Ramblings: From Milan to Rome, via Venice and Florence

While I have considered the US (first NYC and now Northern California) home for the past 11 years, and was born in England and lived in The Netherlands, France will always be my home. It’s the country where I grew up, and I think in French as often as I think in English. I have to admit though, that even though I lived in Grenoble for all of those years, I never actually made the effort to travel to Italy! Just a couple of hours away by car and train and I never set one foot over the border. The closest I came to being in Italy was when I spent a few days on a ski resort that a close friend’s father managed (La Rosière), but due to my immensely unfabulous skiing skills I never made it over the hill to Italy. It wasn’t until I flew back to France on holiday in late 2006 that I decided to trek around Italy, and only then really because I was traveling with a friend who had never been to either country. Over the space of a little more than a week we went to Milan, Venice, Florence and Rome, and I really regretted never having been before!

After a few days in Paris and a few more with some of my friends in Grenoble we climbed onto a train in Grenoble’s Gare Europole and made our hungover way towards Italy (there wasno way I was leaving the Mark XIII sober in Grenoble, never happened before and I had to keep up the tradition). We had to change trains in Chambéry and from there jumped on a TGV that took us through the Alps to Milan. Train rides are my absolute favourite forms of transportation: they are comfortable, don’t cause travel sickness, comforting and roomy. I can read on them, look out of the window, sleep, eat, not worry about making toilet pit stops because there is a toilet in every wagon, and usually just spend the time thinking about life in general and imagining stories. Train rides are a great time of reflection for me, and I have traveled far and wide on different trains. Trains fares in France were already pretty expensive at the time (especially when you opted for the TGV), but they were very affordable in Italy, so that’s how we made our way around the cities. As always, everything was kind of by the seat of my pants… Hotels were booked the day before or day of and plans were made as and when we arrived. This has always been my mode of travel, as you can see in previous chapters (Aswan, Kibbutz, Barcelona).

The train ride to Milan was beautiful. I grew up in the Alps, mountains surrounding my home town, and it’s a view I miss on a daily basis. The train took us right through the mountains (literally), scaling around and through rock, over lakes and bridges and snow, finally dropping us off in Milano Centrale Railway Station. We took a little cab to our hotel, a non-descript room within walking distance from anything that we may have found interesting, and went in search of food and coffee. While the city is stunning with its cobbled streets, towering edifices and beautiful station, I found the city atmosphere itself a little cold and maybe even stand-offish. Then again, maybe I was also a little overwhelmed, going from what I considered my home town in France after a few years away straight into a country where I didn’t speak the language. Trying to find my footing so to speak… In any case my coffee was fantastic, my Panini delicious and the Duomo (cathedral) was absolutely breathtaking (and most likely still is). I wish I had had a better camera with me at the time, because I would have taken so many gorgeous shots!

I found that Italy was full of beautiful people, but Milan especially. A city populated by the gorgeous and the rich. Of course many places can look that way to the outsider, but that was the feeling I walked away with. It was however a lovely place to stroll around in the evening, choosing a place to dine at and another place to get dessert. It was also not the cheapest place to be, and because Venice and Florence were the two cities I really, really wanted to visit we got a one way ticket to Venice the following day without even booking a place to stay. We figured it would be easy enough once we got there! I highly recommend arriving in Venice by train as the views are amazing – Venice really is that city you imagine, the one you see in the movies and you get a great first overview of the city in a train.

The history of Venice is fabulous! Tiny islands connected by rivers and lagoons, buildings built on water, with foundations of wood and stakes. A city that has been in existence from as early as the 5th century! My active imagination conjured up images of a Shakespearian city: I would see Iago popping out of dark alleys and boats laden with gold chugging down the side streets (streams), pretty princesses and handsome soldiers strolling along riversides. My own idea of Venice wasn’t so far from reality really – Venice is visually just gorgeous. We found a lovely double hotel room right by the station and wandered around the streets, taking everything in. Venice is so quiet and quaint, no cars, just boats and gondoliers, just lots and lots of winding streets, bridges, canals and tiny waterways. The houses are so special, some ancient, some majestic and some both; windows decorated with hanging baskets looking across tiny bodies of water right into someone else’s window. I can imagine how easy it is to have a conversation with someone across the water, neighbours separated by a stream rather than a road. I love that everything is walkable, or accessible via some form of boat – even the ambulances are boats in Venice!

I can’t speak for someone who actually lives in Venice year round, but as a tourist everything seemed to slow down for us there. Just walking around and taking in the atmosphere, the people and the sights were exactly what I needed right at that moment in time. When I read through my journal the feeling of calm permeates through my etchings, and I can still see myself sitting at a table on a small piazza, enjoying an espresso and watching the world go by. I remember walking along the water and then suddenly arriving at the Piazza San Marco and being surprised at how busy and loud it was compared to the rest of the city. I do think that the relative quietness and affordability of everything was mainly due to the fact that we were there in the beginning of December, and while the weather was pretty mild and sunny it was nowhere near as packed as it probably is during the summer. In any case the Piazza San Marco was bustling with people and awe-inspiring in its beauty. From the Biblioteca and the Doges Palace to the statues of St Theodore and the Lion of Venice, and all of the intricate architectural designs in between, there was so much to feast our eyes on in the square. I would love to go back now and take hundreds of photos of pillars and walls and stones. We walked away from the piazza through tiny streets, peering into shops and restaurants, looking at menus and souvenirs and wondering where to go for dinner and lunch and breakfast.

One of the things that I was actually disappointed with during our first few days in Italy was the food. I’m a huge fan of Italian food and practically live on pasta, but most places we came across tended to cater towards tourism and presented the same menus in different formats, the same pasta dishes over and over again. Venice ended up being the one city where we only had one decent meal, and that came about after we really walked off the beaten track down some deserted side streets. I had baked gnocchi and it was absolutely divine, so good that I can still imagine the taste of it today. Other than that our meals in Venice were nothing to write home about, although my travel partner, not being the vegetarian I am, tried the black inky spaghetti dish which was more memorable in colour than taste really. It did give us the incentive to be a little more adventurous in our restaurant choices and to move away from the more popular areas towards more “local” fare.

Before we left Venice we made a stop at the Peggy Guggenheim Collection Museum on the Grand Canal, taking in some of her beautiful artwork (Picasso, Pollock, Calder) and the gorgeous garden full of statues. There are other museums that we probably should have taken time to visit too, such as the Doges’ Palace and the Museo Correr, and these are the type of things that one sometimes misses when traveling without really doing a ton of research on each location beforehand… I suppose you gain in surprise but sometimes lose out too. All part of the adventure though!

The train from Venice to Florence took between two and three hours and by the time we arrived in the rolling Tuscany hills the skies had begun to open and we arrived at our hotel soaking wet and ready to just stay there and not venture out again. Obviously we didn’t as there was no way that we were going to pay for room service, and miss out on seeing the city that I had dreamt of for years! We decided on two days and two nights in Florence and I was adamant about fitting in as much as physically and mentally possible. Even if the rain was pouring from the heavy grey clouds. It did end up clearing up for us when the sun started to set and we walked over the Ponte Vecchio, amazed that it was still standing in all its Medieval glory, diamonds and rubies peeking from the windows of the little jewelry shops along the sides. Big iron fleur-de-lys adorn the pillars, reminiscent of monarchies and times past. Florence feels old, ancient, dark and somewhat gloomy in its history; seeped in memories of times when life was more difficult. While the Tuscan countryside was so green and inviting, Florence felt slightly foreboding, but I suppose that was mainly due to the winter showers and dark hotel room that we were staying in.

Foreboding but completely breathtaking. Layers upon layers of tremendously intricate architecture and artwork, paintings and statues; homes that could have housed any a Shakespearian character, blending all the colours of Tuscany together, warm browns and oranges and terracottas. The streets were narrow and windy and all seemed to lead to the cathedral, stoic in its absolute grandeur. Florence was exactly how I imagined it would be, and even more. We drank wine sitting outside a restaurant and talked about life, imagining living in Italy rather than in NYC, ate some pretty delicious dishes and had to stop ourselves from touching Michelangelo’s David in the Galleria dell’Accademia. And for some reason we must have watched an Italian music channel or European MTV in the hotel because whenever I hear Muse’s Starlight I immediately think of Florence. And Tuscan pastries.

Florence to Rome takes less than two hours on one of Italy’s frequent fast trains, but Florence’s main trains station becomes a bit of a hellhole with people trying to get on and off trains from both ends, pushing and shoving as if each train is the last on earth. I recommend getting a train out of there at an off-peak hour, especially if you are traveling with luggage. We had already booked a hotel room in Rome in advance and were looking forward to dumping our stuff off and discovering the city that everyone talks about. Rome wasn’t the highest point on my list before we started the trip but by day one there it became my favourite. Rome reminded me of Paris, my beloved Paris, and we spent our days there running around the streets and thoroughly enjoying ourselves. Rome became the real holiday where we just let loose and had fun. We stayed at the Angel Hotel which was perfectly located for everything that we had planned on accomplishing (not far from San Pietro and right by the Tiber). Breakfasts of croissants and espresso out by the river for the next four days!

I always find that the best way to explore a city is on foot. This can lead to interesting walks, like the time when I thought we could walk back into Cairo from Giza, but most of the time it really helps find one’s footing and sometimes some lucky surprises. We walked a lot in Rome, visiting all the main sights, but also finding our favourite places to be and returning there. Our “safe” spot became a restaurant in the Piazza Navona, where we spent a couple of evenings drinking wine, eating dessert and chatting to the servers who came from all over the world. We got some great tips from them, as well as from two elderly science professors who entertained us during an entire meal (I actually just found one of their cards in my journal; he must have given it to me when we were chatting!). Piazza Navona was a lovely place for congregation, centered by the gorgeous Neptune fountain and with views on the Baroque church Sant'Agnese in Agone. The outskirts of the square are surrounded by restaurants and bars, and it took us a few not-so-great meals to pick our favourite (and even though I kept the cards from all of them I can’t remember the name of our favourite). Again though, we found that the food seemed to be less pleasing the more popular the area.

During those four days, we walked and walked, and ate, and walked some more. I finally got to see the Sistine Chapel and was in tears… The beauty and the amazing preservation of so much artwork! The Vatican is an interesting little place. For some reason I had always imagined a lot of priests running around in robes, but it was mainly full of clusters of tourists which shouldn’t really have come as much of a surprise. St Peter’s Basilica is stunning, colossal, and the atmosphere is unlike anywhere else that I have been… Kind of a cross between the hush of a cathedral and the drone of thousands of whispers with a back drop of deep and dark history. If I remember correctly the Pope (or it could have been a cardinal) was supposed to come out to speak that day, but we didn’t even try to stay. You can’t really avoid the crowds of pilgrims and tourists at the Vatican, and it’s always a struggle for me to push myself through these types of things to actually experience what I want to experience. The Sistine Chapel was worth it.

We walked around the Colosseum and the gardens, imagining sitting inside and watching gladiators battle it out until the bitter end. We found the Trevi Fountain and pushed through the crowds so that we could throw coins in and make a wish… I still remember the wish I made and am quite glad that it didn’t come true, although it has made me think about a lot of things and how different my life would have been from then onwards if it had come true. We strolled around Trastevere before making our way back to our trusted Piazza de Navano, explored Campo di Fiori and got drunk at an adorable bar called Jonathan’s Angels, ran around the streets jumping on people’s mopeds and on benches, laughing and singing. We ate pizza and pasta and gelato, drank many a bottle of wine and many an espresso. I put my hand in the Bocca della Verità, and was actually a little scared something might pop down and bite me, Indiana Jones style. I sat on the Spanish steps several times and dipped my fingers in every fountain we passed, making wishes everywhere. Rome was another revelation for me, like Barcelona a little later, a city of peace, of noise, of old and new, of fun and games and of a lot of reflection. I would love to go back again, ten years later, and revisit the same places and possibly find others that I missed the first time around.

Milan – Venice – Florence – Rome and back to Paris again, a little over a week of Italy. Ruins, churches, ancient cathedrals, God people and tourists, locals and local foreigners, old people, young people and everyone in between; tiny cars and mopeds, cheap, fast trains and wooden boats, pasta and more pasta; rain, sunshine and gloom, wine by the bottle, hundreds of espressos and a lot of walking. The Italy that I remember was a place of beauty, happiness, friendship and reflection.

Ramblings: Memories of Poland

There was Poland before the wall came down and Poland after the wall came down. And the only difference in time was a year. The first time was in the late spring of 1989, the second the summer of 1990. I was 11 and 12 those years and always very perceptive to what was going on around me, even if I didn’t speak the Polish language, or really even the language of adults.

My stepfather was born in a Polish refugee camp in England in the early 50’s. His parents were born in a part of Poland that doesn’t exist as Poland today, but in the beginning of the 20th century it did. When Stalin and Hitler signed their pact the land became Soviet, and all Poles were “displaced” to Siberia in cattle trains. On their release they had nowhere to go as their homes belonged to others, and trying to get them back would have most likely meant death. So they went wherever they could… Some stayed in the USSR, others joined the Polish Army that had been recreated outside of occupied Poland, some found themselves back in Poland, some ended up in refugee camps as far as Africa. England, in need of enormous rebuilding and restoration aid after 1945 welcomed the refugees with open arms. My stepfather spoke only Polish until he started school and realised that he actually resided in England! He had many stories to tell about his childhood and his family who were in England, Poland and the US amongst other countries. While we did do a little sightseeing during our two trips to Poland, they were mostly journeys to visit family that my stepfather, and his nearest family, had not seen in years, even decades. *

The whole family in front of the van that picked us up from Poznan

We spent both holidays in a tiny little village called Rodowo, which can be found in the north of the country, south-east of Gdansk, equal distance from both Poznan and Warsaw. The nearest town that I remember going to was Prabuty, and it isn’t too far from the town of Malbork. I’m quite familiar with village life as I was born in a very small one in England, and spent a lot of my summers as a teen living and working in one. Rodowo was (and still is according to Google Earth) tiny: farms, a small church, a village shop and a school with one main road.

Walking around the fields

The first year we went to Poland we traveled by train. We lived in The Netherlands at the time, Apeldoorn, and took a night train from Hengelo to Poznan. Europe was still divided into two sections, West and East, and visas were required to go from one to the other. We traveled in a 6 seat cabin, the seats becoming beds, 5 of us (two adults, three children) and I feel like the trip took days, although it was most likely about 12 hours. I have always loved traveling by train, watching the world go by from the window, imagining myself running alongside the train, jumping over hedges and fences, peering into houses and skimming over bodies of water. Train journeys can be very relaxing and enjoyable. This one was just that until we got to the East German border, when the train came to an abrupt halt and all cabins were searched one by one (and I still remember how scary and brusque those guards were, a lot less relaxed than the West German ones). We were there for ages, waiting. And then again just after the West Berlin stop, when all of a sudden the train became full to the brim with passengers carrying heavy bags, laden with things to sell back home. The narrow hallways of each wagon were full of people standing; the journey to the toilet at the end of the row became a mini obstacle course, clambering over people, bags and boxes. When we arrived in Poznan we climbed out of the window and were helped down by people waiting to board the train, it was easier than trying to get out through the hallway and carriage door. This was my first exposure to the “East”. It still amazes me how two sides of a continent could be so different, all because of the way they were governed. And this was on the very tail end of Communist rule in Eastern Europe – Solidarność flags were flying everywhere, and that summer for the first time in decades Poland would experience significant governmental changes. The Berlin Wall came down about half a year later, and with that the USSR’s last fingers were removed from the East. I now wish I had been a little older and able to fully understand the revolution that was happening in Poland while I was there!

Me, Dylan and Karli hanging out on an old wagon

A year later we flew to Poland, Schiphol to Warsaw, which also happened to be the first time that I had ever flown anywhere. It was a lot less eventful than the trip the previous year, and the changes in the country were already quite visible, at least in the cities and towns. Rodowo was still the same really: quiet, small and undisturbed.  I think the changes I noticed the most were the availability of things (things being items that as Westerners we were so used to seeing in shops that we noticed the lack of them while traveling). While in 1989 items such as jeans, American cars as well as the actual ability to BUY were coveted, in 1990 Capitalism was already infiltrating the country rapidly. I can’t imagine how strange it would have been to go from the austerity of Soviet Communism to Western Capitalism without any real preparation time. I remember that people thought that we could just buy anything without any worry; it was as if the “West” was full of golden opportunities and consumer items, which in a sense wasn’t entirely false, just not completely true either. We were treated as royalty by my stepfather’s family in Rodowo, but because we were family, not because we came from Western Europe. In my mind Rodowo was a place untouched by time, moving along at its own pace, and I suppose it is still quite similar today (although I do hope that the farmers are able to use more up-to-date machinery!). Polish hospitality remains second to none in my mind – the way my stepfather’s family took us in and looked after us was just wonderful, leaving me with a lifetime of memories.

Karli and a gaggle of geese

After living in (big) cities for many, many years, I remember waking up in Poland as something so very special. The warm sun rays coming through the window, the sound of birds chatting away, the occasional shout, moo of a cow or the noises of a tractor heading out into the fields. Cioca (aunt) Monica bustling around, preparing breakfast for us, and a feast it was, every single day. I doubt that these were everyday breakfasts, but they were made for us every day and I still remember how amazing the honey was, straight from the beehives, spread lavishly on the warm, freshly baked bread. I would move there in an instant, just for a taste if that again! I never was much of a meat-eater, even at that age, and even though I’ve been a vegetarian for nearly 20 years now, I still remember actually enjoying the kielbasa on the farm. And the taste of freshly milked cow’s milk, warm and creamy, so good that you were quickly able to get over the smell of cow and down it in one go. Homemade butter on warm bread. My gosh, I even ate some of the chicken that Cioca Anja had killed in front of us earlier in the day, bravely watching her behead it, averting my eyes away from the bucket that it was draining in after the fact. The food on the farms was plentiful, wholesome and delicious, everything was fresh and mostly homemade, even the cheese. A lot of vodka was also consumed, even in the morning, Wujek (uncle) Tadek would have his shot before going out into the fields, but obviously I didn’t partake in that at the time (although I did develop a taste for Polish vodka quite a few years later).

Stroking the peaceful cows

Despite Rodowo being a small village there was so much for us to DO. I spent a lot of time doing my favourite thing in the world, reading, in the fields by the farmhouse, or running around with my sister discovering the barns and the fields, talking to the cows and chasing the dogs. There were pigs and hens and horses, and so much land to roam around on. If you have never spent hours sliding down haystacks then I really recommend it (don’t wear shorts though), as well as running through corn fields and getting slightly lost. I don’t recommend falling in cow patties (as my sister did), or jumping into a field with a bull, but they are also interesting experiences in hindsight. Cioca Monica and Wujek Tadek’s son Rysek also lived on the farm, as well as his son Adam. Rysek was (is still most likely) an amazing traditional Polish wood carver, and he would create beautiful sculptures and statues out of simple logs of wood. He made us all one each, mine of course being the only different one, painted in black. He was trying something new at the time and I told him how much I loved it, so it became mine. He was one of my favourite people in Poland; he always had time for us, and always seemed so happy and carefree. Adam was also wonderful and loved playing with my little brother Dylan, and if I remember correctly Dylan adored him. Dylan was only just 2 years old when we first visited Poland, but I think he remembers a lot of both trips. I’m so thankful that my mother was such an avid photographer from an early age and documented so much of our lives. It really helps to relive moments when you capture a shot of yourself right there, and there are quite a few of me walking through the fields, lost in my thoughts.

Me, Karli, Dylan,Magda, Malgosia and Piotr

Cioca Monica and Wujek Tadek’s farmhouse was both very, very old, and modernized enough to have all the features of comfort that you need to live (modern plumbing, electricity etc). There were no showers, but then again, most older houses in England didn’t have showers at the time either! You couldn’t have too many electrical devices running at the same time unless you wanted to blow a fuse, but that wasn’t anything strange either. While there was a toilet in the house, there was also an old outhouse made of wood by the pig sty that most people seemed to prefer. Maybe because it was away from the house? A little bit of peace and quiet from us kids running around and creating mayhem? Who knows! Maybe it was just a quiet place to sit and read the paper without anyone bothering you… I do love old farmhouses and would love to live in one one day.

The picture with the famous Andzej (see below)

We made friends with the children of the village, even though we didn’t speak the same language. Fun is a universal word, and we had loads of it, running around everywhere together. Małgosia, Magda and Piotr were our main go-to kids as they were Anja’s daughter and niece and nephew (the same lady who killed the chicken with her bare hands and gave us the fresh cow’s milk), and we got up to so much mischief with them! We hid eggs in the field and waited until they had gone rotten and smashed them, running away from the stink in hysterics. Touching the electric fences and jumping with the shock was another favourite pastime, as well as playing hide and seek in the barns. Karli and I found Cioca Monica’s boxes of old clothes in the attic of one of the barns and spent a day playing dress up and making up plays. I only remember warm, sunny days, but I’m sure there were some days of rain too… On one of our visits we went to a nearby lake where we jumped around in the water and grilled kielbasa and where I also learnt what a leech was and how to get rid of them (I think the incident actually happened to my poor sister, not me though). Now thinking of it, Karli had more than enough little traumas while we were there… She stubbed a toe pretty hard and a doctor put a cast on her leg, right up to her knee. And then someone decided that it was completely unnecessary and it was sawn off right there in the farmhouse. I can’t imagine that that was a very safe procedure, but she luckily still has all of her toes!

Karli, Malgosia and me hanging out by the lake

There was a gorgeous boy there, his name Andzej, and we communicated via smiles and signs. He would ride around on his bike and just looked older and more interesting than the others. One day he asked me to go for a ride with him on his bike, and being too shy I said no. Of course he then asked another girl and I wanted to kick myself… Ah the fickle nature of young love. I made my mother take a photo of him so I could look at it when we got home, and imagine marrying Andzej and living in Rodowo on our farm. When I look at it now he looks so young, as young as we all were then. Kids playing in the fields, running through the corn and chasing the chickens. I even tried my hand at actually milking a cow and collapsed in a fit of giggles when I couldn’t do it.

Cioca Monica and Dylan

The village church was small, but still lavish from what I can remember, or maybe just lavish from all of the beautiful flowers that were everywhere. There was a service every day, late afternoon during the week, and I recall going quite regularly… I was christened Church of England but had been receiving a Catholic education at the time, and was a little confused about what I believed in. Churches still help me to gather my thoughts even today, and I think it was mainly a time for me to have a little space and a little calm. Being the oldest of three, with two siblings who were a lot louder and more rambunctious than myself, as well as being sensitive to the ups and downs of our family life at the time I think the respite was often needed. And thinking about it now, my father had only died a year or so before, so I must have liked to seek solace in something more powerful and bigger than the little 11 or 12 year old that I was. We participated in the First Communion celebrations for the kids in the village and also in a tradition where we were dressed in traditional Polish clothing and walked through the village throwing rose petals at designated spots along the way. While I’m not religious in any shape or form I have a soft spot for traditions and there were some lovely Polish ones that I adored around different holidays. Traditions are kept going strong in all Polish immigrant families across the world, and it’s wonderful to see them passed down generation to generation.

Dylan and Olga playing in a haystack

Both of my trips to Poland were over 20 years ago and while some of the memories are as clear as day, others are slightly hazy, and for some things I had to dig quite deep into those memory drawers. I didn’t remember a trip into Gdansk until my mother reminded me of it, and I have a slight recollection of touring the school in Rodowo, but I don’t remember why we did it. Maybe there was some interest in us living there at some point? On our second trip my stepfather made the journey into the Soviet Union, to see family that had stayed there, and there was so much trouble getting visas and travel permits beforehand. Nowadays it’s hard to imagine entire families being displaced across the world, sometimes even letters or packages not getting through borders. It’s difficult to imagine not being able to do a quick Google search and find a family member online, or not being able to Skype or FaceTime across time zones. But less than 30 years ago you couldn’t even visit the USSR without a visa, without most likely being followed and checked out and documented somewhere in the system. And if going there was hard enough, getting out was even worse. These trips didn’t involve extensive sightseeing of Poland’s famous cities, but they did help me learn about the everyday life in an Eastern European country, and also about how strong family ties can be, even when borders and time make it difficult, even impossible to communicate with each other. 

One day it would be lovely to go back and visit, or at least find out what has become of all of the wonderful people that made these holidays so magical.

Roaming the fields again

*There are many, many stories of Polish displacement in the 1940’s, stories of pogroms in what we now call the Ukraine against Jews and Poles, stories of slave labour in Siberia and stories of refugee camps. Many of these stories have never been told and are just passed along to family members. Many of the people who experienced these atrocities are not here anymore, or are very, very old. For more information you can check out this website on displaced persons here, or on this site here which explains how many Poles arrived in the UK after the war.

Ryszard Rabeszko's wonderful wooden carvings, still with us today here in the US.

Ramblings: Working in the Kibbutz Dining Room

When I got back from Israel in 2004 I spent a few months in California and managed to put many memories down on paper for future reference. I am so glad I did as reading through them brings me a lot of happiness amongst the waves of nostalgia. Here is the description of a typical day working on the kibbutz for me (slightly edited from the original that I jotted down over a decade ago). I kept the tense as it was when I wrote it because it immediately took me right back there. All of the Hebrew is transcribed as I understood it and all of the people mentioned are real. This is the second and definitely not the last piece on my stay in Israel (the first one, On Kibbutz Evron, can be found here).

There we are in front of the Dining Room, at 6am on the dot, on time as usual even after the few frustrating minutes of trying to round everyone up so we can go altogether (Nick’s “I still have to brush my teeth aye Kitkat, I’ll meet you up there” still resonates in my ears to this day).

“Boker tov!”

“Good morning, boker tov.” Vica, Vova, Doron, Sasha, Ofer, Ganit, Marina, Rami, Zoran, Motti… No Ronen yet because Ronen is always late.

First things first, a dash (I’m talking 6am after four hours of sleep dash) to the hot water machine for a polystyrene cup of strong, sugary tea. And into the kitchen I go with Isabel. For anyone who thinks a kitchen should be the warmest place anywhere, it isn’t in Evron. In the winter the water in “our” sink takes 10 minutes to heat up and cold air comes through all the top windows, but in the summer it becomes a lovely respite from the burning sun. Vova dumps the crates of vegetables to be cleaned next to the sink (although before Vova was promoted to manager I had to carry those crates by myself and my back hated me for it!).

One of us goes to get the plastic containers while the other starts on the vegetables; red peppers in halves or thirds, cleaned and placed on the tray; spring onions cut, cleaned, piled on the tray; white onions peeled, cleaned, halved and put on the tray (done with the obligatory latex gloves because I learnt my lesson the first few days- onion smell does NOT go away even after prolonged and multiple washes); tomatoes washed, checked, into containers; cucumbers the same procedure; parsley cut, cleaned and put out next to the lemons in the food area of the Dining Room.

Zivouv (“around”), my favourite job, going around the outside of the Dining Room, sweeping up cigarette butts and other miscellaneous garbage, changing the bins and cleaning the “station”. This has to be done before breakfast, so outside I trot while Isabel cleans and fills the napkin holders. It’s my favourite job because I get to sneak in a cigarette while working as well as take advantage of the gorgeous morning feeling that only a kibbutz by the sea can conjure up. Revi has come in (I love her; she is one of the people with whom I became good friends while working on the kibbutz).

7:25 (I always try to nab us an extra five minutes on our thirty minute break) and off we go to breakfast. Two slices of bread, one halva spread, a bowl of porridge and a “latte” from the machine (sometimes pancakes, sometimes French toast, on Thursdays an omelet). I love Israeli food, but I could only bring myself to eat vegetables in the morning during my last few months on the kibbutz. Although to this day I still don’t know how people can eat raw onions at 7am…

My breakfast goes down in less than 15 minutes, giving me the chance to do the most important: smoke 2 cigarettes with my coffee outside on the little wall.

8am: my turn to clean tables while Isabel finishes the vegetables for the next day. The Dining Room is full, all the volunteers except for Isabel, me and the two dishwashers (one being Michal, whose regular job was dishwashing) eating at “our” table, the factory workers at their usual tables, school kids, kibbutzniks, everyone chattering away, while I clean up table after table, giving the coffee and the dishwashing areas an occasional wipe, chatting to people here and there, taking a cigarette break by the dishwasher from time to time. At around 9:15 am the place starts to empty and I start to sweep excess crumbs up from around the tables, waiting for those last people to leave (and they are always the same people!). Then comes the best part of the morning: I grab a bucket of soap and splash it over “my” part of the floor, hose it down, scrub it with a brush, bring all of the water into the drain and “dry” it with a big cloth. And unless I want to hear Vova yelling at me in Russian, I had better not forget to clean the drain! There is something so cathartic about throwing buckets of water on the ground and scrubbing things clean.

Isabel is cleaning and filling the oils and then off we go on our break. It’s sunny today but not too warm. I run to the computer, check my mail then go to my room, make my bed and listen to Galgalats for a while.

10:40am- time to walk back up there, cigarette in mouth, fast stride right back up to the Dining Room. Cigarettes, lighter and keys are left on the shelf by the dishwasher and one of us goes to get a trolley from behind the kitchen while the other peers at the food on our “vegetarian” cart. The usual diet chicken and diet meatballs, most of which disappear directly into the Tupperware containers brought in by Esther for the Vaticon and by the kindergarden teachers; and then some sort of quiche, and (thank goodness no falafel or pizza today- it’s crazy when we have to serve either one of those!) and mushrooms covered in cream sauce. Isabel brings clean plates to put on the trolley, a bucket of clean water and some clothes. I peer over to see what Marina is serving on the meat counter- chicken legs, goulash stuff and other dishes. Then I go round the other trolleys, diet vegetables, rice, pasta, the same selection of salads as there is every single day, and some kind of jelly-like thing for dessert. Right. Rice and carrots again for me today.

We stand and serve the early people together. Vova is sitting behind us reading the paper, Doron is hovering, checking the salads, and Revi is occasionally smiling across the food area to me from her place at the computer. At 11:30am Isabel takes off for her lunch break (tomato salad) and I serve the high school kids, replace what needs replacing and clean the food trolleys when needed.

Serving hummus on the "vegetarian" cart

“Vova, I love this song, turn it up!”

“Beseder. But promise me…”

“What? Oh no, I get it. No!”

“Just one kiss!”

“No!” (laughing).

At noon Isabel replaces me, I grab a tray and my food, my coffee coin and I go to Revi. Mustn’t forget my receipt- must watch that food account! However will I be able to put my friends’ food on my account if I get to 300 shekels at the end of the month? It’s funny how the meat-eaters always end up going over their limit before the 25th, while the vegetarians never do… I eat at the volunteer table, but in 15 minutes I’m done, get my coffee and drink it outside while smoking.

12:30pm. Isabel goes off to clean tables while I finish serving on the vegetarian trolley.

“Ma ze?”

“Pashteda pitriottes”

Surprisingly enough mushroom quiche doesn’t seem to entice many people. Not much of a steady flow today, so I chat to Vova and Doron. At 1pm Vova helps me take the hot trays out of the trolley (“they’re too hot and heavy for me Vova!”) and I push it back against the wall. Out comes the hose and I spray the trolley down, scrub it, rinse it and wipe it down, then clean up the excess water. I sneak off for a cigarette break by the dishwasher before attacking the big plastic things in the kitchen. Ofer smiles at me, and without me even having to ask he goes to get a big trolley and empties the plastic containers of the leftover trays of food. Yet again I pull out a hose and hose the things down, after pulling them around the drain. They are scrubbed, rinsed and put back into place again, ready for tomorrow’s food in the morning.

The Dining Room in Evron

Time for another cigarette break and a latte from the machine. I can’t help it if I finish fast! I nip into the Kolbolit to get my daily supply of chocolate (those “4Plays” are delicious, both the regular and the white chocolate ones). I replace Revi on the meat counter for 5 minutes while she goes to the loo (i.e. cigarette break) and serve some of the later high school kids.

“Ma ze?”

“Ze of, ze bacar”

“Anni lo rotsa.’

“Bevakasha!”

Isabel joins me for a cigarette by the dishwasher and then I start refilling and cleaning the coffee area for tomorrow. We are out of Nescafe and hot chocolate so I go and collect some more from the big storage room. All the Dining Room workers, except for Revi and Tuti, are just finishing their lunch breaks, so I chat to Tuti for a few minutes, finish cleaning the soda/water dispenser, fill the hot water tank and sweep round the coffee, and as nearly everyone has left the Dining Room I grab the bin bags, the dustpan and the brush and head outside to do zivouv. It takes me about 15 minutes to change the five bins and collect the cigarette butts, leaves and other garbage all round the Dining Room. When I get back inside it’s 2:20pm and Isabel is just finishing the tables, Doron and Vova have started cleaning the floor. We clear up our stuff, tell Vova we’re finished and he sends us off home. We’re lucky, but only because we work hard, because we never finish after 2:30pm (all of the other volunteers finish around 3pm).

After collecting out stuff, shouting goodbye to everyone and getting our sweaters we set off down to the Volunteer House, going into the Volunteer Office to say hi to Ina before plonking ourselves on the couch, taking our shoes off, putting on music, smoking a cigarette and waiting for the guys to get back.

One example of a regular days work in the Dining Room. I worked there regularly because I asked and was asked to. Most volunteers were rotated around the different jobs, but I liked the fact that I had a regular job; I was given my own responsibilities and daily chores. The atmosphere in the Dining Room was mostly one of fun; we always managed to have a laugh… Gossiping with Revi, running away from Sasha, laughing with Vova, chatting with the guys in the kitchen, pulling faces at Rami, chatting with Ronen. The work was not intellectually challenging, but I really enjoyed it, and my Hebrew went from non-existent to a lot better because I really tried. One day I will learn properly! It’s difficult to describe communal living to someone who has never experienced it before, as there are so many things that are part of the whole experience. It is not for everyone, but it was very good for me. To this day it was one of my favourite jobs and I would do it all over again in a flash if I could.

I smoked a lot of Noblesse Lights during my time in Israel if you hadn’t noticed after reading this.

Ramblings: Falling in love with Barcelona

There have been many places that I have dreamt of visiting, places that I have researched and put on my travel wish list and places that I have never really had any interest in visiting but ended up in anyway, and there are those places that I didn’t really think of and that blew me away the moment I arrived. Barcelona is one of the latter, such a special city located in a gorgeous part of the European continent, a little island to itself in the north of Spain. I haven’t been anywhere else in Spain, so I cannot compare it to Madrid or Seville or another city, but Barcelona definitely seems to have a heart and soul of its own, beating to its own rhythm in the heart of Catalonia.

I’ve been to Barcelona twice, both times thanks to a previous job that I had. The first time I was only there for a few days and didn’t really get to see much apart from the office, a few restaurants and bars and the hotel. The second time I was there for 2 whole weeks and stayed in an apartment about 10 minutes from the beach (on foot). What a difference it made! While I spent a lot of time working in the company’s Barcelona office during those two weeks I also had time to discover the city. I’m by nature shy, part loner and part extrovert, and I have no problem doing things alone, even exploring a city whose language I don’t really speak very well at all. While I had no issues butchering Hebrew when I lived in Israel, I still understand spoken Dutch when I concentrate, and I still have no problems switching between English and French without a thought, the one language I actually spent time learning at school, Spanish, has never come naturally. I suppose I feel like I should actually really speak it by now, but don’t and I feel embarrassed. During both of my stays in Spain my interactions with the “locals” was really kept to a bare minimum due to my inability to just try in case I sounded stupid and my fear of being really annoying by asking people if they spoke English. I’m glad that I made friends with some of my colleagues who showed me the best places to eat lunch, and took me out a few times at night. I did spend a lot of time alone, exploring, and I thoroughly enjoyed it!

The second time I was in Barcelona I was sober and therefore not too interested in the nightlife, which, from the little I did experience, is quite amazing. Walking through the cobbled streets at night reminded me of France: laughter coming from bars, different styles of music pumping from each side of the street, cafés open until the early hours and groups of friends hanging out on steps, chatting the night away. I assume that southern France and northern Spain are quite similar in several aspects, as this wasn’t the first time that I was drowned in a mix of homesickness and nostalgia for the country that I still call home.

My company’s office was located right by the Plaça de Catalunya with its beautiful statues and fountains. The apartment I was staying in was in the Sant Marti area, and while there was a metro station nearby both locations I preferred the 30 minute walk in the mornings and evenings, walking under the Arc de Triomf every day and enjoying the warm air, the city smells and the people watching that I could do along the way. The soundtrack to those days was a lot of BRMC, Psychedelic Furs, and mainly the White Stripes, and a lot of dreams about moving back to Europe and picking a slower paced and less stressful life back up there. Whenever I hear a White Stripes song I am still transported right back there, the early morning mist, a certain sense of grandeur and freedom. I wrote a lot during those two weeks, sitting on the balcony in the apartment, watching the full moon rise and listening to the sounds of the night, smoking cigarettes and writing poetry. At the time I felt that Barcelona helped me figure out a lot of little knots that had made their way along my path. Now I feel that it was a combination of being somewhere that was foreign but familiar as well as being really alone for a few weeks. I think I will always maintain a quasi spiritual relationship with my memories of Barcelona.

I love good food, like anyone, but I’m not a foodie. I could live on pasta and olive oil for a week without any issues. I like simple things, but if you cook an extravagant meal for me I will most likely rave about it for weeks (as long as it’s vegetarian and corresponds to my annoying and picky texture eating tastes). I had no issues with the food in Barcelona, it was easy to order, there was a lot to choose from even for vegetarians and most food I ate was delightfully fresh and well prepared, and super cheap. I LOVE tapas, always have, and love how they make eating out super easy and fun. And Spanish tortilla is just fabulous – who doesn’t love eggs and potatoes anyway?! I think my favourite meal of both trips was lunch in a simple restaurant not far from the Plaça de Catalunya, tucked away in a side street, 3 courses for less than 10 Euro, plat du jour (or Spanish equivalent) that contained a vegetarian option for each course, fresh juices and delicious desserts. It reminded me of how important it is to take time for each meal, relax and enjoy the food and company. I was really happy to find a Lidl on my walk home, so that covered breakfast and dinners and I found a sandwich shop where I was able to order a delicious brie on baguette sandwich in a mix of English and Spanish. Living in NYC, and now northern California, for so long, I have always missed grabbing a “café en terrasse”, a perfectly made espresso, and sitting out on the street, watching the world go by. On my first day off that is exactly what I did, on the way up to the Park Güell, ordered a café, a croissant and sat at a table, contemplating life and my life.

I really didn’t do much research on Barcelona before I went (something I often lack doing with any kind of travel, making for some missed occasions but mainly some amazing discoveries), but discovered the beauty of Gaudí’s work after randomly walking past the Casa Batlló. Gaudí’s architectural designs and artwork maybe classified as Catalan Modernism, or art nouveau, but for me they depict the existence of another world that we can’t see, full of fairies and butterflies and beauty. His creations are scattered all over Barcelona, but if you don’t have enough time to track them all down, then a visit to the Park Güell is a must. I spent a few hours wandering through the park, marveling at the colours, turrets, twists and turns and imagining all kinds of stories and fairytales in my head. Located on a hill, you get a great view of Barcelona and the sea, and while it can get pretty packed with tourists, I am really glad I made time to visit it. It reminded me that everything is possible in this world, and that we all have something to give, and leave behind, be it physical, fluid or a formless legacy. La Sagrada Familia church also provided me with breathtaking inspiration and emotions, in a way that only an amazingly designed religious edifice can (and I am in no way religious in any form). I lit a candle there for my father as I do in most places that I visit.

I also spent a lot of time wandering through the Gothic Quarter, getting lost and going round and round in circles. Walking through the small, cobblestone streets, surrounded by looming old buildings. Shops and bars, art galleries and restaurants populate the busy little streets and it was lovely strolling through them, backing up and laughing at my inability to find where I had started from. I walked around the area both in the daytime and at night and ended up using the GPS on my phone a couple of times (I had a humungous phone bill on my return!) – but that was only because I was too shy and embarrassed to ask for directions. Silly, I know. There is something quite satisfying though, about walking both aimlessly but with aim along unknown streets, watching people go by and making up stories about their lives and their day, admiring balconies with blooming flowers and growing herbs and imagining life in one of those apartments. There were so many moments during those two weeks in Barcelona that I contemplated moving there and creating a new life for myself amidst those streets. Changing my name, running away and being someone and somewhere different. Barcelona had a real effect on me, and while it took a few more years after my return to make some real changes, it did help me put a lot of things into perspective. I think spending time alone in a new city does help promote a certain kind of self-reflection.

I love the beach and there was no way I was going to miss going to the beach in Barcelona. After being conditioned to NYC and Long Island beaches for a few years I forgot how the atmosphere is different on Mediterranean beaches. I walked to the Bogatell beach as it was the closest to the apartment and found a spot by myself between the water and the beach volleyball area, and set myself up for a few peaceful hours of music, sunbathing and swimming. I’m not keen on swimming over waves, so I was really looking forward to swimming in the calm Med, but it was actually pretty choppy that day! After my initial surprise it was lovely to feel the warm water over my skin, and to swim out a little and look at the beach from the water. On my next beach trip the water was as calm and peaceful as I remembered it from my days in Israel, and I spent a lot of time in swimming around. I was kind of taken aback when people came up and talked to me on the beach though (hence my US beach remark because everyone really leaves you alone there), and felt a little uncomfortable at times. In my opinion it’s better to go in a group or at least as two, but that’s just me. Oh, and I remember worrying about a beach volleyball landing on my head, and then one actually landed super hard on a sunbathing woman’s stomach so I ended up moving away from the beach games. The walk along the boardwalk up to Barceloneta beach is quite lovely, especially if you can grab a sunset en route. There really is nothing like a sunset on the beach, always breathtaking, one of those consistent acts of nature that never lets you down and makes you feel so tiny and so important all at once. All in all the beaches are city beaches and if they are lacking in beauty and cleanliness they make up for it in pure convenience and entertainment. Living within walking distance of a beach, whether on the sea or ocean, east or west, has been a lifelong dream of mine. One day we will make it happen.

I started writing this wondering if I would remember more than that feeling of never wanting to leave and I have surprised myself by digging up all the love I felt for Barcelona while I stayed there. I love how warm and welcoming the city is, how calm and energetic, how she continues to embrace her language and culture, while accepting everyone with ease. Merci, Barcelona – I hope to be back one day to search for more Gaudí, take more and better photos, and to eat your delicious food. Some days I feel like I am moving further and further from the places that actually feel like home.

A collection of (awful) Blackberry and (OK) digital camera photos can be found HERE.

After I finished writing this piece I dug out my journal from the late 2000’s from one of our boxes and realised that the Barcelona I documented on paper is the exact one that I remember. I will post the entries in a separate post this week).

Ramblings: One Night on a Felucca

If you ever need tips on travelling around Egypt for 10 days with only $200 in your pocket, just ask. I think I still had money left when I got back to Israel. Taba-Cairo-Aswan-Luxor-Dahab-Taba, one Brit, one Colombian, one South African, three girls in Egypt in the early 2000’s with no real plan, money or direction. It lead to some funny, amazing, crazy, weird and interesting experiences.

A felucca is a traditional wooden sailing boat that is still a frequent form of transport along the Nile, especially between the cities of Aswan and Luxor. If I’m not mistaken they usually seat about a 10 people comfortably as well as 2 or 3 crew members, and while we were there it was the thing to “do” if you wanted to travel between the two cities (as opposed to the train that was much faster but a lot less picturesque). We were going to skip it because we didn’t have much money between us and also didn’t want to join another group of tourists we didn’t know and be stuck with them on a boat for a whole night. Turns out our negotiation skills and ability to make friends were pretty amazing because we ended up renting an overnight felucca trip, including crew and meals, for just the three of us at the same price it would have been if we had been 10. I have to say that our friend Jamal had a huge hand in making this happen, as well as providing us with a few other wonderful, off the beaten track, trips that we did during our three days in Aswan (hotel that was affordable and not a dump, Bedouin village with henna tattoos, trip up the cliff to catch an amazing view of the dam).  We met him at the station and he really helped us see a part of Aswan that we wouldn’t have seen by ourselves.

The Nile is huge. Really, really huge. You can’t really imagine until you see it with your own eyes – we all know that it’s long, but I never thought about how wide it would be in places. The water of the river laps at the feet of the ancient city of Aswan, my favourite city in Egypt, and the it is full of felucca’s floating peacefully up and down, big white sails stretched taught in the wind. They seemed so tranquil, pleasant, away from the noisy cities (something that one can appreciate after having been in Cairo for a few days). We all liked the idea of spending a night under the stars, listening to the sounds of the water and the wildlife, safe, away from the eyes that were always staring at us, or mainly at Kirsty who just stuck out with her very pale skin and blond hair and terror of being touched by an Egyptian (thankfully she relaxed a little in Aswan and we didn’t have to stop her from freaking out so often). At the same time we were also a little worried… What if Jamal had set us up to be robbed, murdered and dumped in the Nile? What if he actually wanted something more from us? In the end we just trusted that everything was going to be OK, especially as at the time there were special security measures set up for tourists in Egypt, one mainly being that hotels, felucca’s etc needed to register every tourist they provided a service to with the local police. There was even a special tourist police force!*

The plan was to take the felucca up to Kom Ombo, visit the temple and then get a bus up to Luxor. The trip was supposed to take about a day and a night (or 4 hours on the train just for comparison). So we grabbed our stuff from the hotel (we travelled super light, as in one small backpack each: towel, sweater, a couple of t-shirts and underwear, toothbrush and soap), and boarded the boat. We made ourselves comfortable, watched the crew set up and then set off… For about 5 minutes. While we knew that felucca’s are dependent on the wind to move, we didn’t know that too much wind could also keep them grounded. If the local authorities deem that the winds are too high no one can legally transport tourists anywhere via sailing boat. So there wasn’t much else to do, except wait. And wait. And wait. Our captain, Mohammed, decided to take the boat across the river and set up “camp” over there for a while to see if the winds would calm. We already knew that if it was still so blustery when it got dark we wouldn’t be going anywhere on a felucca, but since we had paid for the trip we could at least spend the night on it under the stars, and eat the food the crew prepared for us. We had a “lunch” of salad, cheese and vegetables (with tuna for the non-vegetarians), and relaxed on the cushioned and blanketed boat, got out pens and notepads out and played silly games to pass the time (making lists was one of them, and one of my hilarious lists appears below). One of my best memories with Andrea and Kirsty was laughing until my tummy hurt that afternoon on the boat. While Andrea and I had hit it off immediately on the kibbutz, Kirsty had been a lot harder to get along with. I had never met anyone like her before, most South Africans I had met before had been super easygoing and a little on the crazy side, but she was a lot more sheltered, very opinionated and I didn’t really understand why she was even there with us. But during that trip she actually really let her guard down, opened up a little and showed us what a fun and interesting person she could be. And that afternoon we really made the most out what could have been a disappointment.

Twilight set in and Jamal came down to see us and talked us into having drinks with him seeing as we were not moving anywhere any time soon. We saw a felucca sail ripped in two by the wind and realised that it was really better to stay put (even though I know that both Andrea and I secretly wanted our captain to just take off and defy the elements). We had drinks and cake at the Aswan Moon, courtesy of Jamal, using our fiancé cover stories just in case he was trying to make a move (he did joke once about coming to sleep with us on the felucca but we laughed it off, and it didn’t seem serious at all – I think in the end he really was honest when he said he just wanted people to go back home with a great memory of Egypt in their mind, not the one of tourists taken hostage or people being taken advantage of).

Back on the felucca we were served a dinner of potatoes and tomatoes, rice , bread and tea (for some reason the food tasted amazing, cooked out in the open like that), and we prepared our “beds” of sleeping bags and cushions up on the deck (Mohammed and his crew slept underneath). No toilets on a felucca, so peeing behind a bush was the only option (not an issue at night, a bit more difficult to find a hidden spot in the daylight), so not really something you wanted to have to do too often… Especially as this was also January, and while winter in Egypt is pretty mild, the nights can be quite cool. And cool it was, sleeping under the stars! None of us slept very well as we could have done with another 10 blankets to be honest, and we were up ready for breakfast by sunrise. And there we were, still in Aswan, a few feet away from where we had started, with perfect winds and a beautiful sun leading the way. We couldn’t afford to take the “trip” again, so Mohammed sailed us upstream to the train station where we managed to get tickets on the daily 9:30am train to Luxor (we still each paid him his E£40, kind of expensive for a night in a boat hotel).

Tourists are only supposed to travel in first and second class cabins in Egypt. There were no tickets left in those cabins. We were strongly advised not to take the E£3 third class tickets, but none of us wanted to stay another night in Aswan, so we talked the vendor into selling them to us. For a 4 hour ride it wasn’t THAT bad, as long as you keep your nose out the window to avoid the stench of the toilet, and sit on a sweater or something as the benches were made of wood. For some reason the policeman in the cabin made us sit on the bench reserved for officials – to be honest we kind of felt like we were doing something wrong, and I started to wonder if we were supposed to be worried about our safety! I only felt unsafe once in our entire trip and that was one evening in Luxor when a guy tried to sell us drugs and then started to follow us, other than that we never had an issue. Lucky? I don’t know (see disclaimer below), but our adventurous attitudes really lead us into some fun experiences. I wouldn’t change a thing if I went back again (although this time I would stay in nicer places where you actually felt cleaner rather than dirtier after taking a shower – there is a reason why I still had change from my $200).

One day I will get that felucca trip in, maybe with my little family, but until then this experience will be forever engraved upon my memory as the trip that never really happened because the wind wouldn’t let us go.

*I travelled around Egypt in January 2004, so I don’ know how much has changed in 12 years.

Note: While Andrea and I were pretty savvy travelers and relied (still rely) on our gut instincts to make decisions, we sometimes put ourselves in situations that could easily have gone bad during this trip. It did lead to some amazing adventures, but I would advise more caution and planning, especially if you are a group of young women travelling alone in a country whose language you do not speak. I imagine things are a little different nowadays, and I honestly wouldn’t want to change anything about our trip (apart from choosing to see the mummies instead of Tutankhamen’s treasure at the museum), but with hindsight, we were not the smartest people on this trip! My Egypt photo album is on Flickr here.

View from above

I am so grateful to myself for the extensive journals I have kept over time, as although most of the above comes from memory, I was able to double check names, food, restaurants and sequence of events to make sure I wasn’t making anything up. And I had a great laugh at some of the “lists” we made up! Much more to come on the Egypt front, amidst other countries, places and experiences!

One of the infamous lists and an Aswan street.

Ramblings: On Kibbutz Evron

Over the next few months I plan to use my memories, journals and hindsight to write pieces on different places I have travelled to and all of the places I have called home over the past 37 years. I am going to start this series off with this piece describing my life working on a kibbutz. This is the first of a few pieces that I shall be writing about this very special time in my life, as one essay just won’t even begin to evoke everything. When I left Israel, during the summer of 2004, my plan was to write a novel on my time spent there, memoir slash memories, and I got about halfway through and abandoned it. I shall be using and possibly even quoting from these chapters written over 11 years ago.

I have piles and piles of journals dating back to 1988 as well as many half-finished and finished typed journal-like documents hanging out on my laptop in folders, just waiting for me to do something with them.  I do pride myself on having an amazing memory, but I’m glad that I documented so many things because when I go back to read pieces I surprise myself by laughing and crying, hurtling right back to those moments, as inane or crazy as they were. My 20’s were a cluster of quite amazing whirlwinds, different elements forcing me to make certain choices that I may not have made by myself and pushing me to test my own limits. During that time I did a lot of travelling, never really knowing where I wanted to be, and never really knowing where I would stay.

One of my trips ended up lasting over a year and came at a very important time in my life. I was very depressed and stuck in a situation that didn’t seem to have any type of positive outcome (all related to half of my close family living in the US and me not being able to live near them for various reasons, mainly immigration-related – that whole story can be told another day). So when one of my aunts invited me to come visit her in Israel and help her with her two small kids I jumped at the chance. And once my 3 month visa ran out I decided to try out life on a kibbutz. I didn’t really have anywhere else to go, and it was the best decision I could have made at that point in my life. I learnt so much about myself, my strengths and also my weaknesses. There is nothing like a little communal living to forge the character!

I grew up very shy, and spent a long time creating walls for myself to hide behind. You know when you often hear people describing someone as appearing standoffish but in reality they were just shy? That was me. Being outside in public, especially if it meant having to speak to people outside of my close group of friends was a constant struggle. In the second half of my teens I discovered that alcohol was a great way to dismiss the shyness and fears, but alcohol wasn’t available at all times. Well it was, but I was smart about it, I wouldn’t drink during class or exam time. I still remember the exact terror I felt before and during the presentation of my MA thesis. I don’t even know how I managed to appear calm and together with the turmoil going on inside me, fueled by coffee and cigarettes, but I did. About a year before going to Israel I actually stopped drinking, because I felt constantly anxious and nauseous, afraid of everything. My nerves were even more frayed after 9/11 and depression set in with agoraphobic tendencies. Leaving my apartment in Grenoble , and then my mother’s house in California was always a huge effort, tied with stomach cramps and real fears. I always pushed through, forced myself so to speak, but it was a constant effort. The only place that felt safe was being home with my cat and books to crawl into. This is why the trip to Israel was not only an enormous challenge for me, but also a new beginning of some sorts.

My aunt (who has literally travelled the world and ended up settling down in Israel) took me to the Kibbutz Program Center in Tel Aviv where I was given the choice of a few kibbutzim. I had been in the middle of the Arava desert all summer, in Hatzeva, halfway between Be’ersheva and Eilat, so I decided to go up north, right by Nahariya and the Mediterranean Sea. I lived on Kibbutz Evron for over 7 months. It was 2003 and I was 25 years old.

I still vividly remember the moment that I walked into the kibbutz. Luckily the volunteer house was easy to find, but I had to gather all my courage together and ask one of the people sitting outside the way to the office. He happened to be a really nice Korean guy called Sean (I think) and he immediately put me at ease. Ina, the volunteer leader, who became a fabulous mother figure for those of us who stayed on for longer than others, made me feel like I had made the right choice in coming too. She gave me the choice of some volunteer boots (basically combat/work boots which I loved of course), showed me where I would be working and my room that I would be sharing with another volunteer. And that was it. I was home for the foreseeable future. I met all of the volunteers that night (I think there were 11 others at that time). That group of volunteers was what I would later call the “calm” group. I was expecting a bunch of hellraisers, but they weren’t. There was Gabi, my roommate from the Czech Republic who had a boyfriend on the kibbutz and who left a week or so after I arrived. There was Trine from Germany. Adam from the US, Lotti from the Netherlands and a big group of Korean volunteers. And then Viliam from Slovakia, who became a good friend and who was on the kibbutz for even longer than I was. My first job was to work in the kitchen, starting at 6am, finishing at 3pm, with two 30 minute breaks for breakfast and lunch.

I don’t know how you imagine a kibbutz, but many are not 100% communal areas nowadays. There are often outside employees working in the different communal areas, and Evron was one of these. Over 50% of the workers in the kitchen and dining room were paid employees. It was actually a great mix because we got to work with people from all over the world, some native Israelis, some recent or not so recent immigrants, some who didn’t speak a word of English and with whom we had to figure out communication. I learnt quite a bit of Hebrew (and Russian) while I was there. Most Israelis speak good English which is really helpful because if you don’t know how to read Hebrew even the simplest of task, like looking for a bakery or a shoe shop, can be tough.

Working in the kitchen was hard, but a lot of fun. For a while I was the only volunteer in the kitchen, cleaning and preparing vegetables, meat, different foods. Filling and cleaning the huge food carts, taking orders from the cooks and chef, and generally running around and lugging heavy items. I loved, and still love, manual labour. I love the repetition, the ease of being able to accomplish each task well and mainly not having to worry about something once it is finished. I love setting up a routine and perfecting it, and I also love doing my job well, no matter what it is (even when it involved marinating chicken, which for a vegetarian was pretty gross). I loved joking with all the guys in the kitchen and sneaking out for quick cigarette breaks when no one was looking.

Volunteer groups are continuously evolving. There are always a few volunteers who stay longer, but when I was there the usual length of time that a volunteer would stay was around 2 months. For a lot of the time I even had a room to myself which was quite lovely. The initial group that was there when I arrived quickly evolved into a more rowdy and crazy group, a group of people that I will always remember with a lot of love and a lot of nostalgia in my heart. Some of them still remain good friends today, and we follow each other’s lives on social media. There are others who I remember fondly and wonder what has become of them. We were all there for a reason, a lot of us were trying to escape something in our lives or find something, and it brought us all together. Communal living isn’t for everyone, and I certainly wouldn’t have thought it was for me before living on Evron, but it can actually be a wonderful experience, and even lifestyle. To this day I still wonder what my life would have been like if I could have stayed. Friendships are built hard and fast and goodbyes were always traumatic. There was Erica from Seattle, Andrea from Colombia and Sasha from Russia. Helge from Denmark. Haun from Korea. Later Nick from New Zealand, Fernando from Colombia and my little Dwarfie, Isabel from Guatemala. Of course there were others, but with some the bond was stronger.

I moved from the kitchen into the Dining Room, which became my main job for the duration of time I spent there (more about this specific job in another post). I also volunteered to work on Fridays, so instead of having Fridays and Saturdays off I had Saturdays and Sundays. That one day off alone was exactly what I needed to maintain a balance, and I usually spent it reading on the beach. Erica and I had found this somewhat private beach just over the main road and I continued to go there long after she flew back home to the States.

As I settled in I created my own routines, and started to feel comfortable, not only in my own skin, but also in the life that I started to live. For some reason, being away from everything I knew helped me shed some of the tough skin I had acquired and also helped me break through a few of the walls around me. The people, as well as my surroundings, made me feel like I really belonged, probably for the first time in my life. I had no fears in being myself, stating my opinions and actually letting loose. It was all about living life in the now and creating memories for the future. There wasn’t really a future anyway at the time – I didn’t want to imagine life anywhere else, especially after I fell in love. I basically fell into the kibbutz life as if it had been created especially for me. Instead of being a resentful follower I naturally took on more of a leadership role and stopped fearing the unknown.

Evron was the perfect fit. It was not a religious kibbutz, but traditional religious holidays were made into happy occasions which we all participated in. And when Christmas rolled round Ina helped us organize our own perfect little Christmas celebration, which as with every party, every week, ended in a huge drunken party. I started drinking again the first weekend I stayed in Evron and didn’t stop again until years later – although at the time it really was all fun and games. We partied in different kibbutzim, at the pub in Evron, in the volunteer house, in front of the volunteer house, and often kibbutznik friends, especially Maor, Shelly, Doron and Tuti, would join us. So many memories of dancing the night away, a bottle of cheap vodka in one hand, a cigarette in the other. The same songs playing over and over again because they reminded us of good times, of dancing close, of kisses and whispered thoughts, of laughter and friendship. Some songs I most likely wouldn’t have even given the time of day in another life like that one Usher song that still takes me straight back there. Other songs that were always part of my life, like certain INXS tracks, that took on a much deeper meaning.

Maybe it was just the fact that life was indeed temporary there, suspended for the duration, which enabled me to just be myself, let loose, and live? Or maybe it was just because I had finally found a place and people who accepted me as I was, no hidden agenda, and helped me feel like I belonged. Whatever your thoughts on Israel may be, at the time it was the one place where I felt at home, especially when nowhere else did. I was lucky enough to be able to renew my visa so many times, a months-long strike in the interior ministry helped, but it came to a point when I actually really did have to leave. It broke my heart, for more reasons than one, and I will always long to go back again and visit my old haunts.

Images of cleaning the volunteer house with the music blasting on a warm winter’s day, in a bathing suit top and shorts; smoking weed with the boys and giggling about the most absurd happenings; dressing up in a bag of abandoned Purim outfits and running across to the 24/7 to buy 10 Shekel vodka; walking into Nahariya with Isabel and stuffing our faces with all-you-can-fit-in-a-pita falafel; walking out to the avocado orchard with Andrea and getting so lost on the way back, stuck in the mud in the rain; fighting with Fernando and then making up 10 minutes later; drinking little cappuccinos from the machine with a cigarette in the sun outside the dining room; smoking Noblesse Lights and listening to Galgalats; chocolate and Bissli from the kolbolit, making our 200 Shekels last as long as possible; waking up for work after two hours of sleep and working the hangover off in the kitchen; living, loving and laughing as much as physically possible. That’s not to say there weren’t any moments of sadness, but they were usually limited to happenings of the moment and the romantic adventures that were undertaken by most of us. There really was a sense of freedom that comes with having left everything behind for a while.

Kibbutz Evron no longer takes volunteers and is situated a few miles south of Nahariya, not far from the Lebanese border. You can find out more about the kibbutz here. 

I also have some photos up on Flickr from that time here .

To be continued…

Sunset over the Mediterranean from Northern Israel

Why You Should Go to One of These European Cities This Winter

Winter isn't all about gloom and dreariness. It also isn't all about taking a sunny break in the tropics, either. There are some wonderful little spots in Northern Europe that make for perfect winter holiday locations, and even if you don't walk away with a tan, you will still find yourself revitalized and entertained. It's a lovely feeling to wrap up warm and venture out into a new city, grabbing a hot chocolate or a cup of soup, watching people go about their day, and discovering different winter traditions to bring home.

Photo by Sigursteinn Halldorsson via Trover.com

Frederiksberg Gardens, in Frederiksberg, Denmark, are beautiful in the summer, but just as fascinating in the winter months. The winding paths, canals, and Romantic-style gardens contain an array of interesting buildings, from a palace to a Chinese summer-house. If you are lucky, you may even get to see the elephants in the zoo from the Elephant Viewpoint. You can also skate for free on the beautiful ice skating rink.

You can jump on a train in Copenhagen, Denmark and be in Malmö, Sweden in less than an hour. The trip is worth it for the water views alone, and you get to travel over the famous Oresund Bridge. Malmö has a lovely Christmas vibe around the holidays. Decorations and lights fill the stunning architecture in the old city streets, buildings from as early as the 14th century, and the Christmas markets contain gifts for everyone back home — and mulled wine, don’t forget the mulled wine!

Photo by Sven-Erik Knoff via Trover.com

Trondheim, Norway is a beautiful city full of ancient buildings, but if you find yourself there in the winter you should check out the skiing and snowboarding opportunities right outside the city. Or you can just take the tram to Lian and walk around the Bymarka forests — just make sure you don’t get lost as the tram service closes down earlier in the winter.

Photo by Navien Ndk via Trover.com

Winter in the Netherlands means endless hours of ice skating along canals. You will land in Schiphol and from there you can choose any place of your fancy — most major cities are a short distance away, Amsterdam being a mere 20 minutes from the airport. Amsterdam provides entertainment all year round, with hearty food and fantastic food tours, museums, and biking routes along the canals.

Photo by Amanda Williams via Trover.com

Warsaw, Poland is just as beautiful in the winter as it is in the summer, the added plus of being there in the winter means you can really appreciate the hot soups, pierogis, and mulled beer that are available in the old town. The architecture is stunning and if there is snow on the ground it will transport you back to a different era. There is something so peaceful about strolling around the old castle in the middle of winter, quite like a fairytale.

The wonderful part about visiting these cities in the winter is that you get to enjoy all the attractions without dealing with all the summer tourists. It’s a great way to hang out with the locals and enjoy the winter spirit!

This post is part of a series for Hipmunk Destination Unknown

The Unforgettables: What You Need to Pack for a Trip to the Caribbean

I don’t think I know anyone who hasn’t spent part of their work day daydreaming about a Caribbean holiday. Or someone who hasn’t plodded through the grey cold of the morning imagining aqua blue waters, white sand, a huge hot sun and an icy, creamy cocktail. It’s the greatest dream destination that is just as fulfilling in life.

You can literally pack everything you need for a Caribbean trip in a small backpack. The way I see it, you need something to wear on the beach, something to wear when exploring the hidden gems that each island has to offer, a beach towel, and a camera to document everything.

©Jade Anna Hughes

Amazing beaches exist all around the Montego Bay area in Jamaica. If you don’t mind stepping off the beaten track, or away from the resorts, you can befriend some of the locals who will be more than willing to show you their favorite spots. Just make sure to say that you aren’t on a cruise, as people tend to charge the cruise tourists extra for everything.

Bring your hungry belly to Kingston, Jamaica, because this is where you are going to taste some amazing Caribbean fare. While jerk chicken and rice and peas are classics, look out for the local Rastafarian places for incredible vegetarian food and some of the freshest juices you will ever taste.

A bathing suit is a given on the Turks and Caicos island of Providenciales, but comfy shoes are a must, too — there are beautiful views from the hills and stunning natural colors in Chalk Sound National Park. The island provides a perfect blend of nature, peace, food, and entertainment: hike in the morning, sunbathe in the afternoon, and dance in the evening.

©Jade Anna Hughes

You really can’t visit the Caribbean without checking out the amazing array of sea life swimming around in the turquoise waters. Scuba diving and snorkeling are fantastic in both Seven Mile Beach in the Cayman Islands and Saint Lucia’s Gros Islet. Exploring the barrier reef along Seven Mile Beach is one of the most fun, inspiring, and unique pastimes you can imagine. You do not need to pack any gear — you can find everything you need for a dive or a swim on the islands.

©Jade Anna Hughes

The great part of a Caribbean vacation is that while there is an off-season that comes with a little rain, the temperature remains around 80 degrees. In between rain showers it’s still perfect shorts and beach weather. You probably want to avoid hurricane season if you can, but if you don’t mind a little tropical rain, off-season is a great time to avoid the cruise crowds and join the locals in enjoying the real laid-back, friendly, and fun Caribbean lifestyle.

Bathing suit, towel, shoes, shorts, t-shirt, sweater, and camera, that’s all you need! And maybe a book for all that uninterrupted beach time you will be putting in. I suggest investing in a Holga-type camera and some film, too, as the beautiful island colors really translate well on film, leaving you with some whimsical printed memories of your trip.

©Jade Anna Hughes

This post is part of a series for Hipmunk Destination Unknown

Dreaming of mountains and lakes? Here is your guide to the Lake Louise Area

When you grow up in the Alps you experience a different kind of “normal”. Every time you open your curtains you experience beauty from all angles, and it's something that remains part of you, especially when you move far away to another continent.

That said, there are some amazingly beautiful places to visit on this side of the pond, with Lake Louise and Banff National Park at the top of the list. Located in the middle of the Canadian Rockies in Alberta, you couldn’t ask for more natural beauty every time you open your eyes. There are mountains, lakes, glaciers, wildlife, and an abundance of stars at night. In addition to being surrounded by beauty, there are many things to do all year round.

Transportation and Hotels

Photo by Jennifer via Trover.com

The nearest airport is Calgary International Airport, about 195 miles from the lake. It’s best to rent a car from there if you are planning on making the most of all of the available activities. Many area hotels have shuttle buses, but a car is really best for sightseeing purposes, especially for the independent traveler.

There are many hotels in Lake Louise to choose from, but The Fairmont Chateau Lake Louise is the best located, as it's right on the water and has the most beautiful views. You can book all activities from the hotel, and it even has an ice skating rink right outside its doors in the winter. No matter which hotel you choose, it’s good to book in advance for peak period travel as the best and most scenic rooms fill up very fast.

Winter Attractions

Photo by Nisah Cheatham via Trover.com

Lake Louise is a fantastic destination for avid winter sports enthusiasts, as there are many slopes available for all levels of skiers and snowboarders. Ski passes are a great deal, as are lessons and rental prices. But you don’t have to be a skier to enjoy the area in winter! Winter hikes, ice skating, hot springs, and mountain helicopter tours are just as much fun. Just breathing in the cool, fresh air from your hotel grounds is relaxing enough.

Summer Visits

Photo by AdventureJ via Trover.com

Summer means scenic hikes for all ages, and the glacier hikes here are especially unique and interesting. You can hike on foot or on horseback, or you can take to the lake via kayak or canoe. While the lake is quite cold since it's fed by the glacier, there are still areas where the hardy can go for a swim. Those less into the freezing water and more into the spa side of things can just enjoy the different Banff hot springs.

Photo by The Planet D via Trover.com

While Lake Louise is chock full of wonderful seasonal activities, there's nothing wrong with going to the area just to relax by the lake, take in the fabulous views, and enjoy the delicious meals served in your hotel. Whether you want to take time off from life or ski down the toughest slopes, the Lake Louise area provides unique discoveries and experiences for every traveler.

This post is part of a series for #HipmunkCityLove

Travels: Jamaica in words and pictures

Jamaica January 2013

, a set on Flickr.

I’ve been back a week now and due to multiple reasons have been pushing off writing about my amazing trip to Jamaica. I took a lot of pictures and wrote a lot of random notes through-out my stay, but I suppose I am still a bit worried that I won’t be able to do both the country and the trip justice…

I had always wanted to go to Jamaica, and on the spur of the moment sometime in late November asked my mum if she would like to go there with me. A few weeks later we had tickets booked and a hotel room in a place a few miles outside of Montego Bay waiting for us for six days in January. Neither of us had really any idea what to expect, except that the weather was going to be warm and that we were going to have a week away from our normal lives in the middle of winter. A much needed week away from work and life in general.

In the sunshine. We didn’t even really plan anything specific before we left, but decided to see what we wanted to do when we got there, guidebooks in hand for help if needed.

We landed in Montego Bay on a Monday afternoon and were picked up by a lovely gentleman called Duran who works as a driver for the hotel we were staying at. Duran became a friend during the week we stayed there, picking us up and taking us to all the places we wanted to visit, taking time out of his own day to show us places we might be interested in seeing, and taking us to local spots so that we could actually see and live the real Jamaica, rather than hang out with a bunch of other tourists and sit on a beach drinking and getting a sun burn. Don’t get me wrong, I love sitting on beaches, especially the beautiful Jamaican beaches, but I also wanted to be able to meet Jamaicans, and learn more about the country and life there.

The Montego Bay area is very much catered to the large amount of tourists who flock there for a beach vacation at any time of the year or on a day stop while travelling on a cruise ship around the Caribbean Sea. I have nothing against people who like to go on cruises, or who like to stay in all-inclusive resorts where all of your needs are catered for. But that’s not me, and it’s not my mum either. I like to go on adventures, like the time I travelled round Egypt with two other female friends, $150 in hand and no real idea of where we were going or where we would be staying. This often leads to some amazing experiences and some that are just memorable and not to be revisited. For our Jamaica trip we decided to compromise: stay in a hotel that may or may not be nice, out of the way of all of the tourist areas, but spend time on the beach as well as exploring other places. I had no idea what to expect when we arrived at the hotel,

Emerald View Resort Villa

, located near Greenwood up the hill from the main road, halfway between MoBay and Falmouth, but it was perfect for us. We had a large, airy and clean room, with a large balcony that looked out over the hill to the sea, over the lush vegetation that covers the island and the colourful flowers that seem to adorn the hills. Miss Jennifer, and the rest of her staff, made us feel so at home, practically part of the family, and showed us what the real Jamaican hospitality is like. Can you imagine waking up every morning to the sound of many, many birds singing and knowing that all you needed to worry about that day was making sure you put enough sunblock on to ensure you wouldn’t burn under the intense tropical sun (I should have listened to that advice myself)? That’s what I felt like in Jamaica. I don’t even know why I packed a full suitcase of clothes – all I needed were shorts, tank tops and bathing suits. In any case, when I go back to Jamaica (and I will), I will definitely try to stay there again. Quiet, peaceful and beautiful.

We spent the first real day in Jamaica on Doctor’s Cave Beach off the Hip Strip (Gloucester Ave) in Montego Bay. The water was aquamarine blue and warm, the sand white and soft and the sun hot and dry. Absolutely perfect. Apart from the fact that even though we thought we had chosen a secluded spot we were soon surrounded by a lot of loud, brash Americans who were on a day trip from a cruise ship that had docked in the port at Montego Bay or in Falmouth. They all didn’t stay too long though, seeing as they were intent on getting drunk at Margaritaville down the road, and left us in peace to enjoy the beauty of the beach. I was offered ganja, beads, hair braids, more weed, marriage, dates, more marriage and yet more ganja about 80 times during the day, all in the most hilarious fashion. You can’t just ignore people in Jamaica, even when they are peddling all types of wares or trying to get you to get in their taxis or buses. Everyone is just so funny and kind, and you find yourself saying “No thank you” a million times, but with a huge smile on your face. I never felt like I was being harassed, apart from a moment when we were walking around Falmouth just as two cruise ships spilt their passengers out onto the streets. At that moment we were assimilated with the cruise ship tourists and made a quick run elsewhere for a few hours.

“I want to get to know you better – can I have your phone number?”

Not far from Falmouth lies a place called “Glistening Waters”, a lagoon which is a mix of both salt and fresh water and contains a unique type of algae that glows when disturbed. It gives off a phosphorous green colour that can only be seen at night, hence the “glistening”. We were taken out on a boat to the middle of the lagoon in the pitch dark, with only the stars guiding us. You couldn’t actually really see the sparkling green algae from the boat, so I jumped in the water with a few other people and swam a bit further away and started to notice that I could see a bright green colour through my fingers when I swam. Then it dawned on me that I shouldn’t actually be able to see my hands in the dark and I was actually seeing the magical algae shine before my eyes. The water was a mix of warm and cold and the bottom felt like thick, sticky mud, so I just continued to swim round under the stars in sparkling water until it was time to go back. I love night swimming, it’s so peaceful and relaxing. Of course we were warned that we would not be attacked by great white sharks or flesh-eating fish when we jumped in to the lagoon – I may have been a little more hesitant than I was.

We visited Falmouth on Wednesday, market day. We wanted to take photos of the old town, walk around the market, eat in local places and enjoy ourselves. Two cruise ships docked that day so at first it was a little overwhelming, tourists everywhere, but we decided to just walk around away from the port and ended up on little streets full of colourful buildings and trees, alleyways leading to other little streets and finally made it to a little fishing community on the edge of the water. Fishing boats and piles of conch shells, children playing football in their school uniforms, spear fishermen buying fresh fruit from the market stands, sleeping dogs cuddling in the shade, smiling people blowing kisses and saying “One Love”, Red Stripe beer and delicious Blue Mountain coffee in a bar, beads and braids and colourful clothing, people selling everything you can think of, fresh coconut water directly from the fruit. I earned many different nicknames during our walks, Star Girl, Shooting Star Girl, Sunshine Girl, Irie Girl… I tend to prefer black and white photography, but Jamaica is colour and there is no way that black and white prints would do any kind of justice to the array of colours that are everywhere. So colour it was through-out the entire trip. 

We decided to walk down the hill from the hotel to grab some food at the Chill Out Hut that evening, a 30 minute walk down to the beach restaurant, where we sat by the water and relaxed. Instead of calling Duran for a ride back up in the dark I convinced my mum that it would be an adventure to walk back up. I never felt unsafe in Jamaica, despite all the warnings you hear before you go there. You just have to be sensible and street smart. We bumped into the wild donkey that we had got used to see every night on the road up to the hotel and were helped to dash across the main road by a kind man when we realised that the traffic lights weren’t working properly. Everyone we passed said hello and I was yet again offered to share a joint with an array of young men who were walking by or hanging out in front of houses and shops. Houses in Jamaica are built to withstand hurricanes, Concrete blocks with steel rods from bottom to top, often sticking out through the roof and left there, making it seem that many houses are unfinished. Houses are painted many colours, and often the top floors don’t contain windows and sometimes no roofs. I don’t know whether this is because they really are unfinished, or because they are used in the summer, when the air is too hot to sleep inside. 

“Hurricanes are when Jamaicans make babies” – Duran

I had read about a place called

Time N’ Place

in my guidebook, and read some reviews online. A bar, restaurant and inn, built on the beach near Falmouth, supposedly off the beaten track and a wonderful place to relax. We got there early in the morning and grabbed some beach beds and settled ourselves in for what we thought would be a quiet day on the beach. Until more cruisers turned up (we started calling them “boat people”). They weren’t too bad, but I couldn’t wait for them to leave…

I had a shot of coconut rum with Tony, the owner, who asked me all about bartending in NYC and I was ready to ask him if he wanted to swap lives for a few months, when I realised that all of the boat people had left. And so did Tony who started to worry that we were also going to miss our boat… Both my mum and I started to laugh as it dawned on him that we were actually not boat people and that’s when he showed us some real Jamaican hospitality. He asked Dale, who works for him, to cut us fresh coconuts from the tree, showed us all around the property, including the huts he had built himself and rents out to visitors, and then told us to relax there for as long as we wanted. He even gave us the beach entrance money he had charged us when we had arrived, as apparently the charge was only for tourists, not for visitors. When I go back there I am going to stay in one of the huts on the beach. Waking up two steps from the ocean is one of my dreams, and I probably won’t ever leave after that. I’d be like Tom Cruise in Cocktail, serve drinks to people on the beach and listen to reggae all day in shorts and my bathing suit. Paradise.

We spent a day walking around downtown MoBay, and for three hours did not see one other tourist. I assume this is because most people stick to the Hip Strip, rather than enjoy all of the sights of the bustling town. On arrival we were immediately accosted by a couple of people intent on guiding us around the area, but we let ourselves be lead by a lovely man who called himself Rastaman (real name Freddie). He showed us the old church, the school, the busy streets and took us down to the market , saying hello to every other person along the way. No one bothered us, except to say hello, and I found that I was really getting a feel for what it was like to live in a town in Jamaica. Freddie explained that everyone has to do something to make money in order to survive, hence the amount of people who haggle with tourists and try to sell some type of product or service. In some ways I can understand the people who decide to spend their time closed up in a resort as it is “easy” but I wouldn’t ever want to miss any of the experiences that I had in Jamaica, or the conversations I had with people. Freddie was a Rastafarian and I had some great conversations about his lifestyle and beliefs. Being a vegetarian I found it a little difficult to eat in Jamaica as most local places are meat and fish heavy (we all know where jerk chicken comes from!). Freddie took us to an Ital restaurant in downtown MoBay where everything is vegetarian and fresh. I had the most delicious carrot, ginger and beetroot juice that I have ever had, and some wonderful tofu and vegetables. All for a super decent price, the Jamaican price, and not the price that you tend to find in the more touristy areas. For $16 we had two juices and two huge meals. And I got to try breadfruit, which tastes a little like swede, with the same type of consistency. More like a root vegetable than a fruit! 

Jamaica is music as music is everywhere. From shop fronts, to people pulling carts blasting music and selling CDs, to cars, to beach bars to houses. I just wanted to dance all the time, apart from the times that it got really hot walking around the dusty streets and I just wanted to sit in the shade and drink juice and listen to the sounds of people talking and laughing. Even the Jamaican accent is music, people sound like they are singing rather than talking, and everyone always sounds so happy and joyful. People start up conversations with you whenever they can, your waiter at the restaurant, children running home from school, the people sitting at the table next to you in a bar, your taxi driver, the woman at the little supermarket, the random people walking past you on the street. 

“Jamaica – No Problem!”

We spent our last day back at Doctors Cave Beach, relaxing by the water one last time before we had to fly back to the States. This time the beach felt a lot more laid back than the previous Tuesday, with less tourists and many more locals enjoying the warm water. Probably because it was Saturday and also because there were no cruise ships due in that day. We spent the entire day there until sundown, swimming in the water, finishing yet another book, taking photos and drinking virgin daiquiris and fresh coconut water and more Blue Mountain coffee. It tastes even more delicious with local cane sugar, sweet, oily sugar, that has yet to go through all of the refining procedures it does at home. When the sun set over the hills and the water I realised that I really wasn’t ready to go home and that the entire week had felt surreal and real all at once, A moment in time in Paradise that isn’t really Paradise but that feels like it should be. I’m so glad I got to share all of the experiences of the week with my mum, and I know she enjoyed herself as much as I did. I will definitely be back again in the near future and will probably brave Kingston this time, as well as other areas more inland that I didn’t have time to visit this time round.

“Peace, Love, Unity, One Blood”

– Rasta handshake taught to me by Freddie, downtown MoBay.