that the Bay of Arcachon was the location Bourdain use to visit as a kid, and did so once again with his brother as an adult. Yet again, I felt a connection with him, which is funny because his visit was to feel a connection with his childhood. At any rate, if you taste a fresh oyster in Arcachon, it's hard not to appreciate the moment, atmosphere, and (if you're lucky) company.

In the evening, Magali still working hard to serve the best pastries to feisty and indecisive clientÃ¨le, her mom made meat fondue and fries for Sebastien and I, which was complimented by a bottle of red wine from St. Emilion. There were at least 5 different bottles of sauce available for dipping, including a Bearnaise, pepper, and Bordeaux. The immediate dessert consisted of two of the cheeses we had tasted the day before. I was stuffed.

After dinner, I read more of " Dark Star Safari"? by the wood-burning fire (used to heat the home), Theroux having finally reached Johannesburg, South Africa. Mag's mom watched TV and knitted. Seb used the internet.

Mom retired at 10pm, so I said goodbye and thanked her for everything. Seb and I waited up for Magali, watching CSI, NYC. She got back from work around midnight, carrying two boxes of assorted pastries. I joined her for another glass of wine and we ate some of the unsold treats from her bakery. I chose a chocolate one with mousse and cake, wrapped in a thin, flat sheet of chocolate.

Yum!

Wine Tasting In St. Emilion

In the morning, we ate bread and chocolate pastries for breakfast, before heading off to St. Emilion, the " wine city"? northeast of Bordeaux which Magali first told me about during our time in South Africa. The district boasts 822 winegrowers and 5,400 hectares of vineyards. According to a tourism brochure, the land owned by each grower has remained small, usually 7 hectares, and within the same family for generations. Along the way, we picked up more antibiotics for my ailing digestive tract.

We spent the morning walking around the empty streets of the medieval town, tasting some local cheeses, and enjoying a private wine tasting at Chateau Mauvezin, a family run winery going back 15 generations.

I went all out for lunch at L'Antre Deux Verres which was positioned under a bell tower built between the 12^th and 15^th centuries. We were seated near a big, open, wood-burning fire which kept us warm and enveloped in a steady fog of smoke.

Dessert

I ordered soup with Parmesan to start, followed by filet mignon of pork with a white cream sauce and fries, and vanilla ice cream with a macaroon and a small cake unique to the Bordeaux region. The meal was complete with a 2002 vintage bottle of locally produced red wine.

After lunch, we climbed the bell tower for crisp, clear views of the town and surrounding vineyards. We also joined a French-speaking guide to tour the small Hermitage carved out of a natural grotto where Emilion lived, and the Monolithic Church, an underground church carved entirely out of solid limestone, complete with catacombs and a few skeletal remains still in their final resting place. By volume, it is the largest in Europe. No photos were allowed, but it was an awe-inspiring experience to be within such a unique church. Magali translated so I had some sense of what was being told to us.

I wanted to buy a souvenir to remember my visit to this World Heritage listed town, and opted for a smooth-operating, French made corkscrew. I'm sure it will encourage wine-drinking for years to come.

We returned home for a break, at which point I sat in bed and began to write in my journal. Magali's mom took my photo and said something I didn't understand. Later, when I walked out into the living room, I was greeted with the photo of my silly mug on the desktop of her computer, thereby replacing the one I took of her daughter playing with the village kids in Bulungula!

Our next adventure lead us to the bakery and restaurant where Magali works. She studied food, wine, and the restaurant business in university. We sat at the restaurant bar for a little bit. The manager was mixing drink orders non-stop, and overhead, images from Fashion TV's lingerie segment flashed on a projection screen. I tried not to stare at the bare bums too long. The pastries in the bakery looked better than any other I'd seen in Paris or the rest of Europe. Since she had to work the next day, the plan was made to bring some samples home for a taste test.

We ate dinner in Bordeaux's city center again. A nice wine bar where we ordered a selection of cheeses, meats, and two breads, one with eggplant and cheese, the other with ham and peppers. After enjoying a few more glasses of wine, Sebastien took the wheel on the ride home while Magali and I fell asleep.

An Introduction To Life In Bordeaux

It felt good to be back in France, a little warmer, and ever so slightly less expensive than Switzerland. I picked up my bag and was happy to see Magali and Sebastien outside the baggage claim area, waiting to greet me. We drove to the center of Bordeaux (city) and started to walk around the labyrinthine streets, past churches and busy restaurants. It was still cold.

We settled on a typical French restaurant facing a small plaza with a church. I ordered the same as Magali, duck breast with foie gras and potatoes while Seb had shredded duck with potato in a casserole type form. And of course we had a bottle of red wine from the region. I over did it by ordering my favorite, tiramisu, for dessert. My second rich, fatty, French meal of the day consumed, Magali drove us 45 minutes south to her hometown, Biganos, though she is originally from Nice, the only other place besides Paris I've visited in the country.

She stopped the car at her uncle's house, about five minutes from her mom's place. To my surprise, she was about to present me to her uncle and older brother. As we approached the front door, I could hear loud laughter and took a deep breath.

Inside, drinking wine around the dinner table were her brother, young nephew, and her uncle and his friends including a man who spoke some English in a wheelchair, a brunette woman I didn't speak to, and a blond woman who owned a bird that took turns perching on everyone's shoulder (between flights to and from the living room). A friendly black dog also vied for everyone's attention. Everyone was in a good mood having just finished dinner, and it wasn't long before Magali's brother opened a bottle of champagne (poorly, as it overflowed and sprayed wine everywhere).

I tried a traditional dessert, a pie in which a " stone,"? usually a toy, is placed. Whoever gets the piece with the stone is King or Queen and gets to wear a crown (think Burger King). They rigged the distribution, ensuring I became King, though I quickly anointed the blond lady as the Queen.

It wasn't long after the champagne was finished that her uncle took out French cognac under the guise of " it's not every day he has an American in his dining room."? It was too strong for me, and a subsequent apple-flavored French liquor was even worse.

There was a cloud of cigarette smoke over the table, with music playing from a stereo and a TV in the living room. Magali's brother performed some slight of hand with a cigarette and magic tricks with a deck of cards, he was good enough to fool me! The old blond woman, limited in her English, kept asking me about Barack Obama as President and saying they (the French) like Americans. I did my best to be patient with her, despite my annoyance when she would lean her arm on my shoulder.

And then we left, drove a few minutes to Magali's Mom's home, and I was shown my wonderful room with a comfy, queen-sized bed, clean sheets, and fluffy, warm comforter.

The UN, Red Cross, And A Photo Safari

Geneva, home to luxury watch companies, the Red Cross, and the headquarters of the United Nations in Europe. I chose the latter two for exploration my first afternoon. A short walk from Calen's apartment, they were across the street from each other, making my life as a tourist a little easier.

The one hour guided tour of the UN buildings gave me some additional insight into the structure of the organization, though the actual tour simply involved walking from one conference room to the next. Some of the rooms were quite grand, but at the end of the day, a conference room is only so exciting. The visitor photo ID's made for a nice souvenir.

Across the street from the UN's visitors entrance, perched upon a hill, was the Red Cross. I made quick work of the basement level museum, and returned to Calen's apartment to continue making effective use of his new laptop and fast internet connection while he was still at work. His previous laptop, along with his entire backpack, had been stolen while he was traveling in Europe himself. Literally stolen from right beside him when he wasn't looking. I appreciated his trustful nature.

My second day in Geneva was dedicated to wandering around the city center before catching an evening flight to Bordeaux. I meandered through the backstreets, buying chocolates, walking through a big church, looking for interesting scenes to photograph, and settling into a fancy French meal Le Perron.

The risotto with red wine, cheese, and salad caught my attention on the menu, but when I inquired about the ingredients listed on the French-only menu, I was told it included meat, which sounded odd to me. The dish arrived, and I saw by meat, the waiter meant bone marrow, a rich surprise. Bread and butter, water, and espresso finished me off. The lunch was indulgent, over the top. I was ready for a nap.

Instead, I picked up my backpack and took the train to the airport. The Egyptian bacteria which had invaded my body was back in full force, making for an unpleasant pre-flight experience. The Easyjet flight was luxuriously quick, just 60 minutes, and cheaper than taking the train.

Chillon Castle And My Geneva Couchsurf

To break up the train rides, I made a pitstop in Montreux, a town on Lake Geneva in the region dubbed the Swiss Riviera.

Vineyards are tucked into the hillsides, and in clear weather, the lower Alps are visible over the far side of the lake, which also makes for a fantastic backdrop to Chillon Castle.

Dining room with big fireplace and original wooden pillars (hundreds of years old) — Dining room

The castle was started as early as 1150, and used for a fortress, arsenal, and prison for at least 260 years.

It was fun to explore, and bigger than it looked from the outside. There were about 40 different rooms and three courtyards.

In the lowest levels, where prisoners were kept, you could hear the water lapping up against the stone walls.

Once I had my fill of the castle, I retrieved my bag from the handy storage lockers at the train station and continued to Geneva.

It was a 15-minute walk from the station to Calen's apartment, though I made it longer by starting to try to get help a block before his directions would've led me to his building.

I was cold, tired, and getting frustrated when someone was finally able to point me in the right direction.

Calen and his girlfriend Nicole welcomed me. They are both Canadians, living and working in Geneva on one-year internships. I hit the air mattress early and slept for almost 12 hours.

The Golden Pass Train Rides To Lake Geneva

I checked out of Balmer's after two nights, resupplied myself with a new bag of assorted chocolate truffles, and checked my e-mail at a posh McDonald's before going back to the train station for the 11:06am panorama train. The Golden Pass scenic route runs from Luzern to Geneva via Interlaken and lots of little towns in between. It was another good suggestion from Stefan.

Within the first two hours of leaving Interlaken, I had already switched trains twice, but barely had to wait ten minutes at each changeover. The Swiss run a tight rail operation.

It was hard to take photos with the glare on the windows, and lack of sunlight or color. The sky was grey and overcast almost the whole way, and snow covered everything until we descended to Lake Geneva.

I had my laptop and book with me, but I decided to spend the whole trip staring out the window at the passing landscape. The cost of living and travel is so high in Switzerland, it is almost hard to enjoy the experience. So I savored the snowiest views of my trip, for the chances of me returning in the future on my own dime were slim to none.

Interlaken And Lunch Atop The Swiss Alps

The train ride to Interlaken allowed me to see my first views of the Swiss countryside, and there was plenty of snow cover, but clouds and fog conspired to hide the mountains. Interlaken is a resort town and Europe's version of Queenstown, New Zealand. Billing itself as an adventure destination, winter activities include the usual skiing and snowboarding, plus more exotic options such as glacier treks and ice climbing. The latter appealed to me, though not at this point in my trip when funds are low, and motivation for physical exertion is waning. Summer fun includes whitewater rafting, rock climbing, and skydiving.

It was a short walk from the western train station to Balmer's Herberge. At 60 years of age, it was the oldest private hostel in Switzerland, and a perennial favorite amongst backpackers. The complex of three buildings was a little overwhelming, though I imagine it is a beehive of activity in the high season. I ate a nice traditional lunch of veal sausage in onion sauce with rosti (shredded potatoes in a pancake form).

Drool

I picked out a cappuccino torte from the adjacent bakery for dessert. The restaurant, featuring pink tablecloths and a piano player, was populated with lots of older folks. And at $30 for the meal, it was understandable why the backpackers were probably cooking Ramen in the kitchen of Balmer's. I spent the night debating whether to visit Karin in Luzern, our initial meeting having been in Jeffrey's Bay, South Africa.

I seized my one full day in Interlaken to reach Schiltorn, a 2,971-meter (10,000 foot) peak with a rotating restaurant overlooking the Swiss Alps, and more specifically, Jungfrau (4,158m), Monch (4,099m), and the infamous Eiger (north face, 3,970m). The process involved taking a bus to a train. The train ride through the snowy landscape, alongside cold streams, and up the mountain valley, was classic. Throw in the skiiers and snowboarders, and I was in the Warren Miller movies I use to fawn over as a teenager. Skiing in the Alps was a fantasy then, and would remain as such since I wasn't ready to pony up the money for equipment and clothing rental, plus lift ticket.

The train segment ended in a town where I then caught a bus again. The bus dropped us at the first in a series of cable cars which lifted people up the mountains. I counted three different cars to get to the top, each providing a more impressive view of the mountains than the one preceding it.

Atop Schilthorn, I took in the 360-degree views at a relaxed pace, despite the freezing temperatures. We were above the clouds which blanketed the lower elevations, but views were still obscured along the horizon. After taking as many photos as my fingers would allow, I sought shelter in the restaurant. To make the most of the experience, I decided to enjoy another traditional Swiss meal, cost be damned!

yum

I ordered Spatzli Delight, mini dumplings with home made cheese spatzli, bacon, roasted onions, and pear slices. And hot coffee to drink. My table on the outside ring of the floor, took 45 minutes to slowly spin around in a complete circle, offering me all the views in a warm and comfortable setting. The majority of other diners were skiing as well as taking in the views. I was content with the sightseeing aspect alone.

After lunch, I sat in a dark theater for tourists, and admired film clips of the mountains during the summer, as well as winter. More importantly, I saw the scenes from the James Bond movie, " Her Majesty's Secret Service,"? which were filmed at the same location, after construction on the restaurant had been completed in the 1960's. It marked the second time I'd visited a filming locale for a Bond movie (the first being in Thailand).

Returning to the hostel, I reversed the order of my ascent. Three cable cars, two buses, and a train ride. I watched a bit of TV, wrote by a wood-burning stove, and tried to fall asleep early.

The Einstein Museum And Work Delayed

I used my second full day in Bern to check out the Einstein Museum in the southern part of town. Along the way, I climbed up the cathedral spire as Stefan suggested for a great view of the city. The snow, which he said was unusual for the region, turned the environment into my image of a winter wonderland. If there weren't so many clouds, I would've been able to see the Alps.

The Einstein Museum was developed from what was to be a temporary exhibit. It was a relaxing and peaceful way to spend an hour, though I don't know that I learned anything new about the man. And I certainly didn't develop a better grasp of his groundbreaking theories, despite the animated video lessons.

I returned to Stefan's apartment, though he was still hanging around with a friend at an indoor climbing wall. When they got back, we had a bite to eat, and I was invited out for a drink. Neither of them were particularly keen to go to work Monday morning. I was feeling tired so I initially declined. Mike, Stefan's friend, then offered to buy me a drink and I did not protest his generosity. Stefan said he normally rode a bike everywhere, so he lent me one and we pedaled back to the center of town where we dismounted outside one of the most upscale restaurants/lounges in the city. It seems we were going out for more than just a beer.

Kornhaus Keller was the name of the centuries old, underground building we entered. We found the only available set of leather seats back by the cigar room. I declined Jameson in favor of a drink I would actually enjoy, a Bombay Sapphire gin and tonic.

Going for broke, Mike suggested cigars, though I declined them as well in favor of a few puffs from Stefan's. They chose the cheapest ones on offer, at $9 apiece, or about half the cost of my drink. An hour or two were passed in the dim light of the exclusive haunt before Stefan and I returned to his apartment. I thanked him for everything, and retired in the comfort of one of his six roommate's beds. He was set to begin a new job in the morning, while I intended to sleep late, and catch a train to Interlaken.

The Bern Identity

Laura's Dad stopped by her apartment as planned, and after talking for a bit, he offered to walk me to the Gare de Lyon where I would catch my high speed TGV train to the Swiss capital of Bern. I appreciated his help all the more when my credit card didn't work in the automated machines. I was able to confirm my reservation, but according to a ticket agent, the problem lay with design differences between American and European credit cards. I boarded the train a few minutes before it sped off from one European capital to another.

The train was smooth, clean, and comfortable. As the French countryside swept by in a blur, I wrote, read, and listened to music. It was already dark when we crossed into Switzerland, but I could see snow on the ground. Most of the passengers got off at Lausanne. The train arrived in Bern about 30 minutes late, giving me 50 minutes to reach my hostel, Hotel Glocke, before reception closed for the night at 10pm. Bern, or at least the historic old part of the city, is easily navigated on foot, and after a short walk down empty, snow-lined streets, under a clock tower, and past a McDonald's, I was within the warm embrace of my hostel for the night. I made myself a tuna sandwich, ate some cookies, and went to bed.

The next morning, I slept as late as possible, showered, and put my big pack in the hostel's storage room for the day. What draws a person to Bern, beyond shopping, I couldn't tell you. I was there to visit Stefan, a funny guy I met through a weekend meditation course in Pokhara, Nepal last April. I spent the first part of the day walking the icy streets of Bern's historic area, while hoping Stefan arrived back from his ski holiday in the Swiss Alps as planned. Bern has about 6km of covered arcades, making it easy to shop regardless of the weather. Unfortunately, the cost of everything in Switzerland is exorbitant. Browsing restaurant menus, I quickly found the typical entree to cost at least $20.

I walked through the city's main cathedral, and found a self-service internet cafe. At a rate of 10 Swiss Francs an hour, or a little over $9, I encountered the highest internet rates of my trip, beating French Polynesia in the middle of the South Pacific! I can understand the high cost of internet access on tropical islands, or remote places, but I can't figure out why the costs are so high in one of the most wealthy and modern countries in the world.

In the early afternoon, I decided to scout out Stefan's apartment. I managed to find it just a few minutes walk from the train station, and while he wasn't home yet, he'd informed Sonia, one of his five roommates, of my visit. She invited me in, offered me a warm drink, gave me a spare key, and made me feel at home. We talked for a bit, and then I walked back to the hostel to pick up my backpack. When I returned to the apartment, Stefan was there, and welcomed me too. It was good to see him again.

I mentioned fondue, and he suggested me make it for dinner, so we ran out to the local market to get cheese, white wine, bread, and a few other things for the weekend. He said most stores would be closed the next day, Sunday. The fondue was cheesy and delicious. Almost out of reflex, I dipped bread in the melted cheese over and over again. I stopped far too late for my own good, especially since we then went out for a few beers at a popular bar in a converted school gym afterwards.

New Year's Eve At A French House Party

On the last day of 2008, I slept late before heading off for a quick visit to the Paris' modern art museum, the Pompidou. In 1998, it had been closed for renovations. I had just enough time to visit the temporary exhibitions, the most noteworthy being on the development of Futurism in Paris around the turn of the 20^th century. As I suspected, there were great views of the city from the unique series of escalators which rise up along the facade of the building.

Laura met me at the exit of the museum and we went for a quick walk past the Louvre to the Pont Neuf (bridge), before picking up some wine, vodka, and frozen quiche at the supermarket. We made our way to her friend Alice's apartment a few metro stops away. It turned out to be a girls-only pre-party. I must have looked like a deer in the headlights because the first comment I heard from one of the girls was " not to be afraid."? Thankfully, I had already met several of them the first night. But that can only do so much when there is a language barrier. Laura continued to be a good host, translating the more interesting conversations so I wasn't always in the dark. I'd never seen so many quiches in my life. Laura said they were quick and easy to prepare, and a good alternative to pizza which was considered fast food. Several bottle of fine French champagne were also uncorked. I tried at least three different kinds, each with its own distinct flavor.

Around 9:30pm, we split up into two cars and drove south toward the suburbs where a house party was already in full effect. As we drove, my fear for the night materialized in the form of an urgent need to use the toilet, the result of an ongoing intestinal bug picked up in Egypt. I alerted Laura to my first priority once we got to the house. Embarrassment took a back seat to King Tut's revenge, and I barged my way into the first floor bathroom within a minute of our arrival. Ten minutes later, I emerged, and began to talk with a guy named Pierre who had learned English during a school year abroad in Nashville, TN. Small talk ensued with whomever I could find who spoke sufficient English. After a second trip to the bathroom, I felt good to start drinking more of the wines which had been brought by guests, red, white, and champagne.

At midnight, everyone began to wish each other a happy new year (bon anne in French) by doing the double cheek kiss. From the small, first floor balcony, the Eiffel Tower could be seen all lit up in the distance. Fireworks were heard, but not seen. Inside the house, everyone continued to party, and there was a bit of dancing too. The music was constantly changed as songs were played from individuals' iPods and the host's laptop. Given the French people' dislike of English, I was surprised to find they know the words to Britney Spears songs!

By 2:30am, I was tired, and ready to go, so I hoped we would leave sooner than expected. Since Laura thought we'd need to take the train back, and it didn't start running until at least 5am, the plan was to spend the night at the house. Instead, we lucked out and the two girls who drove our group to the party, were ready to drive home by 4am (I think).

Whether it is New Year's Day, or any other day, I love to sleep late. Laura spent the afternoon packing for her impending trip to Cambodia while I tried to stay out of her way. She let me spend one more night in her apartment, even though she was on a plane to Bangkok. I was so tired, I stayed in and played around on the internet before going to sleep early.

A Busy Day In Paris

My first and second visits to Paris were during the summer of 1998. I saw a lot back then, and was excited to revisit familiar places and new sights now. The first morning began with fresh croissants, a baguette, and coffee. Unfortunately, the weather was not on our side. A steady, cold rain was falling as we stepped out.

The first stop on my list was Jim Morrison's grave, but we found the cemetery was closed due to icy conditions. Laura's suggestion, Montmartre, came next though we decided to stop in a restaurant she knew, Le Rendez-Vous Des Amis, in the area before visiting the church. Tourists were out in force, but she steered us down a side street away from the crowds. We ordered coffees to warm up, and plates of cheeses and meats.

Satiated after stuffing myself with cheese and bread, we braved the cold again. We left the restaurant to find the rain had begun to mix with snow flurries. I was ecstatic to be standing in snow after more than a year without it. On a clear day, the view of Paris from Montmartre is suppose to be brilliant, as it sits atop a hill. Instead, I saw vague outlines of landmark sites. Inside the church, live music was being played, and a steady stream of tourists were walking around the aisles. The holidays turned out to be a good time for European church visits as they are all decorated with nativity scenes.

No visit to Paris would be complete without a glance of the Arc de Triumph, Champs de 'Elysees, and Eiffel Tower, so they were next on my list. Memories of my photos from long ago, under sunny skies in warm weather, were constantly flashing in my mind as we walked down the street. Laura suggested we return in the evening when the lights would be visible. The Eiffel Tower was closed due to frost. We walked by the Hotel de Ville which featured a busy ice skating rink. The fun fountain at the Pompidou was frozen over, icicles hanging off the colorful sculptures. The museum was already closed by sundown, so I joined Laura for a drink with her friend at a nearby restaurant.

One of the first things her friend said to me, in a joking yet truthful way, was that the French don't like to speak English. This was no surprise, as I learned it in Laos. In reality, it is less the ability to speak conversational English than the self-consciousness about speaking proper English that results in such a declaration, as English has been taught in French schools for quite awhile. I found this visit a bit more awkward than the prior night's party, however I did pick on a Moroccan engineering student who was separated from his friends. Otherwise I tried to be patient so Laura could enjoy her visit. If it had been warmer, I'd have spent the time wandering around the nearby streets.

Before returning to Laura's place, we stopped back at the Champs de 'Elysees to see the lights. It was worth the return visit, as the gray sky didn't matter after sundown. All the trees had blue Christmas lights, and vertically hanging fluorescent lights which had blue lights drip from top to bottom every few seconds. It created a nice effect along the famous street.

The night continued at an Egyptian restaurant, where I had a chance to smoke as well, sheesha. The Moroccan guy met up with us there, and also joined us for dinner at a nearby French restaurant. I ordered eggplant ravioli smothered in two types of cheese, while the other two dined on cheeseburgers. We shared a jug of wine, which is slightly less (in terms of volume and price) than a typical bottle. I was anxious to try a dessert, and chose the chocolate cake which was particularly good, and certainly not worth the $9 price tag. Restaurants in France are prohibitively expensive, and after almost a year of eating in restaurants around the world, I was having trouble adapting to this reality. The weakness of the US Dollar makes it feel like New York City prices, plus a 40% surcharge!

During the day, a few small grey dots which had appeared in the middle of my camera's display window began to spread like an Etch-a-Sketch, first extending horizontally across the 3-inch screen width, and then a though the camera was developing a case of macular degeneration, the middle circle became bigger and bigger.

Welcome To Paris

Gela greeted me bright and early in the morning. Breakfast was white bread topped with chocolate sprinkles, an unheard of combination in the USA, yet apparently the second most popular topping after butter for the Dutch! We both headed to the train station with our backpacks. She was making her way to the airport while I was simply going to the neighboring town to kill 6 hours before my bus ride to Paris of the same duration. I hunkered down in a restaurant across the street from the train station, writing, reading, eating, drinking, and generally spacing out in a state of semi-consciousness.

The Eurolines bus ride was timely and uneventful. I arrived at the Paris bus station, and met up with Laura who was coming from the metro to collect me. She was the picture of Paris, complete with red beret. We met 7 months ago on the train from Varanasi to Agra (and the Taj Mahal) in India.

We took the metro back to her apartment in the eastern part of the city near the Bastille, catching up along the way. She warmed up some pasta and a hamburger as I hadn't eaten dinner. I had barely enough time to shower before her friends, mostly fellow medical students, began to arrive around 10pm. Everyone arrived with a bottle of wine or beer to share, and soon we were all seated in a little circle as cigarette smoke filled the room and the latest gossip was shared. I was witnessing the French version of " Grey's Anatomy."?

Laura, knowing I didn't speak a lick of French, was very good about ensuring I felt included in what was happening. Thankfully, some of the guys spoke good English so I could establish my own conversations. And the girls tried, which I appreciated. One of them, Manon, was doing a year's study abroad, in Madrid, so I made sure to get her e-mail address in the hopes of a future couchsurf. It was somewhat comforting to know a lot of the people I met this first night would also be at the New Year's party.

Tillburg Or Bust

I was tired, but had to be out of my room by 10am. I hung out with Tyler and Dan in the lounge and did some writing before taking the metro to the train station where I boarded a 3:19pm train to visit Gela in her hometown of Tilburg, Holland. Eight months earlier, we had met in Pokhara, Nepal and trekked together for 10 days in the Annapurna region. It was nice to see a familiar face waiting for me at the train station.

Tilburg felt noticeably colder than Brussels, not that it was far from the border between the two countries. We walked for ten minutes through the narrow, empty streets of the shopping district to her 4^th floor apartment, which held a commanding view of bars and restaurants down below, and the skyline complete with double-spired, 19^th-century cathedral. Her apartment was decorated with photos from Nepal, ones I recognized like Mt. Machapucchre (aka Fishtail) and a photo I took of her surrounded by Nepali kids on our trek. Somehow, I hope to pluck out the best of my 12,000+ photos when I get home and decorate in the same manner.

Dinner was a homemade dish, chicken, cherries, and a type of gravy or curry baked in dough. It was really good, and I was spoiled with dessert, little reindeer shape ice creams. Initially, I wanted to join Gela at a local club since it was Friday night, but I was too tired from the nights out in Brussels so I stayed in and uploaded photos from Egypt.

The next day we both slept late. I was in no hurry to step into the cold, however we had plans to visit 's-Hertogenbosch, a neighboring town by train. It was known for two things: a Dutch dessert at Jan deGroot Lunchroom and the St. Janskathedraal (begun in 1380). We passed the pastry shop on arrival due to a long line, though we ended up missing out on the dessert because it was sold out by the time we were heading back to the train station. As we walked through the back alleys, complete with canals and cobblestones, shoppers were out in force for sales (and no doubt, returns). It was freezing! I picked up much-needed long underwear at a discount shop, though gloves I liked were more difficult to track down. We stopped for tea in one of Gela's favorite places, The Pink Lemon, which was decorated in (you guessed it) pink. I was the only guy in there. Back in Tilburg, we picked up a few movies and some groceries for dinner on the way to Gela's apartment.

My last day in Tilburg was dedicated to Tilburg itself. We slept late again, and walked around town, stopping in the town cathedral. She took me to a popular restaurant, well decorated for the holidays. Christmas lights canvassed the ceiling, while our table fittingly featured a rough map of the world. We had a typical Dutch fast food, kroket. It was a mashed meat encased in breading and deep fried. Presented on top of white bread with mustard, and a side salad, it was quite good. The hot chocolate with whip cream was so decadent, I ordered two, and made a mental note to drink it more often while in Europe.

I had wanted to go on a bike ride, as it was an activity I skipped during my first visit to Holland ten years ago, but it was too cold. Instead, while Gela packed for her New Year's trip to Lisbon, Portugal, I tried to line up future couchsurfs with people I already knew, and some I didn't. My itinerary was falling into place with just a few question marks left.

The Christmas Day Pub Crawl

The prior morning, Steve had been ejected from his bed and room at 10am, for housecleaning, so I got myself into gear thinking the same policy would be in place on Christmas. I later found out it wasn't, and while Steve lay nestled in bed until 2pm as I would normally do, I washed up and ran into Matt downstairs. He was in better shape than me, but was willing to sit and talk for a few hours while I recovered my strength.

Eventually, I was ready to strike out in the cold again. We spent 3 hours walking around the city, sharing stories and occasionally commenting on our local environment. To escape the cold for a bit, I suggested we get some fries at the same place I had them the day before. We continued walking around, eventually looping our way back to the hostel. It was just the type of aimless sightseeing I intended to apply in all the cities I visited. Given my intent to couchsurf most of my time in Europe, I intended to rely on local advice rather than spend more money on guidebooks.

In the evening, Matt, Steve, Tyler, Dan and I reconvened at the bar, joined by another American, Scott, who had recently finished a job teaching English in Hungary. Together, we marched down the same streets as the night before, intent on a pub crawl. To our dismay, the Irish pub was closed. Tyler lead us on a short sightseeing detour to see the famous little pissing man statue. He had a photo of it dressed in a Santa suit, but it had already been taken down by Christmas night, so my photo shows him buck naked, once again.

Scott then steered us to the Delirius Cafe, a giant bar with the top floor being Belgian beers on tap, and the bottom floor featuring slightly less expensive bottled beers and a stage where a cover band would later play. We spent a few hours there, as it filled with smoke, tourists, and young Belgians.

In an effort to revive the pub crawl concept, we exited the bar and made it all the way across the alley to the Floris Bar which advertised absinthe, among other liqueurs. We wasted no time in ordering up the strong shots. The bartender gave us the complete show, pouring the " green fairy,"? putting a sugar cube on top of a metal plate laid flat over the shot glass, dipping the sugar in the highly alcoholic liqueur, lighting the sugar on fire, and letting it burn itself out. The customers then come into play, dropping the sugar back into the glass, stirring it with the metal plate, and saying " cheers"? before downing it with a grimace on the face. We had a beer, and another absinthe, while hanging out in the pirate-themed half of the bar.

When it came time to head out again, we soon found ourselves munching on kebabs and gyros on a Brussels' sidewalk at 2am. They were heartwarming and delicious in the frigid night.

Christmas Eve In Brussels

The Van Gogh hostel is about 15-20 minutes from the city center, but I took my time walking there.

Lots of people were out and about, shopping for last minute gifts as they do in the United States. I ducked into a glitzy mall for warmth and exploration.

Of course everything seemed too expensive, with the Euro having gained back most of its previous value against the dollar (roughly 1.40 USD to 1 Euro).

I tasted a complimentary coffee, bought my first selection of Belgian chocolates, and continued onward down a long street flanked by shops.

I spotted my first waffle joint and ticked off another Belgian delicacy. The sweet, warm, waffle was a real treat given the winter weather.

Further along, I began to visit clothing shops in search of an inexpensive beanie and scarf. Neither were as cheap as I wanted, but they were both a necessity.

Everyone was so stylishly dressed in big fluffy scarves, leather jackets, boots, and jeans. I felt like a freezing mess.

I longed for a nice pair of warm jeans, but resisted the urge to drop $45 so easily.

The North Face pants I've used this long are great for warmer climates, but far too loose and breezy for the European winter.

As I approached the main square, I ran into the Christmas market, with small temporary shops selling everything from foie gras to Greek soap made from olive oil.

I stopped for a cappuccino and grilled ham/cheese sandwich.

Along with a pack of gum, it set me back $10. I began to wonder whether I was being too optimistic when I gave myself 26 days in Europe,

I also stopped for the famous Belgian fries, which I took with the "Brazil" sauce. Delicious.

And everyone in the streets, a mix of tourists and Belgians, were enjoying the same local treats and atmosphere.

Returning to the hostel, I moved into my 4-bed mixed dorm which I had to myself for the night, showered, and stopped down at the bar where I soon met Matt (army guy from Wisconsin), Steve (Aussie), Tyler and Dan (students from San Diego), and later Pollyanna and Vanessa (Brazil, living in Dublin).

We began to sample the fine, strong, Belgian beers. On the low end of the spectrum, beers like Jupiter and Stella Artois were about 5% alcohol, while those crazy trappist monks brewed 7% and 9% beers.

By comparison, I believe American Budweiser is 3%.

Around 9pm we headed downtown, our merry band braving the cold Christmas Eve weather.

We stopped in the first bar we found, Celtica, which was packed as I imagine most Irish pubs the world over are on Christmas Eve.

Beer-drinking continued. I started with a pint of Guinness for $6, and then realizing with a happy hour running from 1 pm to midnight every day, Stella Artois was a far better deal at $1.50.

Far too much beer later, Tyler, Steve and I split off and tried to find another bar but they seemed to be closing up.

Back at the hostel, I played some overpriced ($1.40/game) pool with Steve and crashed around 3 am.

Europe Revisted

At the Cairo airport, I learned Jetairways was a Belgian discount airline. The 737 was fully booked with Europeans returning home for the holidays. I was completely surrounded by children who screamed incessantly for takeoff and landing, and most of the time in between, except when they were running up and down the aisle and kicking the backs of seats. I had saved a pair of foam earplugs from the Air Qatar flight to Cape Town, and made good use of them. They dulled the screams, and allowed me to maintain my sanity during the five hour trip.

Once off the plane, I breezed through immigration, baggage, and customs, collected my first Euros, and got the train to the metro. During the changeover, my lack of success with a pay phone lead a Belgian girl to offer up her cell phone so I could let Geraldine, my Couchsurfing host for the night, know about my late arrival. She picked me up thirty minutes later, and we zipped back to her home in the freezing cold night.

I was surprised to find she had a small Christmas gift for me, travel size Burberry products. She was correct to figure Europeans would appreciate a better-smelling me after the past year of roughing it. In return, I offered her a choice of small things I'd picked up in recent countries. Gift exchange behind us, we chatted for an hour or two before bedtime. The comfort of the fold out couch, complete with duvet, was only matched by Hannes' in Cape Town. I slept well.

Before heading off to work, and dropping me back at the metro, Geraldine heated up hot chocolate and croissants. Breakfast gave us a little more time to talk, though the stay felt altogether too short. Back at the metro, I easily made my way to the stop nearest the Van Gogh hostel. Entering the reception area, I was in shock. The hostel's common area/bar looked far nicer than I expected based on the Hostelworld.com reviews.

Unfortunately, it's common in European hostels to have lock out periods where you can't get into your room while they clean. I put my bag in a locker, surveyed the free black and white photocopy of the city center, and hit the streets.

Final Thoughts - Egypt

The perfect day in Aswan and Egypt's Nile Valley starts with the usual breakfast of coffee, bread, and egg. Progress onward to further readings of Paul Theroux's "Dark Star Safari" while the symphony of Egyptians' daily lives delight the ears. Honking taxi horns punctuate the call to prayer sounded over mosque loudspeakers. Glancing up from my book, Egyptians smile at one another during friendly interactions, horse-drawn carts clack by in search of their next foreign customer, and the local women walk by with their bright, gossamer head scarves occasionally catching the breeze. Lunch, strong Turkish coffee, and a few puffs from a sheesha add to the enjoyment. A breezy felucca ride along the Nile River in the mid-afternoon completes a day in my kind of Egypt.

Highlights -

taxi ride from airport to Berlin Hotel upon arrival in Cairo
Egyptian Museum, specifically King Tut's room and animal mummies
touring the Great Pyramids and Sphinx on a camel
Valley of the Kings and xxx
Luxor Temple
my clean, comfortable, private, modern room with bath on the cruise ship
Edfu Temple
watching the landscape as we cruised up the Nile River Valley
Kom Ombo Temple
hanging out with the Korean guys, Darcy, Gary, Amy, Joe, Natalie, Nate, and Jim on the cruise and associated tours
Aswan and High Dams (for their views)
Temple of Isis at Philae
smoking sheesha and drinking tea
walking through the Aswan market
the early morning convoy to Abu Simbel
felucca rides
the Nile cruise in Cairo (even if the bellydancing was a letdown, at least I saw the city at night and stuffed my face with good food!)
couchsurfing with Megan
exploring Islamic Cairo with Tim

Spices

Lowlights -

dealing with the hassles of souvenir salesman
avoiding the scams and hustles of guides and felucca captains
negotiating for a Ho-Ho, Twinkie or bottle of water (some things should not require bargaining!)
picking up a case of traveler's diarrhea after the cruise

Eating -

Tea, Turkish coffee, Stella beer, falafel, chicken shawarma, hummus and tahina and baba ghanoush with pita bread, lots of kushari (mixture of noodles, rice, macaroni, lentils and onions in tomato sauce - chili optional), kofta, stuffed pigeon, cucumbers, and various cakes and desserts from the cruise ship buffets.

# of Days Couchsurfing -

Average Cost Per Day -

$90

Couchsurfing Cairo

My last day in Aswan was all about killing time until the night train back to Cairo. Normally I could occupy myself for hours on end with a solid internet connection, but I had been informed that high speed access was down throughout the country. The 1st class ride back to Cairo was much more to my liking than the ride to Luxor. Instead of semi-private compartments, the carriage was open, but the seats were wide, comfortable, and almost fully reclined. I got 5-6 hours of sleep, arriving in Cairo at 6:30am, no more than one hour late. I took a taxi back to the Berlin Hotel where I slept much of the day in the little room I had my first night in the country.

In the evening, I attended a dinner cruise on the Nile, only as a means to see some bellydancing. As in my guidebook, the hotel manager warned against local clubs for such entertainment, as they had numerous ways of hiking up the bill. Unfortunately, the bellydancer on the cruise performed far less than I expected. Once we set off on the river, a musician began to play and everyone started to feed from the excellent buffet dinner. Then, the bellydancer from Norway burst onto the scene, and shook her moneymaker to the crowd of predominantly Asian guests. There were some Arabs too, but I was the only white guy, and I was certainly the only backpacker to attend. Not that I notice these things! Between the two bellydancing sets, the second of which was all about photo ops with the guests, a guy dancer in a colorful costume whirled in a circle for his full 5-10 minute performance. Like an ice skater in a perpetual spin, I was amazed at how he kept his balance, and ultimately enjoyed his show more than the bellydancer.

The next morning I packed up my stuff and took a taxi to Megan's apartment in the international (wealthy) part of the city. I had been in touch with Megan since my arrival in Egypt, but was only able to manage my last night on her couch. She is the country director for Operation Smile, a worldwide children's charity. Also staying with her was Tim, a Brit slowly working his way back to England from a teaching job in Thailand, via the Middle East.

Tim and I spent the day walking around Islamic Cairo, the old part of the city where you get the feeling life hasn't changed much over the centuries. We walked through mosques and observed daily life. We saw a runaway donkey drawn cart bash into the back of a parked mini-truck, resulting in the inevitable argument. Walking through the various markets selling everything from fresh fruits to live rabbits, I was reminded of a similar stroll I made through the historic part of Kathmandu.

For those who fancy photography, the unique opportunities are limitless. I was glad Tim liked to take photos too, as we didn't mind waiting for one another, but I found it hard to manage the light. Little kids would pass us by and say "welcome to Egypt" which was endearing. Demolished and crumbling buildings were a standing testament to the 1992 earthquake.

When I was feeling tired, I signaled to Tim that we should start to head back, but not before one more cup of tea. I loved the tea, and the little individual metal tables set up by vendors for their customers on the sidewalk. He must've been tired too, because I convinced him a taxi back to the apartment was in order (on the way, we walked for an hour, and used the subway, to save a dollar or two each in taxi fare). On our way to find a taxi, we saw a child pinned under a large bag, possibly of grain. A bunch of bystanders rushed around to pick the bag up, and of course, the mother began to give whomever was at fault the riot act.

While waiting for Megan to return from work, I watched "Superbad" on her laptop. I first watched the movie while it was pouring rain on a little island in Indonesia, Gili Trawangan. I still found it funny.

When Megan returned, we headed out to one of her favorite restaurants for dinner. We went all out, ordering several traditional Egyptian foods including stuffed pigeon.

Felucca Rides

Felucca

Upon our return from Abu Simbel, Gary, Darcy, Amy, Joe and I went to lunch at a floating restaurant recommended by one of the guidebooks. The prices were higher, but you couldn't beat the ambiance. The food was good too. Afterwards, we set about trying to find a fair minded felucca captain. Joe and Amy took the lead on negotiations, and after a few duds, we met a nice guy who gave us the price we wanted - about $5 total, for the five of us, for one hour.

When the boat went with the current, we cruised along, and when it was time to go against the current, we zig-zagged our way back and forth across the width of the river. It was a relaxing way to end a busy three days and nights of sightseeing. I had opted to spend two additional nights in Aswan since it seemed a lot more picturesque and tranquil than Cairo.

Aside from smoking sheesha, and watching Indiana Jones in my hotel room, I was excited to hire a felucca on my own for a few hours. My solo experience was not quite as pleasant as the group trip the day before. I should have made an appointment with the first captain, but I was lazy, and paid the price in the form of constant nagging for baksheesh (a tip) by the Nubian captain I hired. He had a lot of nerve bringing up money again, considering I already caved at the beginning and agreed to pay a certain amount of baksheesh on top of the price we had agreed upon.

Then again, this was the same captain who had his pants up over his head, exposing his boxers, as he tried to push his boat out of a muddy embankment to get u started. Twenty minutes later, we had yet to set sail and it would've been longer if he had not obtained the help of another man nearby. Adrift on the river, he handed me the rudder to steer while he scrubbed the entire boat. I admit it didn't occur to me that when a captain advertises his boat as "clean," it doesn't necessarily mean it is clean when you first step aboard. Taking a turn at the rudder was fun though, and when I grew tired of the responsibility, I gave it back to the real captain.

The last thing I wanted to do was let my captain off the hook without having to work the whole three hours, but I couldn't resist the temptation to climb the big sandy hill of temples and tombs that sat directly opposite Aswan along the Nile. So, I climbed up that big sandy hill in my flip flops, and was rewarded with a great view, and the offering of some food from a Nubian family enjoying a picnic. The father spoke good English, the result of his time in the tourism industry.

The Sunrise Convoy To Abu Simbel

Paul Theroux doesn't make it to Abu Simbel as his flight was canceled. For a man willing to travel the decrepit back roads of Africa, it is odd that he didn't make the journey by bus.

Meanwhile, my wake-up call came earlier than expected, around 2:37am. Bleary-eyed, I make my way down to the ship's lounge for coffee and cake. We left the boat at 3:30am, driving to a security checkpoint in or near Aswan. A long convoy of buses and minivans departed ahead of us, but we sat idle, having arrived too late to join them. Instead, we are there for at least 30 minutes, speculating about why we aren't moving because no one bothered to speak with us.

It wasn't hard to figure out the problem though. We had to await more late arrivals to make-up a long enough tourist train to be classified as a "convoy." A few months earlier, I had read in the news that a group of German tourists on a trip off the beaten track in southwest Egypt were kidnapped, and possibly taken over the Sudanese border by their captors.

I thought we would have police cars around us, but that wasn't the case. Once the security guys gave the green light, the drivers head off for the 3 ½ hour drive due south to Abu Simbel. At about 40km from the Sudanese border, it requires a willingness to wake up early and endure 7 hours of driving for a photo op.

I was happy to occupy myself with photos of the sun rising over the desert, while Gary and most others tried to get some more sleep. The road was smooth, and fairly straight, so it wouldn't be hard. Upon arrival, we were given 2 ½ hours tour the sight, which turned out to be an hour too much. Amy began to read aloud from her guidebook as we walked to the temple dedicated to Ramses II.

I got my photo, and the scene looked just like the picture in my guidebook which was the catalyst for my journey to the southernmost edge of Egypt.

Photos may not have been allowed inside the temple, as I have none to share. It looked out over a beautiful section of Lake Nasser, the world's largest artificial lake, which was created when the High Dam was erected.

Fully awake and alert, I was able to enjoy the return drive through the desolate, sandy desert. When the driver stopped the van to check out a tire, as seems to be a popular hobby for minivan drivers, I used the opportunity to take a piss. Hardened by the necessity for roadside urination in places like Nepal, India, and Botswana, it was no longer a big deal, though being in the desert meant there were no bushes, let alone a tree, to hide behind. At least I can say I set foot on the sandy, southern desert of Egypt!

Aswan, The Dams, And The Temple Of Isis At Philae

The ship was docked in Aswan when I awoke, the view of the Nile at this point being what I had always imagined. We boarded a big bus and drove over the Aswan Dam to the newer, and more grandiose, High Dam. A few photos later, we boarded the bus again, and connected with a small motorboat for the short trip to the Temple of Isis, set on a small island in Philae. The temple had been meticulously cataloged, disassembled, moved, and reassembled on higher ground due to the construction of the High Dam. I imagine it was an archaeologist's dream.

On the way back to the big ship, the bus made a mandatory stop at a perfume shop. Jim had already been to one, and it sounded novel, so I decided to go inside. He joined us as the alternative was to sit on the bus, with the air conditioning conveniently turned off. The salesman went through the motions of his pitch, allowing us to sample the different fragrances on our arms. I was more fascinated by the walls of colorful glass vessels used to hold the perfumes.

Back at the ship, we gorged ourselves on another buffet lunch, and walked into town to check e-mails, smoke some sheesha (the coffee shop was conveniently connected to the room with computers), and walk through the market. I wasn't in a shopping frame of mind, so I didn't enter into any conversations with the shopkeepers, though they were aggressive in trying to attract my business. The constant hassling reminded me of India.

As night fell, we walked onward, almost the whole length of the market, before turning toward the river, and walking back along the main street. After dinner, my prayers were answered for some on-ship entertainment. A few different live performers took turns in the lounge - playing music, dancing, and encouraging audience participation in a weird shouting match.

Sunset Cruise To Kom Ombo

"The pleasantest aspect of the river cruise was the combination of gourmandizing and sightseeing, gliding with the current and stopping every now and then at a resurrected ruin." --- Paul Theroux in "Dark Star Safari"

Sunset

The sun began to set as we continued to cruise up the Nile from Edfu to Kom Ombo, a temple set right along the river which is suppose to make it especially pleasant for tourists like us arriving by boat. Unfortunately, we were running behind schedule and arrived after dark so my impression had more to do with the glut of cruise ships idling offshore than the stoic temple.

To be honest, I was already feeling worn out from the endless stream of historical sights we had seen in just the past 24 hours. My saving grace, taking photographs, was of little use in the low light. Still, it was a different experience to be walking around the ruins at night and we had a warm ship and big dinner waiting for us.

If the positive side of touring Egypt in winter is a cooler day, then the downside is a cooler night. And this goes doubly for being on a ship in motion. During summer, I imagine the upper deck would be filled with passengers in the evenings, enjoying a post-dinner drink and reflecting on man's place in the universe while staring up at the stars. But in the cold of winter, sitting topside was simply unpleasant, while the pool was downright icy. It was for this reason that I decided not to book my trip via felucca, the cheaper and more authentic option for sailing down the Nile.

Despite the weather, I felt a little stargazing was a requirement of my Nile journey, and I joined Nate and Natalie from NYC, and Jim from California, on the top deck after. Bundled up, and lying on lounge chairs, we stared up at the stars and talked. The other three were staying up until we arrived in Aswan so they could disembark and find some sheesha to smoke, but I was too tired, and retired before midnight.

« Previous Page