AFRICA, I say AFRICA.

It's a hazy half-drunk feeling in the back seat of your older friends used sedan...

The light dancing off the side view mirrors, little sparks of champagne sunset, the music inevitably too loud, yet the rumbling bass running spiders up and down your lazy sunburnt spine is somehow... perfect.

Your feet are still in the sand, your hair in the sea - salt crisp and dry as hay-stick.

You, sandwiched between fabric seat-sweat and the sunscreen-smudged sun-warmed glass of the car window, forget how uncomfortable your wet bathing suit is, and the drive home feels like falling in love. You are present, and you remember the joy of simply being.

That was Cape Town.

I arrived at the airport at around midnight, exhausted from a good 20 some odd hours of traveling, overdressed for the humidity, and pining for sleep. Jannes and Mine met me at baggage claim with hugs and words of encouragement - we don't live far they assured me. You'll be asleep in no time. I had met the couple two years earlier when I worked for Flux, (www.flux.net) Jannes is part of an art collective in Cape Town called "The Blackheart Gang" who contributed to the websites "Flux Super 8" video art exhibition in the summer of 2010. Outside of his various art projects, Jannes is a manager for a film company that shoots innovative commercials using stop motion and other sorts of animation while Mine is a graphic designer and illustrator: more than anything, I was excited to be around two insanely creative people.

Mine and Jannes live in the beautiful neighborhood of Tamboerskloof, up in the hills of the city, smack between gorgeous views of Table mountain and the bustle of the hip shopping district of Long street below; I couldn't have asked for a better location.

My first day concious in Cape Town began promptly at 3pm. [TO BE CONTINUED]

BALI HAIIII! (South Pacific reference, clearly)

By the time I landed in Bali, I was exhausted. The flight from Cape Town to Johannesburg was a mere two hours, but from Johannesburg to Kuala Lumpur was 10, add a three hour layover and a 3 and a half hour flight to Denpasar? I was a zombie. By the time I landed in my final destination, I had watched 3 movies, 2 episodes of 30 Rock, read 100 pages of my book, and caught somewhere between three and four hours of sleep - for while business class was on Malaysian airlines was SUPREMELY cozy, the turbulence had me sleepless.

Bali's airport is small and quaint, full of traditional architectural touches; everything is made out of intricately carved wood, including a handful of devotional statues. There is a small outdoor temple on the grounds, strewn with offerings of flowers and rice and further along…. a small, sweaty line for tourist visas, and then a huge sweaty line customs clearance. After purchasing my $26 dollar "visa," a fee which, seemed annoyingly silly after 20 hours of traveling, I joined the masses huddled awaiting the little rubber stamp on their passports. A half an hour later, my backpack felt like a ton of bricks, and the humidity was making my eyes blur over. Finally, I made it through. The first thing I learned about Bali, is that the people are persistent when it comes to money. The porter asked for a tip bringing my bags 40 ft, and when I gave him the equivalent of 5 us dollars (because that was the smallest bill I could get from the currency exchange woman) he proceeded to say, THAT'S ALL? Then my cab driver to the hotel asked me for a tip, and although my friend Harry had informed me that you do NOT tip cab drivers in Bali, I handed over another $5 to get him off my back. The hotel was packed, people from all over Asia crowded onto the cushy lounge couches drinking coconut milk served by pretty waitresses adorned in flowers. My room wasn't ready yet so I jumped poolside and had my first "Bali Hai" local beer, quite refreshing! Middle aged balinese men sat nearby on the ground playing traditional xylophone like instruments (mostly) in unison. Every once and a while they'd go out of sync, and one would glare at the other and try and demonstrate how to back on the right track, like an old married couple. An orange tabby cat prowls around my feet looking for stray scraps, unsuccessful, moves out into the shallow waters of the hindu fountain to my right, and then out into the street.

…And then I slept right on through the next morning. Day one in Kuta was spent wandering around the town. I soon found that anything I could possibly wear would be too hot, and short of streaking, I would continue to be uncomfortable in the sweltering humidity. The locals wore long pants and thick cotton tee shirts, some even wore ski caps, I however, was barely surviving in jean shorts and a flimsy tank top. The streets were crowded with instant vendors, hawking every imaginable goods and service. "Hello darling, look into my shop, just look, look" or "want transport darling? Motorbike?" Overwhelming at first, it took me a good day to develop the proper response - a smile, a nod of the head and a quick step. Most of the people on the street were offering me cheap beauty services, massage, reflexology, and even at once place, some sort of "fish massage…" The man motioned to a giant tank of tiny fish and assured me, it would make me most relax and beautiful. No thank you. I don't mix dining and bathing. I wonder if its like those pedicures where the fish eat the dead skin off your feet? Gross. I hope not. After a few hours walking grew difficult so I went back to the hotel pool for a swim and a sunbathe. Afterwards I walked back into town to peek into a few of the local temples, some of which were holding sunset services with dancing and music. Fast forward to dinner in a thai restaurant and another swim before bed and that was day one.

The next day, I went in search of nature, more specifically speaking, the beach. I spent the morning walking around Kuta beach, which was the closest and accessible by crossing through the air conditioned "Discovery Mall." I was happy for the breathing break, though slightly put off by the presence of both a Starbucks and a coffee bean in the uber westernized tourist magnet of a shopping center. I did however, most hypocritically, check to see if they would accept the gift card my dad gave me for christmas - I mean, I may feel silly drinking American coffee in Indonesia, but that doesn't stop the hazelnut iced latte from haunting my dreams.

Unfortunately, no go on the gift card, I was forced to pay in cash.

As I expected, Kuta beach was packed with tourists, mainly smiling muslim teenagers rolling up their jeans to feel the water rush past their ankles. From afar the rainbow of brightly colored headscarves fluttered about like birds, but this is where the beauty ended; the beach was overrun with garbage. Living in Middlebury I've grown quite single minded about environmentalism, but the issue really is non-negotiable. In Bali, the government has funded recycling bins and trash receptacles in tourist areas and places of high population density, yet people still trow their garbage on the ground. How, in a place of such proclaimed natural beauty, can people not feel the urgency of protecting it? A little fed up with the noise and the trash, I ran to the street and hailed a blue taxi (the blue ones have meters) and out of breath, gasped, "Ulu Watu please."

The ride to the infamous temple was long, about 40 minutes, but well worth the scenery. A mere 10 minutes out of Kuta, I began to see the Bali I had heard about, the Bali I had come to see - Kuta was fine in it's own tres touristy way, but I could only take so much of the land of overweight and sunburnt Aussies and three dollar pedicures. Outside the city, there were lush forests, small villages, run down, but still very much running. Vendors sold petrol from their front steps, packaged in old wine bottles and emptied forties. Cows wandered lazily along side the road, munching on grass till their hearts content, kids chased chickens into the street laughing innocently as they terrorized their dinner.

By the time we arrived at the temple, I was.... [TO BE CONTINUED]

DEAR BLOG.

I am very very behind on you, and once my stomach stops feeling like a radioactive rave in Indio in the middle of brush fire season, perhaps I shall update you.


...Perhaps.

XO,

KATKO

Eastern Beauty

1) Czech children are adorable. They also have a tendency to wear matching reflector vests on field trips, only adding to the adorable.

2) Shirtless middle-aged men practicing SWORDFIGHTING in the parks around Petrin Hill...

3) $1 beer.

4) GOOD $1 beer. Pilsner is a way of life.

5) Smazany Syr. Fried cheese, covered in mayonnaise wrapped in a bun. My arteries are crying.

6) Reliable public transportation.

7) Chapeau Rouge.

8) The Language. It might be freakin' impossible at first, but once you can get by on your own, you feel like a GOD.

9) The view. I had my doubts in the depressing depths of dreary winter snowstorms and freezing rain, but this city is absolutely gorgeous once the sun remembers we exist. I've grown rather fond of my fairytale skyline.

10) Bizarre 1970's TV renditions of classic Eastern European folk tales. Someone turns into a bear, then there's a witch with a wooden pig sleigh that leads the bear man to a peasant girl who was turned into ice, and then the devil comes up from hell to punish another devil who got drunk and joined the army, where he meets a local farm boy who fell in love with the gorgeous bitchy sister of the icicle girl, who magically thaws with the kiss of an honorable Slavic warrior... blah blah.. and everyone looks tres Russian and has a kindly grandmother who ends up saving the day with maternal wisdom and national spirit! Somehow underneath all this is a bunch of communist propaganda.. meanwhile, I'm still trying to figure out how the hell the girl turned into an ice cube...

XO,
KATKO

Unsolved (CZECH) Mysteries.

There are many lovely, beautiful and wonderful things about our great Czech nation... but I'm homesick, and thusly, thought I should share the few things that baffle me about my temporary home.

1) Why are so many people on crutches?! My housemate theorizes that the hearty diet of potatoes and pork has bred a nation of gout... possible... but who knows.

2) Why no deodorant? WHY?! Now that the warm air has hit the great Czech nation, tram rides are becoming increasingly unpleasant.

3) So many churches, so little religion.

4) Obscene PDA's: on the tram... between middle-aged couples... sitting in consecutive front facing seats. Necks aren't supposed to bend that far. Also, please keep your tongue in your own mouth.

6) Ketchup... on everything.

7) ALWAYS shutting bathroom doors when it's vacant... how are you supposed to tell it's empty if you shut the door all the way?!

8) Plaid pants with giant solid color patches on the knees, why does EVERYONE have a pair? *UPDATE* I just found out they're gardening pants... practical yet undeniably PLAID. Function does not eclipse fashion people, not even in the eastern block.

9) Paying for the basket of pre-dinner bread.

That's all for now.

XO,
MC

Burrr lin, I said Burrrrr! (PART I..)

Berlin, Berlin, where to Begin? This weekend proved to be my best yet out in the wide world of abroad travel; Berlin may very well be my Paris of the east- clean, historic, energetic and most importantly: full of good cheese!

I arrived into Berlin, late, at about 4 pm, after missing my initial train out of Prague's Holesovice station at 8:40 due to a tres typical bout of hentzly lethargy, and a vampireish hatred of the morning sun. The train ride took about 5 hours, during which I read a bit of my book (White Teeth) and napped using my trusty stuffed lobster as a headrest. The train was divided into cute compartments for six people each and I shared my ride with two pleasant Canadian girls and a rotund little Russian woman who kept staring at me while I slept. Got off the train at Hauf something bahn something station, the main station in Berlin, and wandered around for about 10 minutes looking for an ATM, which turns out, in German are called "geldautomats." After scaling and scouring the mountainous station I finally stumbled upon a money machine, took out too much money (damn you exchange rate!) and hopped a cab to the "Mittes Backpacker Hostel" a few blocks away.

The hostel (discovered by me of course) was perfect, nay, more than perfect: it was quirky and cheap. The walls and doors of reception were painted a bright orange, the furniture a mix of old movie theater seats and a hodgepodge of tacky, well-loved couches, the staff was young, nice and pierced and our room, my room for the next three nights, was also home to 31 other people. Now me, I hesitated at the thought of such a place; I'd heard all the hostel horror stories, but I guess the student mentality of my peers ("it's cheap, let's eat it, it's cheap let's do it") was finally beginning to set in. So, for the low price of 20 Euros a night, I was at home in the Mittes backpacker hostel. The shared dorm room was painted a blinding lime green and was divided into 10 or so single beds and row upon row of metal bunk beds. I quickly claimed a top bunk and waited for Mario, my partner in crime, to arrive. Mario had already arrived in the city 5 hours earlier, but without me, spent the entirety of his afternoon wandering the streets of Berlin, lost and alone! Well, not exactly... I think he went to the German history museum. Anyway, we met up, and after a tearful reunion, bounced off into the heart of Mitte in search of a hearty dinner. That's when we stumbled upon "Amerit," a cheesy looking outdoor Indian cafe with giant plaster statues of the great god Ganesa. Mario, being the better Catholic, had fish, but I could help it (sorry Mom) and devoured a bowl of Lamb Curry and rice, which was sooooooo good. Post dinner we walked around the city looking to be cultured, and stumbled upon a lovely park and gorgeous surrounding museums and churches, we pranced on the grass, spun in circles and then made our way back to the hostel, where we promptly passed out.

The next day we discovered our traveling comrades across the room: Peter, Stuart, Mich, Eric and Leili were fast asleep and hungover from the past night's escapades, which Mario and I were too tired to participate in... besides, we are old souls! Mature, responsible 90 year olds, who prefer a good book and some Ovaltine to getting hit on by strange German men and waking up with a hurricane of a headache. Yeah... I dunno, I think all this going out all the time has just gotten old, a club is a club is a club, no matter where you go, and I've learned to know my body better, when I don't feel like going out, why push it? It's not worth missing out on the possibilities of daytime exploration and cultural immersion! (Dork much?)

The next day we took a year long U-Bahn ride to a cafe I had scouted out in my giant "Let's Go Europe!" book. Turned out that the cafe was smack in the middle of the Gayborhood, for I was the ONLY girl in the whole place. Our waiter wore hot pants, a blue bob wig and bunny ears, and all the patrons of this fine establishment wore leather pants and tank tops. Mario was pleasantly pleased at our fine serendipitous luck and we ate a massively wonderful breakfast at this "Cafe Berio."

After that I had to pop into a drugstore and grab some anti-histamines, for spring had a officially sprung and decided to screw me the hell over in the allergy department. My eyes itched and twitched, my nose was a waterfall of ick and my sneezes were 18 seconds apart.

On the plus side, the weather was GORGEOUS, so Mario and I made our way around the parks and gardens of the city before heading to the Pergamon museum. There we spent the next two hours looking at Greek and roman artistic perfection: The Gates of Ishtar, partially constructed palace steps and entrances from ancient Greece, Islamic art and Mosque ceilings and entrances.

Hmmm, after that we stumbled upon an amazing health food store right by the hostel, a place called "Fresh Friends," where I picked up a block of goat cheese and a baguette before we headed off to meet up with the rest of the group across town. While we waited for them to arrive at the designated meeting point Mario and I downed a pint of Berliner at a local bar and soaked up some of the final rays of the fast fading day....

TO BE CONTINUED WHEN I WAKE UP FROM MY MID AFTERNOON NAP!

(maybe... or a week from now, who knows?)

Wien....er? (Hehehe)

Oops. So much for keeping ontop of this thing.

What came after Krakow? Ah yes, Vienna! Land of the Wienersnitzel, the von trap family, attractive people, the Danube... couch surfing?

I'd always wanted to go to Vienna, even the name sounds good looking. Ah yes! Just spending the weekend in Vienna, makes me sound like well bred heiress or monocled millionaire with un tres French looking mustache.

So there were 5 of us; four boys and me, typical.

Ken and Nick had already left for Austria the night before, so Peter, Stuart and I hopped on the bus Friday morning 8 am to meet up with them. The bus ride was a short 4 hours of uncomfortable seats and growling tummys and by the time we arrived in Vienna (or Wien as they say in Yerman) we were more than ready for a good leg stretch and some jidlo- but as the bus pulled into the station we were taken aback...

Where the hell are we?! I ask, looking, slack-jawed, at the concrete and metal surrounding me. I panic, worrying Vienna won't live up to my "Sound of Music," size expectations, and proceed to have a heart attack when suddenly, Stuart, map in hand, points us towards the U-bahn across the street.

Ah! Hope!

The train takes us to the center of Vienna, Stephanplatz, where we begin our hour-long search for Ken, Nick and Mike. We know they're in a museum, but which one...? We walk towards "museum isalnd," the part of town where... well I assume its function is self-explanatory. Soon enough, whether by chance or divine intervention, we spot the trio across the street.

We yell! We cry! We Rejoice!

We're starving, so we make our way back into the center of the city, looking for a traditional Viennese lunch. It takes foreverrrr to decide on a place; "too expensive, too touristy, no seats, smells bad, blah blah etc etc." But, when we finally do find a suitable dining location, the endless trek proves to be worth it. The restaurant is a quaint little pub on a far off side street with a yappy chihuahua and FANTASTIC Wienersnitzel.

I eat every last bite and wash it down with a pint of the local beer and then feel like sleeping for 12 years.

Post-food, we go in search of our living arrangements. Today is the day I begin my journey as a surfer of couches, a gypsy, an American minstrel of sorts, in short, a bum. Ken, being the daring lad he is, had, two weeks earlier, decided to sign up for the infamous "couchsurfing.com," where, for all you internetaphobes out there, people from all over the world offer up their couches for people wishing to travel cheaply and meet new friends along the way.

Ok, so my thoughts on this venture were rather polarized: a) I really hope I don't die at the hands of some wacko axe murderer VS. b) this could be the coolest thing I ever do. Apparently B won out, because in 30 short minutes after lunch, I find myself at the door of Astrid and Stephanie Shlager.

Astrid and Stephanie are sisters, both studying at the University of Vienna. They share their apartment with Bene, Steph's boyfriend. The apartment is AMAZING. Super nice, especially for a students place, edgy, modern and tres clean, I find myself immediately at home, and park myself on the smallest couch in the living room (Nick claims the pull out and, Ken grabs the larger couch so I don't have much of a choice, but I don't care, I'm too exhausted to fight it.) I fall asleep, and wake up three hours later feeling refreshed and ready to explore.

But what is this? They're throwing us a party?! There's a bucket of Sangria in the kitchen and all of a sudden the apartment is crawling with Austrians. Thats when we meet Bopsy and Gilly, two of the loveliest people I have yet to meet abroad. Both super blond and bubbly, these two girls tell us all about the Vienna and promise to take us around tomorrow for a quick tour of the city. Bopsy shares a bottle of Rose with me and smiles, flashing a sparkly rhinestone permanently super-glued to her front left tooth. Soon the apartment is full of smoke and laughter, and, the overdose of both leads our group out into the night, in search of dancing and late night snacks.

So we take the U-Bahn out to a club by the river, which is so packed that its glass walls steam over making it hard to breathe, let alone move around inside, I have a drink or two, dance for about a half an hour, get accidentally burned by Bopsy's cigarette and at that very moment, decide to call it a night. (But not before grabbing some street sausage, mmmmm!)

Hmmm, next day it rains, pours actually, and the wind is enough to blow us over as we trek around the city. Trashcans are FILLED to the brim with broken umbrellas and we laugh as we watch tourist after tourist fight flailing, out of control, metal wings as the wind overpowers them. We climb up to the top of the main cathedral in Stephanplatz, a trek which seems to take forever, and I find myself grow sickly dizzy and claustrophobic the tiny, winding spiral staircase to the top.

The view from the tower is pretty, but slightly less impressive than I had imagined, the windows are TINY, and it's hard to see much. After that we go to a cafe to eat some of the infamous Austian... ummm... well, some sort of cake that begins with an S, which was DELICIOUS. Now my memory fails me... That night brought on another party, this time at Bopsy and Gilly's apartment, and a trek for food which failed miserably, as Nick and I left the apartment looking for street vendors around 1am and couldn't find any, got so tired from walking around we just headed home after that, while everyone else stayed out till literally 8am. Nick left his camera in the cab but didnt realize it till the next morning when he was packing up his stuff to leave. Tres ugh. Anndddd then I met up with a family friend for coffee (Starbuckkksss!) and then found Peter and Stuart in time to visit the Natural history museum where we made fun of stuffed anteaters and other awkward animals. They left me there so they could pack up, for I was carrying my backpack with me and I got to hav some much neeeded alone time in the museum cafe where I munched on a Caprese sandwich and downed a pot of mint tea. Spilled an entire sugar packet all over myself, caught the bus, slept, made it back to Prague in one piece.


FIN.