The Shanghai Reboot

Following my considerably lengthy and frenzied wayfaring through La Land de la Thai, I really needed a kick in the box to drag me out of the tropic lull.
A wound up, fully charged, roundhouse kick — square in the box.

“Ask and you shall receive,” The Universe did once nobly cry.

Enter Shanghai, my heart’s (travel) desires available for my viewing.

“What’s so great about it?” You ask in your usual haughty tone (I’ve grown used to it.) 
I answer: It’s the place that dreams are made of for the classic city girl.

Concerning appearances, I give it an A+! A little bit of modern, a little bit of European and a little bit of Chinese architecture all in wrapped up gift box; seducing you with it’s ultra East meets West flavor.

Oh, and…

 

It improves on one’s fine fancy after the sun goes down. The whole city becomes a colorful, blinking, neon lightbulb.

Take a gander above at Nanjin Street (the famous walk and shop lane) and then tell me you don’t get feels. I know I do!
And I just can’t get enough!
…Of the feels.

My only beef is slow interwebs. What’s the deal? I wanna Facebook and waste precious moments in the only life I’ve been granted. Is that so wrong?

***

Ok, so here’s the rundown of my Shanghai activities, so far:

Day One: Bus Tour/Boat Tour and moseying down Nanjin Road.

Day Two: The Jade Buddha Temple and revisiting Nanjin Road.

Day Three: Zhujiajiao (Ancient Water Village — Major story on that one; more on that later.)

Pause.
This time around, I caved and got on a tour bus to explore.
With only 5 days, I’d like to make the most of it.
Clever if not too clever, I say.
The tour included a free one-hour boat trip along the Huangpu River, overlooking the scenic Bund.

Play. In real time. 

Day four: I had a hankering to saunter through time and history.
I settled with a museum.
I had two choices on hand: The Shanghai Museum or The Shanghai History Museum (Spot the difference?)
I selected the latter; I’m a history enthusiast and bronze and ceramic development seems…ermm…less appealing.

Damn, it’s a fine piece of work — an interactive peek into Shanghai’s intriguing historical timeline as shown through life-size dioramas, wax figurines and even a holograms light show.
Bravo, I say! Loved it!

Farmer “Fun”

My only suggestion is not to go on Saturday.

Had I known the line for entry was over one gruelling hour long (combined with an irritating and round little boy, slamming into my rear for nearly every minute of it) I might’ve thought twice. Nevertheless, it was totally worth the wait.

Check it out!

And…

How fortunate was I to unexpectedly become a part of the exhibition. 

It all started when I took a seat in the designated sitting area — suddenly, approached by camera-holding family. I had presumed they were requesting I shoot a group photo of them.  You know, regular stuff. 

No, not a group photo of them — she shakes her head — with me.

“With me?”

I’m perplexed (yet flattered); so I oblige to take a pose beside a grinning teenage girl.
They say their “thank yous” and move on.  As they exit, another family slides in.

A man sits across from me and points to the lens of a camera, pointed directly at me.  We pose — then rotate through his entire family until we’ve each had a photo together.  

Then the crowd pours in.

Before long, I’m the centrepiece of a Photo-op session with a small crowd is queuing; waiting for their turn.  And it’s the weirdest thing. 

Hey, for the record: it always has been and always will remain a small (or rather, large) dream to attain a (reasonable) level of fame [through television or in my creative field].

Some time passes and it’s all a tad overwhelming.  Quickly, I scurry away through a small opening in the wall to safely join my furry, mouse friends.  

Ok that’s only half true — without the mousey bit.  

But here’s my confession: I kind of liked the whole thing.  
For a moment there, I was like:

“I’m a starrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!”

…You think I’m a total douche now, don’t you?  Well,myou may not be that far off. 

But it matters not because it’s who I is.  

I’m going back to Korea soon — excited to reunite with my best pals!  I may have a few more stories to squeeze in. But definitely won’t be plugging them out as frequently. 

In a few days, I’ll conclude the whole shebang: from the learning experiences to the scale of soul healing.

But this has been one hell of a trip.  Traveling — can’t stop, won’t stop. 

Bye for now. Kisses from Shanghai,

Mary T

No Sleepy in Sleepy Chiang Mai

Hua Lamphong Station – Platform 10; a group of four standing before of the train with only one to board: Yours truly. The heavy air was rampant, a steaming force: thick, clinging to the skin — generating a sweaty picture of the little foursome that we were. I was pleased to bounce Bangkok, anticipating a nouveau destination and whatever adventures awaited there.

It’s true we’d only met a few days before — but we all managed to click in the traveling sort of way.
Now was the time to part ways — so, “quel triste” it sort of was.
It’s one of those rare cases of the right place at the right time; had I not meandered to the balcony to drop off my laundry in my hostel three days prior, these friendly introductions would not have taken place.

I boarded my train, unbeknownst to me that the ride ahead was surely a plot cooked up in hell going towards Chiang Mai.

Oh yes, it’s the worst kind of transportation I’ve endured to present.

Sure, I volunteered to take the train from an ancient era where no air conditioner thought to venture, and yes, I carelessly acknowledged that this wouldn’t be a quick skip to the north. However; I wasn’t privy to the specific “details”; like, how long this expedition would actually be — if you’re up to scratch on my travel diaries so far, you’ll know that I generally yield all details to the Great Big Hand of the Future.

But we know I’m usually wrong. Total time: 14 hours.

The archaic tank rocked on the rails; a lagging tank she was, as though she were a three-legged, geriatric canine — prancing and stopping much too often for dirty street nibblets. Or in this case, passengers (I mean, how dare they?!)
7:00 PM: the beds roll out and I was no more than a total mess — overstimulated by thoughts brought to you in part by my neurotic imagination. Like: will I be kidnapped and forced into labor, hoisting logs on my back just like my elephant pals?

And on that note: am I becoming my mother? Is it just a matter of time before I don oversized bermuda shorts while insisting on consuming only instant coffee? (I’m kidding, I love you — even though I may not be your favourite daughter at the moment.)

Ok, let’s go back to that moment: I’m lying awake on my bed and I have an urge to scratch — my fingers glide over a crawling, squishy mound. I slap the yucky mound away. But then I feel another. And another.
Queue scary-time music.
I press upwards to investigate and before my very eyes is a thriving community of creepy, black bugs. And I mean a lot of them. And I wouldn’t be shocked to find that they were engaging in debaucherous hooliganry atop my bedspread.

Now, I do NOT do bugs. That is my biggest No-no, as in: No, I will not calm down, they are as scary as f**k.

Beneath my pillow was none other than The Godfather of them all — a really big sucker with all six, icky legs flailing. That bastard was there the whole time! Evidently suffocating beneath the weight of my enormous brain.
I was in the midst of a full-blown freak out but a lady has gotta think fast in the danger zone: so I came up with a strategy. Which was: curl up at the edge of the bed like a wuss and whimper silently.
In conclusion: no rest for the Mary T.

Luckily, the rest of the trip wasn’t so grim.
Chiang Mai is really special; it’s got mountains, waterfalls, ruins and temples! It’s sleepy compared to Bangkok but in a nice way. And it fizzes up big time when the Night Market sets up.

What’s more about Sleepy Chiang Mai is it’s bountiful Animal & Nature Parks, such as: The Kingdom of Tigers or The Slum of Hard-Done-By Monkeys (Not actual title.)
But I came to see elephants — happy ones. And that meant taking a trip to the National Elephant Reservation Park (Maybe actual title?)
Side note: I like elephants; they’re kind of my favourite. And if you’re going to go see them, you may as well do the kind thing and go where they’re free to be…elephants.

‘Twas a long wish o’mine to volunteer (or at least visit) a care home for elephants; and this one was especially nice because it was engineered by a very good woman with a very big heart.
It’s heartbreaking how mistreated they had been in the past: the stories of some individual cases are horrifying. On the other hand, it’s nice to know that now they are happy — they’re in a good place.

If someone fed me coconuts all day and let me play in muddy water, I’d be happy too.

Cutie-pies.

***

I guess that’s all I have to say for now.

At present I’m in the island of Koh Chang and it is PARADISE; this is what I had always imagined Thailand to be.

Anyways, chances are I won’t be writing an entry on Koh Chang. I haven’t been doing anything worth reading about and I don’t want to bore either of us.
But you’ll hear from me in the near future. 🙂

Bye for now. Kisses from Chiang Mai,

Mary T

The Road Lead to Bangkok

Each morning meant that I would be dragged out of a beautiful dream by the sound of a few soft knocks at the door.

“Marrryyyyyy!” a voice would call out.

And every morning I knew who was on the other side of my door. A sweet, smiling face which belonged to someone I’ll call: Kai.

Despite coming to expect my visitor, I would still answer the door with a stupefied expression, and without a doubt unready to function as a human.

“Mm mm…yesss?” Said I, forcing a courteous smile.

She’d commence in the details of the full day-plan she had in store; involving herself, her mother and myself.
One particular memory that I’m particularly fond was the day I was escorted to the many temples, palaces and sculptures; amongst them, the reclining Buddha. I would glance over to the joyful eyes of Kai’s mother — this was also her premier visit to the must-see sights, however; they bore a deeper and sacred connotation for her.

In those few days, she proclaimed that I, too, was her daughter. And as such I was treated to all — despite my protests — from meals to tours on a tuk-tuk.
I really am at a loss as to why — it seems difficult to wrap ones head around it — but it delighted her.

Kai worked for my host — living the floor beneath the guest room, where she cared for her mother and brother. She was happily unmarried and openly loved her freedom — apparently growing up with 4 brothers will do that to you.
She took special care of me in my first few days in Bangkok.
Alas, eventually I had to move on — the location was quite a distance from the centre where all of the action lay ahead.
I could see she was a wee bit sad… but logistically, it didn’t make sense to stay.

Upon my arrival in Thailand, I more or less believed I wasn’t cut out for this.
But I got the love and confidence I needed; thanks to you, Kai!

***

I’d say I’ve roughly been in Thailand for about week, don’t quote me on that. I cannot guarantee accuracy for the reason that I can’t remember what time actually is.
During this period, my head full of ginger hair has made the switch to the “poodle” category, all regions of my body is wrapped in a ubiquitous ring of sweat all of which I’ve come to terms with. Dirty feet? My thoughts on the subject have also become more lenient.

I’m the literal specimen for the term: hot mess. But only if you add in sticky. Yay!

Acceptance is the key for neurotics traveling through Thailand. Questionable street food, overwhelming odours and little figures creeping behind your shoulder to emit a “popping” noise (the not-so-secret symbol for Ping-Pong Show — gross.) These are all amuck and part of the fun-adventure package; especially when traispsing along down in Khao San Road, Bangkok.

Speaking of Khao San road — I fully understand what the buzz is all about; it’s awesome. My hostel was a convenient 5 minute walk to the party road; the same hostel in which I happened to meet a group of youngsters with different backstories. There was a couple of Denmark, a fella from Holland (awaiting to be reunited with his beau) and another fella from Canada ready to jump start a year-long adventure in Australia.

Khao San Road, like me, confuses the days of the week. Sunday is a bore. Monday is Friday. And the rest of the week is Saturday. Understood?

***

One night, I held with somewhat wobbly conviction to my resolve of “cutting of booze”; only taking a wee sip, whilst partaking in Jenga tournament at a street bar. Meanwhile bombarded by adorable, elderly ladies who audaciously placed awful hats onto my head. Their faces always reading:

“You’re a foreigner, so therefore; you like this hat.”

I really didn’t. Because of…never.

My hostel mates chose the back-back-back road to the hostel that was an uneven mess of fallen branches, rocks, glasses, dogs and possibly a colony of chickens. I managed to lose my footing over one rotting log and took a spill to the ground in dramatic fashion. I choose to believe it was an elegant scene, but the chuckling group of locals suggests otherwise.
Yeah – laugh it up.

The next day, a couple of us grabbed lunch at a fantastic vegan dive called: Ethos; with a fruit shake and a tempeh salad to die for.
This has basically been a large part of my trip in Bangkok: traveling a short distance between two vegan joints that somewhat mirror one another. Copy or not; the grub is spot on sensational and I’d like to give a special thanks to them for helping me rediscover the Godly fruit: Papaya. I’d go as far to call it an epiphany, because now I’ll eat nothing else.

Nights were generally spent scouring the road quite traveled in hot search of good times; even if that meant consuming scorpion for some or regular cocktails for others. No matter where the meandering took it’s course, it was never complete without an peaceful “after-party” lounging on the balcony.
Yes — the balcony exposed a breathtaking night-view with a golden temple top peaking through nature and shadowed buildings. This balcony, with it’s view, the smouldering evening heat, in the company of good and sweaty people; the world was magic.

I’d like to confess, while I have been here, I’ve been pining over Europe (tremendously) — but yes, I am cut out for this.

Now, I’m in Chiang Mai. It started off as a horror, but as with traveling, all was right in the world again. I’ll give you the deets in the next blog.

Bye for now. Kisses from Bangkok,

Mary T

Belgium: A Blessing

I was heading in the direction of Bruges: the one and only — the beloved and pristinely manicured medieval hub. The name first captured my notice through a very good film by the name of: In Bruges — upon watching said flick, I was left enamoured. And hooked on a notion that demanded I see it for myself one day. 

Well that day came… that day. And it was perfect. 

The End. 

Just. Kidding. 

I hit quite the bump when the ticket-master didn’t feel my mobile-ticket was “fly” enough for his “policies” and was resolved to fine me a mean one. 
May I state, for the record, none of this was mentioned in my receipt nor ticket upon purchase.  Seriously, what is that?  

It was unfair how they cheated me and nothing boils my blood like unfairness. So call me indignant.  
I argued, I protested to all with ears — but in the end, all was for not. That dreary afternoon, justice on Belgian Rail was replaced by a heartless, greedy little gremlin who had no ears. 

Utterly defeated with defending my cause: I slinked away into,the shadows, away from visibility, took a spot behind the station — and here, I crouched low and submitted to the force of tears, cascading down my big, baby cheeks.
It took a moment to shake myself, but when I did, I firmly acknowledged that this, like many things, had to be let go. It had to just roll off of my shoulders.  
Thus, kaput with the whimpering, I skulked off to an alleyway leading to the sights on the menu for that day. And from then on I did no longer weep over a ticket.

What’s the relevance in all of this? No relevance, only hindsight: the amusing kind.  
In the end, there were several moments of frustration — but one must accept and one must find the strength to move forward. Even if it means having a little cry first.

 ***

Now, before I move you to eye-rolling boredom with my soppy, introspective musings, I’ll give the dealy-o in regards to my travels and where they have left me after my bout in L’Amsterdam.  
I ran an unplanned detour through the Motherland (rather: The Land of my Mother) to Hamburg and spent a day and night there. It was speedy and a teensy hectic — but worth it. I am satisfied.  

Then, I caught ye olde bus to Belgium. 
This is a place that has forever enchanted me — a petite little package, jammed inbetween France and Germany. Is that not enough to find oneself intrigued? 
I had reckoned Belgium was this rich, old stew oozing elegance and culture — a total undermined classic. 

I wasn’t too off-base — although now I’m much better informed of the ingredients that make and bake it. 

I navigated through Brussels, Bruges, Leuven and Ghent and to surmise: they’re a complete collection, solely reserved for the romantic — toting stunningly preserved cityscapes all simultaneously emitting an exquisite aroma (think: chocolate, waffles and other naughty delicacies.) 
And I gotta say: I adore any place that harbours well kempt and finely-dressed citizens.

It’s blessed. 

But it’s also absolutely complicated; beyond my capacity to comprehend: like the tri-lingual system, the government system, the “everyone eats chocolate and carbs, drinks beer and somehow aren’t tearing their pants open” system. 

Complicated or not, it’s a fine place! Full of good folk (my hosts spoiled me to no end) and it’s a breeze to travel to and fro.  
I have to confess, I’m leaning towards you, Belgium — I’ve got my eye on you, honey. 

  

***

There’s so much more I yearn to write but I’m exhausted which means I’m beginning to ramble.
I’ll be flying off to Thailand soon, thus concluding my tour of Europe. I can’t help feeling emotional on the subject. This past month was all the nurturing and healing I needed; it’s landed as one of the best times, so far, in my life.
So yeah, I’m torn. But it’s not over. 

Who’s to complain? I have a new and amazing horizon to play fetch with.  
The good news is: now I have a little more direction and a goal planted in my mind. 
I’ll be back. In the meantime, I’ll see you in Bangkok. 

Bye for now. Kisses from Leuven, Ghent, Bruges and Brussels,

Mary T

   

 

A Balancing Act in Amsterdam

I couldn’t help but laugh inspite of myself, notwithstanding the fright circus that collected on the little street in Amsterdam. My intention, initially, was relying on a quaint and tranquil afternoon, flowing at molasses-pace about the avenues with an abounding sense of well-being. All of this with a little help of some Amsterdam “delight” for medicine; I feel the need to be subtle, so I can only hope you’ll connect the dots on that one.

Nay; I was hit, no, back-handed by bad grooves; that’s 70s-speak for a real shitty time. However; it was not without it’s own brand of hilarity. 

Only one hour earlier, I had stepped into Dumpkring: well-known for it’s output of…niche products. It’s “I-care-not–why-should-you?” allure beckons the average tourist to enter in for a small dip — a fun-dip, I believe the youngsters would say. (?)  

The sense of cool-milieu was all-surrounding; typically set with limited lighting raised over the wooden bar whilst carrying soundwaves of electro-blues (pardon me, certainly not a genre expertise) over and up like smoke upon the art-plastered walls; all certified with the license to ensure any lonely wanderer that they’ve, indeed, stopped in the right location. I settled-up with the smiling bartender (after much inquiry on the strength and price) and took up some space to chill by the bar. All with the quiet hope that I might mingle with a fellow wanderer or better yet handsome local.
…I will never cease my childish and romantic ways. 

  

Here goes nothing. One. Two. 
Huh, nothing.
Let’s swing for three. Bring it on. Ok, four; you got me.
No, that doesn’t seem right.

Gradually and yet somehow suddenly, my stomach is a storm laying a poor boat to waste while my head has this dreadful feeling of swelling twice it’s size as it inches upwards to a nasty cloud. The sultry “soundwaves” don’t hit me like they did before; but are now spinning into some scary voodoo-type-shit pulsating around my brain that was screaming: “Get thee out.”

Oh this is not cool. This is very bad.  

Ok, let’s stop for a sec.
Granted; I’m slightly exaggerating for effect, but not that much, honestly — it was nuts. 
I mean, first off: it’s been ages and second of all…uh…hmm. 

Anyways, no matter where my eyes would rest, it would finish up swirling into a whirlpool of scariness glaring back. Meanwhile, my fellow patrons may or may not have been judging the very noticeable “lightweight” in the room.

I gotta go.
But how? I’ll trip over a cord for sure and fly into an unfortunate group of smokers and coffee drinkers; which would inevitably lead to an all-out bar brawl.
Realistically, I’d be exposing myself as a total nimrod.

So, I must hatch a sure-fire plan that will end in my successful exit of this establishment –without foolery.

Five minutes pass.

I must hatch a sure-fire plan that will end in my successful exit of this establishment without — foolery.

Oh wait — I said that just a moment ago. 

If I don’t leave now, I’ll be trapped…for life. 4 lyfe.
No — not today! 
Clumsily, I wiggle off of my stool and my feet drop to the ground.  Halfway there — I unsteadily dart towards the door and jump out from the smoke pit to a world of fresh air. 

Nooooooooo — this is so much worse!

Real bad thinking, Mary, because now, it’s a new level of madness out here; a struggle between wind, over-stimulating everythings and a terrible parade of humans. It’s cold — I’m hungry — I’m freaking out. 

I turn a corner where I approach an elderly fellow controlling some kind of massive music-box: pumping out medieval jams. Normally: joyful, I’m sure. That point in time: Unbearable. 

I hurriedly evade the scary, child-eating noise machine and made a break for the river. I could not deal.

Yet, as all of this was in occurrence, I could not turn down the silly grin, spreading across my face.
It was all pure comedy-gold; only, I was the only one present to have a good laugh. Perhaps, I’m still the only one to find it humorous.

But between the grinning and the chuckling, I sternly warned myself, quite close to a threat:
Never again. 

***

So Amsterdam, do you like to have a laugh at your tourists? 

Nah, I’m kidding. Amsterdam, thus far, you have been splendid. 

I was immediately drawn in by the infrastructure — particularly the homes, yielding unique shapes that each showcase a separate quirky design.
They’re known as: The Gentlemens’ Homes; for the reason that each gentleman had designed each frame to their own specific tastes.
It results in an eclectic, no-two homes alike collection of structure that = super adorable! 

I’ve got a nice view of all of it from not only my clever little walks but as well as from boat and the back of a bicycle.
The latter: a daunting endeavour; sitting side-saddle and gazing anxiously at the ground as it sped by. It took time but once I stopped peering downwards and looked up at my pretty little view instead; it goes without saying, I enjoyed the ride. 

One particular highlight, amongst other things: I saw the House of Anne Frank — a museum which provides a wonderful, however sobering, historical experience. 

  

***

On one fine day, I received an invite by one of my hosts to ride a boat (belonging to his friend) down the river.
I gladly accepted and awkwardly crouched down in the company of some young and handsome guys. I’m not accustomed to boats nor hanging out with younger men let alone ANYONE younger than myself. Nevertheless, their company was a pleasant breath of fresh air and I had the perfect chance to observe the beauty that Amsterdam has to offer. 
The thing that strikes me most about the people here is how positive they appear; no sentence finishes with a complaint or a line of self-pity. The majority seems content with where they are. This is something that both beguiles and bewilders me as I’ve never resided in a place I liked enough to plant my roots in.
I truly admire and envy that!

I will say: tourists beware the cycling lanes with the cyclers that don’t seem to mind picking you off. If you’re launched in dreamland and step where you’re not supposed to: sorry friend.

I would know. 
Oh, and to the arrogant guy on the bike who purposely came close to ramming into me — if you’re reading this: I kinda hope you peddle your way down a flight of stairs. Then I’ll be the one to give you the stink-eye.
The “stink-eye while laughing” stink-eye.

*** 

The worry-free queen hasn’t maintained “freedom of worry” for long; so I must shamefully resign the status which I had originally promoted myself to. All of the “what nexts,””what to do’s” and “how can I make it works” are back to their normal hovering, grunting and snivelling. 
I suppose one can’t fully expect to banish worry for good; but to keep things bright, I continuously remember the good words as said by the good souls I’ve encountered throughout this past month and some. 

And now, I’ll take heed of my own advice, which is:
Don’t look down where the scary parts are — where, if something snags me, I could crash and tumble.
Look ahead — its easier, it’s a lot less scary and it’s one hell of a view.

  

Thanks for reading; I’m off to Hamburg now — I’ll let you in on it soon!

PS. No, I did not visit the Red Light District. Sorry, not interested.  

Bye for now. Kisses from Amsterdam, 

Mary T

  

O.K. Rome, Andiamo – Part 2

Oh, hey. Just in Rome. No big deal. 

And I am the worry-free queen. I’ve learned what “relax” means. Things don’t get to me. Despite that my Rome trip has been slightly one of chaos. 

Like…
-Getting lost all of the time. 
-Moving around hosts. 
-Running out of money
-Resisting the urge to punch the selfie-pod guy in the face. 

(No: I don’t want to buy your selfie-pod, your water or your flying light helicopter; even if you hold it in front of my face. Sorry.)

What I think I’m trying to say is: I’ve adapted to madness, I’ve adopted the “Meh” and “Take it easy” lifestyle. Call it a small inner evolution, if you will; I haven’t felt anxiety in a full week. 

It’s called having fun. And I love it — I love Rome.

—

A young gentleman, a Russian tourist, sitting on the patio of a bar in Colloseo, randomly informed me that my animal-spirit was a fox. 

I like that. Thus; a fox, I am. A very happy fox. 

***

  

Rome, like anywhere, is best seen in the company of the locals. 

And I’ve had a smorgasbord of hosts — resting my head in the likes of hostels and private homes — all in all, I’ve moved around about four times. This allowed me the unique privilege of discovery: The Center, Flaminio, Garbatella, one night in Frascati (a quiet, but charming little village outside of Rome.)

And that particular host (in Frascati) was a fellow vegan with a plethora of energy, passion for the kind life and wisdom — offering sage advice, which, like all others I’ve received, I will keep. 

Most notably, I was told: go by life one bit at a time. 
So, you and I have to not only remember how we must always continue do what gives us happiness but also to think presently. Something that, for me, is an especially arduous task. 

*** 

I’ll claim my favourite spot to be Campo de Fiori and it’s surrounding squares. Many, many pretty squares. 
It was a bubbling glass of champagne during the night — packs of young people participating in some good old fashioned street drinking, yelling and making out. The best kind.
On top of that, the secret selfie-pod society failed to be seen …to my knowledge. they’re prrrettttyyy sneaky!  

Too many times I threw my liver and caution to the wind through ingesting copious drink. 

I mustered the nerve to invite a couple of the locals (through CS) to be my happy tour guide; and it’s, as I said, so much better than wandering aimlessly by oneself. 

“I’m bored. Let’s go out.” I would audaciously say, for example. 

Afterwards, we’d drink, meander, I’d relieve myself in a bush somewhere and stumble back to my hostel. A hostel, I feel responsible to note, that is AH-MAZE and I recommend it to all traveling to Rome — Twin Cities Hostel. 

I saw a particular beauty when I watched the moon rising — something I’d never seen. This half crescent moon like a little red gem in the sky, quickly floated upwards above the city, as though being pulled on a string. 

Kind of like how Rome is pulling me in. 

Metaphor 😉 

***

As promised, I have some more serious things to write. 

I’ve loved Korea. My friends, my students, my time there has been precious. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

But there were some dreadful issues, ones of which I’d rather not express and ones of which nearly sucked the spirit out of me. mI believe, when that happens, it’s time I move on.

So, I’d like to teach and live in Europe. mEurope has given me happiness. So that’s what I’m going to do. 

How? Errmmm…not sure. Where? Blegh. Nothing is set in stone. Perhaps Rome — or wherever there is cash and good fun to be made.

But this feels absolutely 100% right. 
And when I have it figured out, I’ll tell you. 

Next stop: Amsterdam. I’ll see you there, baby. 

Bye for now. Kisses from Rome,

Mary T
  
  

O.K. Rome, Andiamo – Part I

With backpack and luggage in tow, hurdling gracelessly across the platform towards the meeting point; my eyes darted past each passing sign in the mad search of number 27. Oh yes, I’m incredibly over dramatic; isn’t it lovely? The platform strip couldn’t have been any longer, precisely in contrast to what my body wanted.

It had been a trying day of boat and train travel; all planned out routes not running as smoothly as predicted. Like, let’s say, when I handed my ticket to the scowling officer at 8:00AM; a ticket that stated a departure time of 3:50PM. 

So, it’s needless to say, when I was casually ushered to the platform where the train was about to take off, I was slightly frazzled. Albeit; grateful, because there is no way in hell I wanted to hover around Ancona for 7 hours. But let me stress: I was shocked and unprepared. 
And while surprises make life interesting, it may also increase the risk for cardiac arrest. 

But I did not die of surprise because I am, in fact, not 102 years old, and I arrived safely at my Termini; Rome’s main station, in a dead-tired state as well as kinda gross and sweaty. In addition to this: aching due in part to sleeping in a pretzel-like format on the ferry the night before. 

Ah, and I am forever the unprepared type — instilled with the belief that all in life works itself out — which is a good philosophy to live by, in theory.  
In theory, communism works.

But here’s why it doesn’t always pan out: it leaves certain tasks to the great, big sky of the future and not to the responsible hands of…well, me. 

Two examples that need mention here: no confirmed host, only a few on-going conversations with a handful of couchsurfers (couch surgery, according to auto-correct) and my assumption that it’s all gravy because, of course, the station has free wifi, right? 

As it stands, there is a lack of the interwebs in Termini Station. Get on that. 

But, I’ll spare you the details of how I desperately scoped out a Wi-Fi haven and tell you the main point: I was, at that moment, homeless. 

But the great, big sky of the future was generous in lending me a great, big hand (of the future) and I managed a connection with a host. After a couple of hours.

“Be at platform 27 in five minutes; I’m wearing a black dress.” read the message. 
Perfect, I was wearing an outfit suitable for the ungodly hours at Wendy’s.   

So, I reached Platform 27, as stated earlier, and as promised, my curly-haired host stood in wait. 
Timidly, I crept forward, attempting to form a coherent sentence, but instead, kinda just groaning. Ugh.
Anyways, it must have registered.
 

“Mary! Ciao — Perfect timing! Come, let’s go; we’re going on my Vespa.”
Yasssss! I’ve always wanted to be on a Vespa! But wait; it was all happening so fast! 

Suddenly, I’m on the back my dream ride, swerving between pretty, little Italian cars while shouting back and forth casual small talk. Meanwhile, my clammy hands are gripping for support, dreading involuntary leg amputation in the process of sweeping past vehicles. 
But I wouldn’t; she confidently assured me, because she has a flawless track record and also happens to be a superb driver. 

She says as we both violently jerk forward as a result of excelerating into a massive pothole.

Awkward pause.
“There was a hole.”

“Yeah…”

Nonetheless, all the while, I was thrilled. I’m in Rome on a Vespa, baby! This cannot be beat!
***
Rome has shaken my whole earth; one cannot merely grip it’s natural rhythm, but it reels me in with a great ease. And it’s complicated; it’s hot; chill yet lively; old yet fresh and definitely 100% sexy. 

And while I differ from the majority when I say I don’t dig gelato (even with abundant vegan options) but I adore resting in a cafe with a glass of wine in the middle of the afternoon. 

On a bad note: it’s no easy task to be conservative with one’s money; and the temptation to let loose on the wallet is alluring. I’m trying to stay cling to my budget; but I confess that I caved to the retail siren. 
A little history: do you recall my star-crossed love affair with former leather jacket?

Pfft, forget it. 

I found the ultimate upgrade; a gorgeous lover with a notably affordable price tag (with the of price negotiation.) That’s divine intervention, darling — can’t be helped. I regret it not. 

***

A lot has happened here; the change of pace is chaotic; delightfully so. Nothing has been steady; it’s wild and it’s fun. 

Which is why I can’t manage to squeeze in all of my stories worth sharing; so, the Rome diaries is going to be a two-parter. Stay tuned.  

But I’ll tell you: I’m learning so much. About me, my life. what I want. About people and the world.
The knowledge I’m absorbing is opening my mind to potential opportunities for the future. And at present, I’m doing some heavy thinking over a decision. 
But I’ll tell you more about that next time.

Bye for now. Kisses from Rome,

Mary T
  

Hvala for the memories, Croatia

Where in the world have I been? I was in Dalmatia county, Croatia — specifically in Split and Hvar. And wherever you are, I hope you’re in good company. Because, for me, the company made my holiday in Croatia a real beauty. 

  

  

PS. Split is awesome. 

Being a rather petit destination, I stuck to The Old City, and indeed she is old: 1700 years and counting, to be exact. The white-stone architecture, the pillars — the total structure radiates this majestic presence; in combination with the sulphurous sea air and the dazzling palms. 

The tourists all bundle in the narrow alleyways to investigate attractions like Diocletian’s Palace, while they munch-munch on pizza and go head out to the beach.  

 

You can mold into a total hedonist here and it’s pretty great — my first taste of the Mediterranean and I am all in! 

I had booked my room months ago through Airbnb: both private and comfortable and not to mention ideal in location. 

I took to my mornings with a run along the coast (the sea last view, though,) followed by a trip the local market abundant in an array fresh fruit and veggies where I gorged on peaches and cherries until it hurt. Hurt good, mind you. 

And mostly, afternoons were beach-bound, glistening in the sun the best way a freckled ginger can and indulging in the occasional dip in the ocean. I can’t deny that in my duration I didn’t do much in the way of heavy exploring as previously done, but like I said: it was the scenery and the people that I’ll remember. 

For starters, on the way from Ljubljana, I inadvertently encountered two young ladies, so entirely diverse in nature: an animated firecracker on the one hand, the other: a docile, cool and collected sort; all three of us going to Split for alternative reasons: a job opportunity/ a conference in Hvar/ no reason at all. After helping me out of a small language barrier-type jam, the three of us connected, almost immediately; even banding together in the bus depot to wait for the Currency Exchange Office to open (at 5 AM.) 

We were in luck as the office operator was this enthusiastic, pleasant old woman who clearly loved her occupation (read: sarcasm.)  

When ready to set off, we promised meet again as a trio. 
So, we did just that; we rendezvoused last Saturday afternoon, and spent it wisely: completely day-drunk. 
After a few Proseks and Rjekas, our banter hit on all of the important topics such as: men (or lack thereof), bright futures and men. 

On Sunday, I crossed to Hvar, a scenic little island on the coast of Croatia. The only unfortunate hitch was I booked my place in Brusje which is a tad out of the way from the island’s city center. And when I say a tad out of the way, I mean: the middle of nowhere — the country; a lot of bugs, noisy birds and I’m sure I heard a sheep, once. Except for sheep and bird calls, there was silence — and I don’t do silence. 

On the bright side, I got a lovely view of the sunset from my balcony.
I even, one day, ventured to walk to Hvar, despite seemingly being the only lunatic willing to do so.

Outbound: downhill running — a total breeze. Return: up hill staggering in hot sun of death.
Hot sun of death burn baby. Badly. 

So happy

Don’t get me wrong: Hvar is a beauty. In hindsight, it’s the kind of place you want to go with friends and a purpose, not just “cuz.” Also, you have to be the sort that likes really small towns, villages or what have you.

***

So back in Split. 

I got a solid piece of advice, a good word if you will from a friend that I had I met spontaneously one day. In reality, we were total strangers; but, that day, friends. 

Together, we rolled in his compact car, this stranger and I, delving into intumate discussion, and swerving down a winding road.
He, with his beguiling nature, a true master of the non-chalant charisma, drifted to the topic of a recent cruise-ship service experience he had had. I chimed in: sure, a cruise ship would be great; but it’s too late for these kind of expeditions for me.
I haven’t accomplished my sacred, dream career — much less any career. 

I’ve got this timeline I need to stick to. 

He didn’t need a second to collect his thoughts to say —
Oh yes, who is he? How did I meet said stranger? All I needed was to ask.
For directions that is.
A quick dash from answer to an invitation to take a seat, before I knew it, we were kibitzing. 

His initial intention was to cash in a sale from a hapless tourist like myself; upon gaining information that I’m on the road alone, he took pity. 
After that, I’d say we hit it off; on friendly terms because well, girls aren’t really his thing. 
Next thing I know, we’re migrating to a flagpole by the shoreline to pursue…greener pastures.

I mean: is it such a wise thing to trust a stranger one randomly meets while traveling?
Perhaps, not.
But if I’m never open to the opportunity, I’ll never meet anybody. Not everybody in this world is dangerous. 

So back to his magic words.
I wish I could remember the speech word-for-word, it was seamless. But as it happens, I don’t, so I’ll attempt to delicately paraphrase. It may not do justice; but anyway, here’s the gist:

“I’ve got this timeline…” 

“No no, don’t do that to yourself — don’t restrict yourself. 
Why not chase those little dreams that gratify you or take these small moments that offer to complete you? It makes you happy, doesn’t it?

Things will come as you want them to; you don’t have to care about what others think is a good time to start or stop doing something– you don’t have to stop for anythIng. 

And you can’t stop, because if you do, you’ll waste your time on being miserable. You have all the time to do what makes you happy: travel, work here and there and around the world and stop when it pleases you, go when you need to. “

And here’s where I got goosebumps:

“And when you’re 50, you can chase the little dreams once again, whatever or wherever they are.”

It felt so good; enrichment for the soul. And it was exactly what I needed to hear. 

I doubt I’ll see him again: but please, you just keep being you. 
I’m on the boat to Ancona, where I’ll take the train to Rome.
You’ll hear from me soon.  

Bye for now. Kisses from Split, Hvar, Croatia,

Mary T

  

Charmed, Ljubljana

Here’s a story. I like stories.

  

This gentleman went by the name of France Prešeren — he was a poet and a great national treasure, I’m told. Floating (or, rather, sitting) above him is his muse who is also mounted on the wall of the building directly across from where France happens to be gazing. She, his muse, was his beloved one; tragic because, as it happens, ’twas a love, unrequited.

So, Sad Prešeren is sad. 😦

That story hadn’t escaped my thoughts since it was told it to me by my host; all throughout my time in Ljubljana.  I may be romanticizing the ordeal a bit but I can’t help but imagine his crushed, artist’s heart, blown into tiny pieces and left to long for eternity. An eternity in which he must now spend in direct eye contact with the exact woman he couldn’t be with. Ouch.

Maybe the heartache would’ve been far less acute had he been shifted a few degrees in another direction — given something else to stare at, like, I don’t know, a nice park bench or something….a view of the birds, maybe.

Joking aside — I’m, metaphorically speaking, shifting my own “view” a few degrees away from the objects that I desire; occupying my thoughts away from an obsession that I know damn well is not good for me, for the time beIng. Except my case doesn’t involve a deep, heartfelt connection between people; more like one between myself and…retail. 

At the beginning of my Euro tour, I yearned for beautiful clothes. It was actually painful (you actually think that I’m joking.) I detested my noble notion to attempt a short-lived minimalist lifestyle. Ugh, I still kinda hate it.

One example including an internal struggle in which I tried to rationalize going a week without food in order to buy a certain leather jacket that caught my eye a few days ago. A certain leather jacket that I pined over for more time than it was worth. I fought the temptation.

But I still think about it from time to time. 

It’s an unrequited love of sorts: that jacket and I — something that can never be. Or at least for now. 
And maybe, one day we’ll be together, jacket…unless I find something better.

I’m writing this while visiting a country that spells the word L-O-V-E in; I didn’t think of it, either until my host pointed it out (S{Love}Nia). It seems the perfect opportunity to remember I must learn to love myself without all of the glitter, the garb and the 4″ heels — I have to learn to love my lame sneakers and even lamer backpack; said items does not a Mary make. 

It’s ok to have, to love and to hold beautiful things but when it breaks the balance, then it becomes harmful. And without, I still am me as much as I am with.  If that makes any sense.

And though I miss strutting in heels, I’m slowly learning to forget about it; to focus on other things, rather than personal appearance. 

And it’s not forever. Which is what I keep telling myself.

*** 

The train ride didn’t bother me all that much; the scenery was gorgeous, especially when the plains lifted into these regal mountains, at times with a sweet little village peaking through. 

After I arrived at the humble abode of my host — I met not one, but three hosts to my surprise. 
Now, I was in no condition to make any sort of sensible conversation with anyone but my pillow. And when I say conversation, I mean death-like slumber. 

But they’re a fun, young bunch of friends that live like a family in their little apartment in Ljubljana; which I find endearing. 
And Ljubljana itself is also endearing: small but picturesque and great for a short European holiday. It’s not necessarily a place I’d spend more than a couple of days in, but it’s quite charming and I’m happy to have seen it. I’d even return, someday.

I was fortunate enough to be lead on a nice tour by one of my hosts — a Bosnian living in Slovenia with an extensive knowledge of it’s landmarks and history. I was shown the tourist points, the underground district, a cool spot laden with graffiti (which said host noted as one of their favourite haunts) among other things.

All in all, it made for an interesting and fun way to experience my current location.

 
After I was treated to an espresso, we went our separate ways and I made my way around; taking in a hike to Ljubljana Castle up the hill.
 

 

This afternoon I grazed around a cafe — espressos are delightfully cheap here so I ordered two (just because (it’s cheap)) and around the tiny little river where I bathed in the sun. It’s kind of like a vacation within a vacation. 

I’ll be on the bus tonight for Split. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it, I hate traveling via bus with a passion but it was the only reasonable way to go. I also arrive at 5:00 AM which is totally awesome. 
You’ll hear from me then. 

But before I leave — I’d just like to finish with this: you love you and I’ll love me, too; this reminder sent from S(Love)nia. (Don’t give me credit for that one.) 

Bye for now. Kisses from Ljubljana,

Mary T

  

I found Budapest – Part 2

We grabbed a seat on something that resembled a church pew which was next to a table filled with British tourists and…what do you know? A big old Sheesha pipe. 

“I want that.” I said without hesitation.

So I gladly took my hit and rolled back in a daze as my eyes scanned across the eclectic show of rooms, with their colourful, sparkling lightbulbs strung along the crumbling walls of this very, very cool ruin bar (which, apparently, Budapest is famous for.) Lacking my natural inhibitions, I found it a breeze to mingle with the English gents while occasionally mimicimg their charming accents (Which I’m sure wasn’t remotely annoying). Granted, I hadn’t had a sip of alcohol since I’d left S. Korea and the mixture of wine, Pálinka  and Sheesha left me quite pickled.

  

We had just bounced from Castro (another artsy, underground dive-pub) and now were in one of the local hot spots, Szimpla — a multi-level Ruin Bar in the Jewish Quarter; which is exactly what it sounds like: a venue, located in a run-down warehouse, that dispenses highly-priced alcohol. Apparently, it’s a big hit with the tourists and locals alike. 

It was a hit with me, too. I’d never seen anything quite like it. From my naive and overly enthusiastic vision, it was exotic. One good point for example: it lacked the normal hostility of your typical watering hole — people were just…happy. 

Oh and Pálinka: A traditional Hungarian liquor composed of a multitude of fruits. 

It’s also crazy. Pure, bottled crazy. The good kind of crazy. 

Thus, after a nightly excursion into a bottle of Pálinka, a trip to the spa seemed the logical route to bodily atonement. (I’m sorry body, I’ll be nicer to you next time.) 

So I fulfilled this obligation and had a well-spent afternoon in a Hungarian Bathhouse –this is a nice, welcoming reminder that I am indeed on vacation. I explored all options and all styles from scalding to ice; and braved the uber-intense steam room, fighting not to suffocate and die. Afterwards, I was mush but I have evidently reaped the benefits. 

It felt amazing. And I have to say (I’m sorry to my dear friends of Korea) but it blows 찜질방 (Korean Bathhouse) out of the water Haha. That’s a bath joke… 😦 

My overall experience in Budapest contrasts my previous adventures solely for the reason that this time I have a tour guide: my very pleasant host who runs two businesses: a cafe (Kelet) and a tourist business; and also likes to offer a room for couch surfers from time to time. 

I still got around on my own, too — seeing some great highlights such as: Gellért Hill (with a view that captured my breath), and Pest.  

  

 

I couldn’t be any happier with my short time in Budapest, what a perfect kick to my all ready perfect travels. 

But it’s time to move on to my next destination: Ljubljana, Slovenia — I’m looking forward to seeing this little gem. I have no idea what to expect — and that, people, is the best feeling I’m the world.

Bye for now. Kisses from Budapest,

Mary T