A brief trip back to the beginning

I'm in an uber hipster bar waiting for my breakfast to arrive. The waitress tells me it takes a bit for this particular order. My response: "it's ok, I'm not in a rush." (Said in Hebrew). I still can't get over the decadence of that statement. Five months into my travels and I'm getting used to the rhythm of this new life I've chosen. It's like improvised jazz (that's a genre, right?) sometimes it's fast and wild and then other times it's slow flowing liquid- time creeps at its own languid pace.

Anyway... I left Australia in November 20.

Did it make sense to leave Asia Pacific and head back to London? Probably not. But 10 days with my best friends, including what promised to be an epic Thanksgiving dinner, was too good to pass up. So I essentially flew half way around the world (23 hours) for a big meal. Totally worth it.

Going back to London felt a bit strange after so many months. It was like going home in one sense, but then somehow it also felt totally foreign. I spent my days going to yoga, seeing friends, and when Thanksgiving did roll around, cooking up a storm. We were four adults crammed in a kitchen all determined to figure out how to make a traditional turkey day feast: I now know how to make a real Thanksgiving turkey, how to make gravy from scratch (it takes 24 hours) and that if I'm left to tend bar, how to get a group of otherwise responsible adults utterly hammered. 

10 days flew by, and suddenly I was waiting in passport control in Ben Gurion airport getting my three month visa.

Land of Oz-part III

Sydney and Malbourne did not dissapoint. Anytime you know locals, anytime you can stay with friends, you're gonna have fun. I actually ended up doing a bit of freelance work in both cities- so I got to see what shared workspaces were like. I also managed to stumble upon multiple festivals in both cities-leading me to believe that festivals are a thing in Australia. I went to the Sydney wine festival, Newtown festival, and the Melbourne food festival. All were quite fun. If I sound a bit flat in describing these cities it's probably because something has happened to me along the way. I'm over cities. Yes there are tons of amazing things to do, but nearly everywhere I've been, most cities start to feel the same. They become a blur of coffee shops and stores, gas stations and noise. And yes obviously I've had a great time in each city and appreciate the different languages and cultures in each, but I've come to seek out and appreciate the stuff outside the urban locales so much more. For me, the highlight of Sydney were the Blue Mountains. Having a gorgeous mountain range an hour outside a major city is a big deal. And hiking for hours in clean air surrounded by waterfalls and eucalyptus trees was quite special.

I even managed to meet a fellow traveler-L, an Irish woman working in Scotland who decided to take two month off of work to see New Zealand and Australia. We got along so well that we even drove the Great Ocean Road together.

Great Ocean Road was perhaps the only dissapointing part of my Australian sojourn. It was like the Pacific Coast Highway, but really short and you can't really see much of the ocean. The only highlight were the twelve apostles:

Yes it was photo perfect, but not worth the drive. The only thing that made it at all worthwhile was the company. L and I turned a lame road into a very fun road trip. And if the worst part of my Australian adventure was getting to know someone new, I cannot really complain. In fact, I can honestly say it was an incredible trip. It was all planned last minute, yet I managed to do everything I wanted. Who can ask for more?

So L and I came back to Melbourne, and I headed to the airport, and back to London for an amazing Thanksgiving.

More on that later.

Land of Oz-part II

Damnit. I'm on a bus...again. In fairness I just got off of a plane, so my modes of transport are improving. After my second overnight bus in Australia, I decided flying was the way to go. But these long hauls do give me the chance to reflect a bit. So here's what I've got:

Australia is fucking rad, and so are its inhabitants I sound so eloquent, don't I? Crude language aside, let me share so examples- after returning from my Whitsunday adventure, I grabbed a drink with my new Danish friend, who promptly invited me to stay with her in Melborne (I'm en route to her place now). I took an overnight bus -to Hervey Bay, and headed to Fraser Island from there. Though I'm not big on guided tours, it's really the only way to see the sand  island. Yeah, it's an island. Made of sand. One can drive 75 miles along its coastline, which is considers a federal highway. Anyway, I get on the massive bus which will haul us around for two days (massive due to its huge tires for ploughing rough said sand) the driver, Pete, introduces himself and asks where everyone is from. Before anyone can speak, he says, "let me guess, we have Germans on the bus."

"Jah, jah" a few people respond. Then the usual cast of international characters chime in- Holland, Switzerland, Denmark. Finally, I say: "American." Pete gives a quizzical gaze, "did you say American?"

"Yup."

"Americans don't travel."

"This one does."

Then, without hesitation, Pete said "well then get on up here American, you're traveling up front with me."

So for the first time, being an American made me special, and not the ostracized kind of uniqueness generally reserved for Americans- I got the good seat.

Fraser Island was beautiful. White sand beaches and all that. But I must say, maybe it's because tour groups and tedious, or maybe because I had such an amazing time on board Kiana, I would classify the trip at first as thoroughly meh. That is, until dinner time. We stayed at some tacky resort built in the 1960s, though way nicer than any hostel, I felt like Baby and Johnny Castle would most likely be making an appearance that night. Sadly they did not, but guess who did? As I was waiting in line for "Mediterranean" buffet food, I heard my Canadian friends from Kiana calling my name. It was this hilarious reunion. There we were, the only North Americans for  miles, friends for maybe 5 days, hugging it out like we'd all grown up together. I loved it. We caught up, had whatever  passed for dinner, and went back to their patio to drink wine and talk.

**I didn't get a chance to finish this post- so fast forwarding a bit, here are the rest of the Australian highlights:

After Fraser Island, I headed to Brisbane. A friend of mine from high school randomly lives there. She picked me up from the bus station (don't worry, it was a short ride) and with her two year old son in tow, she asked if I would be ok if we visited the "hop hops." Not knowing what she meant, she explained that her son calls kangaroos hop hops. Did I mind? Absolutely not. So off we went to Lone Pine Sanctuary.

I hate zoos. I hate the way they smell. I hate the way people gawk at the animals. I hate seeing caged creatures. Lone Pine, though technically a zoo, or maybe Aussies have a different definition, because that place was the most un zoo-like animal habitat I've ever visited. Little (and sometimes not so little) water dragons and wild turkeys roamed freely the trick was not stepping on them.

Emus were given free reign to mingle with wallabies and the famous hop hops. Birds were fed by willing visitors. And koalas just hung out on eucalyptus trees. Oh and you could hold them. I held a koala. Her name was Cocoa, and it was glorious. 

Then we fed the kangaroos. We hand fed kangaroos. It was magic. Watching my friend's son feed them with no feear, with gentleness and respect was amazing. Why can we do that in the US?

The next day, I took a very short bus ride to Byron Bay. I squeezed in 24 hours to this small surf town last minute because everyone I knew told me I had to- and it didn't disappoint, I only wish I could have spent more time there. I surfed crappy waves (they can't always be great) but had fun with my instructor nevertheless. He told me where to go out- and for the first time in a while, I wasn't in a total tourist trap. Live music, great food, and I was a happy camper. The old hippy town did not dissapoint, but Sydney beconed and off I went in an aero plane to the capital. 

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me

The last few days in Australia have been incredible: I boarded a sailboat called "Kiana" on Thursday and spent the next three days diving, eating and sleeping on the open sea- specifically the Coral Sea. We (the three crew members and 14 passengers) spent most of our time in the outer Great Barrier Reef, 64 kilometers from the nearest land mass. I woke up to watch the sun rise, and watched as it set, giving way to more stars than I knew were in existence. Calling the experience spectacular barely does it justice. My fellow passengers included 3 Brazilians, 3 Canadians, a Chinese couple on their honeymoon, an Australian couple, a British couple, a Danish girl, and me. Somehow the entire group gelled and by the end, I collected everyone's email address so we could share photos of the experience...as somehow we all ended up in each other's photos.

I'll be honest, I was worried about a few things before boarding: being the only single person on a boat full of couples, getting sea sick, getting claustrophobic (not unfounded, as my bottom bunk was tiny), or ending up on some sort of party boat with a bunch of 19 year olds. Apparently, this last concern was not mine alone; J, the Danish girl, who became a good friend after we immediately clicked while bumping into each other en route to the marina to board Kiana, actually called to verify that the average age was over 25!

See why I like her?

Anyway I could go on and on about the feeling of freedom and the utter beauty of the Whitsunday islands, about the endless underwater terrain that is the reef, about its vastness and the variety of creatures that I saw- especially the dolphins. DOLPHINS CHASED OUR BOAT. It was magic.

I could go on and on, but you should just go see it for yourself. I will leave you with this: the crew took notice of my sea legs and how much I enjoyed myself, cause I got a job offer- $170 AU per day. Not bad. I told them if nothing else works out, I'll be back.

Land of Oz- part I

When you're in Bali and only four hours away from Australia, and one of your dreams has always been to dive in the Great Barrier Reef- you buy a ticket to Australia. So that's where I've found myself this morning, yes you've guess it, on a bus in Australia, and en route to the Whitsunday islands. I'm going to live aboard a boat, and dive in the outter reef to my heart's content. I even bought an underwater camera for the occasion. 

So far, Australia reminds me a bit of Florida...but with more German tourists and friendlier locals. When I arrived in Cairns, I noticed a travel agent in the front office of my hotel. She and I hammered out a game plan for my 3.5 week trip. And with that, I handed over my credit card, and went from a vague notion of what I wanted to do here, to a fully baked and booked trip.

Sitting on busses apparently gives me time to reflect, here are some thoughts for you:

Being here is like a whiff of home, but the smell ain't quite right. The expressions people use are insane, there's an openness you won't find in the U.S. There's a super western mentality, but it's still uniquely Australian. I can't quite explain it. But being here makes me appreciate so much after traveling in Asia. I get excited when there's toilet paper in a bathroom and hot water. I get excited to see a toilet-that flushes! My stomach is happy all the time. I know if sounds ridiculous and bratty, but squatting over a hole and then using a bucket of water to flush while trying to avoid urine- yours or somone else's being splashed on you just ain't that fun. But I have gotten really good at squatting.

And another thing:

Traveling has taught me that there's so much crap I don't need; I'd throw half of my suitcase away if I weren't going back to Western Europe and also cause it's super wasteful. I've gone through some changes in a short period of time actually. I've gone back to being a vegetarian, I don't really drink anymore, and I spend every waking moment outside (or on a bus). It's kind of amazing. I feel amazing. And no one believes that I'm 34! 

I'll report back soon.

Bali Bali Bali

I am not on a bus, no, right now I'm on a balcony; and this balcony faces the Java Sea. Though the wind has blown out the waves, making afternoon surfing impossible, I'm content. I'm more than content. I'm staying at a surf camp in Balian Beach, on the western coast of Bali. The camp is run by the village, and all the money goes back into the village. Children come by to clean the beaches, they take pride in their small town. And they should- it's heavenly here. And not just in Balian; after two plus weeks in Bali, I'll admit it, I fucking love this place. I love the kindness of the people here: when we arrived, our driver took us to all of his favorite spots along the way from the airport to our hotel because we were in Bali "and should be happy." I love that we signed up for surf lessons, ended up surfing at a pro surf break (more about that later) with a Brazilian instructor, who was so excited that S and I are both half Brazilian, that we ended up hanging out with a community of Brazilian expats.

 I love the colors here: the lush greens of every garden, the pinks and yellows and oranges of the tiny offerings everyone leaves in front of their home or business. I love the patterns and styles of sarongs that everyone tries to sell me. And the ones that line trees and statues throughout the island. I adore the loving details that go into every garden, door, and roof. I love the colors of the fruits in the market and the colors of every variety of tea available. I love how Jasmine grows everywhere here because it's a symbol for peace. And the smells. I love the smell of incense and essential oils that permeate every corner and the salt air that mingles with it when I'm by the sea. I love the smell of fresh nasi goreng (fried rice) which I've had about once a day...along with watermelon juice. I love the variety of fish you can ask to be grilled up for dinner. And I love their variety under water where every color and shape can be found. I love the names of places here- Uluwatu, Padang-Padang, Bingen, Kutu, Balian, Ciangu. And I love the names of people- every eldest born is a Putu, every second is Waygan. 

I love the massages here, the yoga here, the surf, the organic blah blah blah that's for tourists but tastes so good. I love the thoughtfulness, and spirit of this place. All are welcome, it is everyone's job to make the world whole. You pray to the spirit of the sun, the ocean, and your parents. Black and white checked sarongs wrap around trees and sculptures symbolizing he duality of good and bad-it's your job to recognize them but but hopefully embrace the good. Yellow and white mean your mother and father, east and west, right and left- we must seek balance and honor where we came from, and where we are going. Red and white express the physical and spiritual, earth and heaven, war and peace, impurity and purity. I love that no matter how hot the sun is, there's always a delicious breeze to temper the heat.

And yes, there are the infernal pseudo yogi-types. And yes, there is a Aussie spring breaker contingent. And yes, if you drop in on a local's wave, you will get chewed out-true story. And yes, you will be asked multiple times on a daily basis where you are from, where you are going, do you need a taxi or will you buy this- it's good luck- I'll make it really cheap. But from where I'm sitting now, on this isolated, beautiful beach, facing roaring waves, I'm not gonna complain about a thing. But don't come here...there are enough tourists.

Luck

I'll post about Bali soon, but in the meantime, I wanted to write something about luck. Dumb luck. Super typhoon Lando has been pumelling the Philippines and though the people I met are safe, their towns and livelihoods lay in ruins. 

I missed the storm by a week, and here I am on a boat in Bali with nothing but blue skies and calm seas ahead. It's unfair that I'm just a tourist- a traveler- I breeze in and out, I take in the beauty and bounce. Yes I'm lucky that I'm safe and that I missed the storm, but other than my own physical safety, I have nothing to lose, while everyone I've met along the way did.

Dumb fucking luck.

I wish everyone blue skies, perfect swells, safety, and luck.

Kalinga then Manila

I'm on a bus...again. But this time, the landscape is dramatically different. Up up up in the mountains, where clouds and pine trees meet and dwarf the shining South China Sea below, we are slowing making our way towards a place called Tinglayan in the Kalinga region of Luzon.

Though I could barely find the place on a map, Tinglayan is home to a mountain tribe whose tradition include tattoos done by fearsome women who tap ink made of coal into the skin using a stick with a thorn insert. Though I was not getting a tattoo, the three others I was traveling with from San Juan were. So off we went. 

We went up into the mountains bus bus, further into different mountains by van, and finally 12 hours later, (Did I mention that everything takes forever to get to in the Philippines? The good news is that it affords me the opportunity to read, a ton.) we were there...but not exactly. A guide met us upon our arrival-5:30 am- and we began to walk. 

I know where the sun meets the mountain tops, cause I've been there. We walked and saw the sunrise over a mountain called "sleeping beauty" and then we climbed, up steps, over waterfalls, up up up, until finally, we made it to a tiny village filled with smiling children demanding candy, dirt floors, and Whang-Od, the last Kalinga tattoo artist.

At 95 years old, Whang-Od is a sight to behold. She's beautiful and maybe it was the thin mountain air, but that woman had an air of grace, wisdom, and power that's palpable. She's a celebrity. She's a hard ass, and she still works creating tattoos one tap at a time, whenever a pilgrim makes his or her way up the mountain pass. 

So I spent the next 24 hours talking with townspeople and watching Whang-Od work. 

She now has two apprentices- her granddaughters Grace, 19 and Elywan, 16. Seeing people come and sit through each painful tap was both gruesome and inspiring. And no, it did not inspire me to get a tattoo. But it did inspire me to learn more about the lives of the women there. They were hilarious.  They were tough. They told me the secret to their happiness: fucking and kids. No joke. They said that's what keeps them happy. And it must be true, because that village boasted more kids than I could count- and they all asked me for candy- their favorite English word. 

 Once they'd torn through the peanut M&Ms I brought, they interrogated me. Where was I from? How old? Why am I not married? Where were my children. When I informed them that I have neither a husband nor offspring, they were shocked- how could someone with skin so fair and legs like mine (no one has ever complimented my legs, but ok) not have a husband. "I'm picky," I respond. "Ah, that's good." And with that they stopped probing.

After my fellow travelers completed their tattoos, we went back to our host family- which was actually Whang-Od and her daughter. We bought them a chicken, and they cooked up a feast. We slept on hard wood floors, we pissed in an adjacent outhouse, and in the morning, walked back down the mountain.

Down, down, down, and many hours later- with a few sight-seeing pauses along the way, we made our way back to Manilla. The road was long, again, of course, but what I could not get over was the contrast. We had booked an apartment via air B&B at the Grammercy Residence, which was as fancy as it sounded. With two doormen, multiple security guards, a rooftop pool, laundry and concierge services, this was as white glove as a building gets. And there we were in a bustling city whose traffic is so bad, Waze is utterly useless. You just expect to sit and wait a while to get anywhere. We napped a while (cause who the hell can sleep on two overnight busses and a wood floor with roosters crowing every ten minutes), then we made our way to WildFlour, a patisserie/brunch stop. We ate like fat kids, we ate decadently, we kept eating, then took pastries for the road. We enjoyed our very western brioche French toast, and wild mushroom salad, our Mac and cheese, Nutella croissant, and coffee. Hadn't we just been walking down a mountain? Hadn't we just been in a village so remote that cell phones didn't work and women worked to separate their rice in order to prepare meals? S didn't seemed fazed. But I just couldn't get over how little they had up there in Tinglayan, and how content they all seemed. While Manila boasted everything one would expect from a wealthy city, and everyone seemed weary, and the air so dirty. 

We spent a few hours wandering the city, managed to have our laundry done, ah white glover perks, and with fresh and perfectly folded attire, we packed our bags and headed to Denpasar.

Local Color

I know I'm on a bus. I'm in the Philippines. I've been on this bus since 3pm. It's now 9:30. At times when I look out the window, I think I could be anywhere. There are palm trees, and telephone lines. Strip malls with Starbucks' and KFCs- eerily reminiscent of Florida, but the comparisons end there when I see that the parking lot is filled with hundreds of mopeds and the bus stops and a bevy of vendors get on. And for five annoying, strange-smelling minutes (every hour or so) they offer me (and the 30 other passengers) everything from soda and hot corn to fried pig skin in a bag and hot pies. A man in a Dunkin' Donuts uniform even had some boxed fresh donuts for sale-this ain't Florida.

There's a strange dynamic at play in the Philippines- on the one side there's this raw beautiful nature- landscapes I've yet to see anywhere else, mountains and lush green islands flanked by blue-green still waters and white sand. Then there's the bustling, noisy and messy uber western filth that's everywhere else. Packaged food so over-processed that MSG is a noted additive. It's not pretty. But then all of a sudden it is. My destination-which hopefully is less than two hours away- is San Juan, a surf town many many hours north of Manilla, which S and I flew into earlier today. I must admit, I'm looking forward to quiet and raw nature again....

A few hours later we arrived in a small town center well after dark. There were no tricycles available, and our air b&b accommodation was, according to google maps, less than half a mile away. But since there are no actual addresses, finding the places proved challenging. So we walked, and walked, until we trudged, cause our bags were heavy and even more so when the pavement gave way to sand and gravel. The street lights ended, and I thought- oh great and now there are animals to contend with- as a pair of glowing bovine eyes glared at me. We quickly realized we'd missed the turn off to our bamboo cottage. And by the time we did get our beachfront bungalow, I know it was located on the beach because of the nearby sound of  pounding waves- which were nice- but at that point a shower and bed sounded much sweeter. So after a shower and 8 glorious hours of sleep, I awoke to find myself in some kind of paradise.  Not only were we sleeping at the beach, it was quite a beach to behold. We got dressed and headed into a tiny and underwhelming town to find food- turns out we were looking in the wrong direction. The action was happening not in town, but at the beach break ten minutes south of us. S has a friend living there- she told us where to go and there it was- a surfer haven. Cabanas packed with surfboards and willing instructors littered the beach. Hotels and restaurants of every kind perched above-all fairly typical of a surfer town. 

But I didn't learn what makes this place so very special until the next morning. S and I signed up for surf lessons, which is frankly something that I've done at every beach. Two reasons: 1. To learn the particulars about the break. 2. To get to know locals. Anyone who's seen a surfer movie knows about the locals v, tourist rivalry. It's time honored, it's real, you respect it. And we met some great locals. Young guys who are truly gifted surfers and my instructor was great. But two crazy things happened: 1. Finally after two years of on and off again surfing, something finally clicked and I was able to surf every wave. The break was friendly, my timing was good- I even learned how to turn right, and for a goofy beginner, that's no small feat (goofy in surf parlance refers to ones footing- you can be regular, left foot forward, or goofy- leading with the right). And here's the second thing, and this one is even more astonishing: San Juan is something of a miraculous anomaly; the locals are the kindest, most encouraging community I've ever beheld. I mean if someone cuts them off, the locals shrug it off. When I finally made a right turn, another surfer congratulated me. Later that day I decided to surf again, this time on my own, and I was tired, so I lacked the strength needed to catch waves, so there were a few I just wasn't able to catch, but then, finally, I mustered up enough juice to grab one- and rode it all the way to shore-I felt incredible just coming over the wave, but then something out of an 80s movie happened, a bunch of locals cheered and clapped for me. They saw how hard I worked to catch the wave and they were impressed. I mean...what? That actually happened. It was utterly insane and perfectly amazing. Sadly the next few days proved to be flat, which was ok, because we enjoyed meeting new people and hanging out in town. 

I'm almost tempted to delete this post. Because I know what will happen. I will help spread the word about a sleepy surf town only beginning to be built up. And I wonder if more and more tourists arrive, will the locals still clap when a beginner catches a wave? Will they shrug it off if someone cuts them off over and over? Will the spirit of San Juan la Union change?

The Road to El Nido

After a mere hop, skip, 10 hour 

flight  to Seoul, followed by a 5 hour layover, 4.5 hour flight to Cebu, overnight sleep in a hotel, a 1.5hour flight to Porto Princessa, finally a 6 hour van ride, and jump, I finally arrived in the pouring rain to the town of El Nido on the island of Palawan in the Philippines. Nothing looks as disappointing as a tiny tourist town at night during a rainstorm. My friend S and I (who I met up with in Cebu) and I went to the tourist trap of a restaurant which was of course recommended to us, ate our crap-tastic meal in exhausted silence, and happily passed out at 9pm

But not to worry, I didn't travel all that way to be disappointed. Here's where the happy part of the tail begins:

We awoke to a sunny day and hopped on a boat to one of the thousands of islands the area boasts. The town and surrounding islandswere nothing short of spectacular; it's as the the ocean birthed rock formations and painted them with lush green trees. The mountains come out of no where and boast such incredible beauty.

We snorkeled, and hiked and saw all the place had to offer, then did it again the next day. When the snorkel felt more like a tease than anything else, I ponied up the funds and went diving. Apparently the region was a favorite of Jaques Cousteau- and with good reason- I witnessed a massive tropical aquarium  only 12 meters below surface. Fish of every color, turtles, octopi, rays, all swimming about in a symphony. It was just devastatingly beautiful. 

S and I managed to eat fresh fish for both lunch and dinner daily, we also managed to find a bar that had a two-for-one happy hour from 4-6. The Philippine version of a caipirinha was our drink of choice, and our routine of boating, bar, shower, dinner was just perfect. Ironically enough, despite all that distance and my long travels, I managed to encounter more Israelis in El Nido than any other tourist. How do you like that? 

The Perfect Adieu

I could not ask for a better last day in Tel Aviv. I woke up, packed my bags, and met friends for brunch who greeted me with a bottle of wine. Basta is a restaurant located in the Carmel market area of tel aviv. It's known for its unusual twist on Israeli cuisine using locally sourced ingredients. So after stuffing our faces with small salads and crab bourekas, the owner (a friend of a friend) offered us two rounds of shots, which we less than reluctantly agreed to. Then we were off to the beach. The water was warm, waves nonexistent, and I happily floated until 6pm when I was time to go back. I showered and headed to the airport, thus ending what could easily be called a perfect tel aviv Saturday. Tel Aviv has my heart...what can I say?

High Holidays in Haifa

Ah the holidays.

Last week, I experienced my first Yom Kippur in Israel. In other words, for the first time in my 34 years I witnessed utter quietude in an otherwise bustling city. Yom Kippur, the day of atonement, for my gentile readers, is a day of fasting and reflection for the religious, and a day off from work and school for the secular. Kids on bikes rule the city. And for 24 hours no one is on the roads, everyone is with family, and the city is so quiet, you can hear traffic signals switch from red to green.

My family falls into the secular category. I decided to visit my aunt and uncle in Haifa. For me, Haifa is synonymous with family time. As a child, I spent summer after summer playing with cousins while staying at my grandparents apartment. We gorged on grandmas cooking after going to the beach, and as I got older, to pubs and clubs in Haifa. But since my grandparents passed away, the city has lost its draw and there's an empty sadness I feel when I'm there. How fitting for atoning.

After I arrived from a day spent outside Jerusalem, I quickly threw on a skirt, and spent one hour at an uninspired service. We came home, ate dinner, and then the fasting began. I mostly slept. This year, no great hunger-induced revelation occurred. I did however, witness Haifa devoid of noise, which was pretty amazing. 22 hours later, my aunt insisted I eat something small. I always feel a sense of failure aquiessing so close to the end. But avocado toast never tasted so good. I threw my skirt back on and we heard the shofar blow, which was a pretty triumphant way to announce the end of looking back, and the start of looking forward. With that, I grabbed the first bus back to Tel Aviv.

Crayfish, Aquavit, Helan går

In September, what's not to love about Sweden? It's friendly, the weather is perfect and the country is manicured, and probably years ahead of its time. Oh and the people are very helpful...but I will get to that later.

As you may recall, I was invited here by folks I met whilst surfing in Portugal. Though a crayfish/end of summer party was the official reason, it was just an excuse to come to a place I've always wanted to visit and to see people I'd had so much fun with. So on Wednesday, I met two surf friends in the central station and off went went to Alvik- an area on the outskirts of town. After a dinner of Swedish meatballs with lingonberries (oh yes I did) and herring and other perfectly delicious fishy things, we called it a night. The next morning began with a visit to the Vasa museum. The Vasa is a 17th century warship (the Black Pearl from the Pirates of the Caribbean is modeled after it). The Vasa was to be the pride of king Gustavs fleet- it had everything one would expect from a top of the line warship...except apparently the ability to sail. The ship went down twenty minutes into its maiden voyage. And this is what kills me about the Swedes-this should be a source of embarrassment, and maybe it was-300 years ago, but when they raised the ship in the 60s and created a museum around it, people said- aren't we lucky we get to experience something so ancient and beautiful up close?

With no plan after the Vasa, my partner in crime, a Portuguese guy who decided his Viking name would be Knut, and I decided to wander the island we were on- I decided my Viking name was Freyja (goddess of love and war).

Oh, this would be a good time to mention the fact that Stockholm is made up of tons of islands. On a 30 minute walk you can literally cross four bridges. So if you see something in the distance, there's no way to know what island it's on.

Anyway, in the distance we saw something that looked like a roller coaster- Gröna Lund is a theme part right in the middle of town and was just the thing to do on a sunny Thursday afternoon. So like two small children we shrieked with glee and every twist, turn, and drop of the 7-plus roller coasters and other rides the park had to offer. And since it was mid week in September there were few kids in sight, within 1.5 hours we had ridden every ride in sight. Drinks and dinner followed, making our first full day in Stockholm totally random, and ridiculously fun.

Here's a view of the amusement park.

The next days were filled with sight seeing and laughs. We managed to see a bunch of tourist attractions, but on our own, very relaxed terms- we probably learned more about the town than most locals.

Finally on Saturday we made our Crayfish 

Party happen. Ironically there were only three swedes in attendance. The rest of the group was made up of two French folks, a German, two Americans, a Brit, a Ugandan, and 5 or so Portugese folks. But we did it right- we sang songs about frogs and drinking the whole shot (Helan går is the song) and ate our faces off. Here's a before and after:

After eating and drinking too much, we decided to rest up a while in Alvik- which meant that we just sat around indoors drinking instead of in the park. I was exhausted, so naturally one of the Swedish guys decided that I had to wake up...by doing acroyoga.

Yeah. In a sleepy haze I did acroyoga, which basically consists of two people doing weird acrobatics:

So after being twisted and turned in multiple directions, I must admit, I wasn't sleepy anymore. Off we went to a series of bars.

The next day, we decided to take a boat and go to the archipelago-which should have been pretty and  uneventful... however in a moment of ill conceived timing and poor communication, I went to the bathroom while the rest of my group exited our boat. They only realized I wasn't there after the boat had left the dock. In the meantime, I wasn't worried, as I thought my friends had pulled a prank...until I got an apology text. So I went up to the front of the boat and spoke with one of its employees- he radioed in what had happened, dropped me off on a random island, where another boat picked me up. I waited less than one minute on shore. While entering the new boat, I asked if they were heading to Vaxholm- the island I was supposed to go to- they said yes and that they had come just for me. Embarrassed laughs went all around and I was finally dropped ashore at Vaxholm- I was met with giggles and a slightly embarrassed group. We wandered around then headed back. We said goodbye to most of the group and headed off. I spent the last two days sight seeing on my own and since I'm a bad Jew and it is Rosh Hashana, I even went to to Stockholm synagogue  for services- all I did was send an email, they sent tickets. For the shortest service I've ever attended, I had do to the usual airport style security- passport check, basic questions about Judaism, etc. I was told by my Swedish friend that nothing bad had ever happened, but the fact that guards with guns are necessary still didn't put me at ease. But I'm glad I experienced Jewish prayers in Swedish- it's lovely and utterly weird.

Here are a few things I've learned:

1. There's a song for every occasion...and also Aquavit

2. Everyone speaks English. Everyone. I'm even having breakfast in a place where every employee is Australian and no one is attempting to speak Swedish 

3. If you read words aloud, Swedish is kind of easy to understand

4. There is no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing- or so the saying goes- though I have yet to meet anyone who is looking forward to winter

5. All goods and services are taxed 25% so everyone can have a living wage- so a pizza might cost $20, but you get paid to go to college...so there's that

6. The Swedes hate the Danes...but not really

7. The term going berserk comes from a Viking word- and it basically meant getting drunk, eating shrooms and going ape shit on your enemies

8. There are 10 million fewer people in Sweden than in New York State (9.6 million)- but there's always an IKEA near you and you're probably using spotify- that's serious influence 

9. You cannot buy refrigerated beer anywhere

10. Need a vaccine? There's a clinic for that. I went and now I'm ready for my next trip...