Better late than...

I know, i know. It's been a while. I left London December 1 after a truly lovely and memorable thanksgiving amongst Americans, Swedes, Germans, Brits, Austrians, Danes and a Nigerian. I'm so glad i decided to make the trip back.

I'm also glad i came bak to Tel Aviv, well Jaffa to be specific. The last time I was in town, I fell in love with Jaffa. There was something so magical about being in a part of Tel Aviv that felt seemingly untouched by time...probably because every building there is at least 200 years old and nothing is allowed to be destroyed only renovated. it's like Jerusalem, without all the religious fervor...and also chucks of the old part of town is owned by the Greek Orthodox Church...which is crazy...anyway.

A talked to a friend, and he managed to find me an apartment in Jaffa. So after landing, I took the train into central Tel Aviv, with the intention of simply taking a taxi to my new apartment- a feat that proved itself to be less than simple. So there I was suitcase in hand, asking a cab diver to take me to where I needed to go. He told me to wait a minute while he grabbed more passengers and he would "negotiate a good price for me." All this was said in Hebrew, and the driver walked away as another driver asked me where i wanted to go. The suddenly the first driver asked the second why he was talking to me. and an all out brawl ensued. Two grown men were literally fighting over who would take me. I quickly jumped into another taxi, told him where i wanted to go, and i demanded that he run the meter. In a heavy American accent he told me "ein beiaya" (no problem).

So off we went to my new home for the month. My new roommate greeted me and immediately asked if i wanted to go out as her friend was throwing a party. I instantly new we'd get along. I told her I did, but sadly I couldn't since a friend of mine was waiting for me a bar. So i dropped off my bags, took a shower and headed out. Did I mention I love this city?

My friend greeted me with wine and an invitation to go on an adventure with him and some friends the following day. And really this is why I haven't written. My adventures here have been so ridiculous I haven't had the time or perspective to write about them. Our adventure on the subsequent day- a helicopter ride to Chateau Golan, a vineyard in the Golan Heights, was nothing short of spectacular. and i have the pictures to prove it.

Proof:

Yeah you read that right, I took a helicopter over half of the country to sip on some wine while being given a private tour of what many consider to be the best vineyard in the region. 

Whaaaaaat!?!? how the hell do you top that? It was nothing short of epic. Really, I've had had so much fun here. I've met new people, enjoyed the company of old friends and family. And isn't that what it's all about?

What I've loved about Jaffa are the little things- the local cafes where all the dogs know all the waiters. How the architecture hasn't changed in hundreds of years, so every building must constantly maintain an old world that fights the glass boxes of nearby Tel Aviv. There's an actual feeling of community: One where restaurant owners sit with their customers, and everyone knows everyone. Within a few weeks, I was even part of the club, meeting and chatting with locals over americanos in beautiful outdoor cafes. I love the fish shops where gruff old men scale fish next to their sons and grandsons. Where people argue passionately over who makes the best hummus. i love how the evening Muslim call to prayer echoes like dueling playlists from minaret to minaret. 

I bike by the beach as often as I can, and i still cannot get over the sunsets over the Mediterranean.

My mom said I sound like a fancy lady on a pension. Coffee shops in the morning. Lunching with friends during the day, and parties at night. 

But how long can that last?

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.