Where did we get Bed Bugs?
This is a difficult question, simply because bed bug bites are similar, atleast in size, to mosquito bites. What distinguishes them is their frequency, as we learned today. It is 4:30 PM on my first lazy Saturday of November. I've passed my time boiling our clothes and freezing the rest of our meager belongings in the fridge. (How many of you have frozen a Quran before?)
Intermittently, I've been practicing my arabic verb combinations with Ahmed, the animated Sultan Hostal Manager. Ahmed is a skinny turkish man who spends most of the day reprimending me while teaching me arabic, how to cook, and how to be a "woman." He has many odd jobs from owning a band, being a party-planner, to being a screen writer/actor. He spent a good hour today spraying the room we lived in with turpentine-y solution out of a spray bottle. When going to my new bed-bug "free" room(A night or two should tell us if we really are rid of the beasts), it's hard not to peek into the room of the long term (8 years) guest next to us; sprawling electrical cords, underware, accompained by the Asian-I've-been-here-too-long smell greet us at the door. The hotel is remarkably priced, 3$/night, which encourages people to stay for many months, as a sort of gateway apartment to Cairo. It is filled with Koreans and Japanese, which makes me think Lonely Planet Asia Edition recommended the Sultan at some point 5 years ago, because all the reading material and signs in the bathroom around here is in Japanese.
The water I washed my clothes in came up an opague murky gray, indicating the 3 weeks I spent prior to this traveling around Masr (Egypt). Jess, Joe and I flew at an unsustainable pace... To be continued...
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Kilometers to go.. before we sleep.
Bawk!
I just figured out after 20 minutes on this computer how to change the keyboard from Arabic to English…
If that is any indication, the fact of the matter is Joe and I are NOT in Greece. We are in Egypt and have sadly not been as vigilant in updating our blog. Logistics and adventure-seeking has taken over our life, leaving little time to write.
Last I left off with a jaunt through Greece with my parents. Soon after that, Joe and I flew into a rainy Barcelona where we realized our hard-earned money was going to burn quickly, in spite of the increasingly favorable euro to dollar exchange rate. Given this and a chance encounter with a man named Dost, or friend in Hindi, Joe and I set off on a less than whirlwind, but more than exciting trip around Spain.
Our first couple of nights in Barcelona, we spent time with Dost, a German man who was riding by bike from Turkey to Morocco. The trip sounded ridiculously masochistic, but the more time we spent with him, the more the trip sounded like medicine to our adventure-seeking souls. Especially given the fact I was hobbling around the cobbled streets of Barcelona due to some freak knee injury. (It doesn’t really make sense that riding a bike would fix your knees but it worked!) Within 24 hours of meeting dost, we found ourselves in the Decathalon sporting goods store purchasing 2 bikes, 2 sets of road tires, 2 helmets, 2 sleeping bags, 2 carryalls, and a glorified parasol, we called a “tent.” We left the famous Gaudi La Familia Sangrada cathedral un-seen in our dust as we began making our way down the coast of Spain towards Valencia.
Dost was in love with India. His hair dreaded, mystical tattoos, and a case of strict vegetarian-ism, might cause one to write him off quickly. After talking to him for more than 2 minutes, you’d find out that he didn’t give a shit if you didn’t like him. He was a clean “hippee:” he brushed his teeth for 5 minutes at a time, bought nice pieces of equipment, and kept them for a lifetime. He rode on “Ganesh”, an old but sturdy steel road bike with “Ohms” and feathers placed accordingly for good luck. He convinced us in his genevan german accent that, “You don’t need much,” an adage we repeat to each other as we look hungrily on a piece of kitschy merchandise we could buy. We spent one night on a cliff above the sea with him in our tent overlooking a harbor, while trains rumbled below us every 5 hours. We found a make-shift home in our state of homeless-ness.
We lost Dost after one day. In the hubris of our new metallic wings, we sprinted ahead on his command due to technical issues. Within 20 minutes we lost the way the three of us agreed to take, and found ourselves on an interstate. We were soon escorted off by the Spanish police. Losing Dost wasn’t a major disaster, because he truly had a purpose on the road, and Joe and I still had to find ours. Convoluting his trip with our n00b status wasn’t beneficial to anyone. We held the memory of Dost and his minimalist philosophy as we rode to the nearest gas station, purchased a map, and continued around Spain for the next two weeks. Whizzing by orange groves in Valencia, and sleeping in olive forests around Cordoba, we really SAW Spain. We know the name of ever little costal town from Barcelona to Valenica, and then Granada through Cordoba to Sevilla. The kilometers didn’t matter. Nor did the fact we subsisted on baguettes, chocolate, and GIANT BEANS, for two weeks. Meeting dost has cemented my belief in following the signs the universe sends you.
I loved the natural flow that riding my bike ( I named her “Lady”) had to offer. Reminiscent of yoga and meditation at 20 km/hr, biking healed my knee, and brought the semiblance of peace to my spirit as we rode for about 6-7 hours a day. Dodging camiones (semi trucks) on the narrow shoulders of the N-232 still left half my brain to ponder things outside of the 6 feet that set me apart from imminent death. One day we rode almost 130 km from Granada to Cordoba. It was a personal physical triumph! We saw everything from road side prostitutes giving us blank smiles, to orange farmers inviting us to his house for coffee. We weren’t responsible to anyone but ourselves. The only requirement we had was to find the perfect place to setup a tent by sundown. (After sleeping awkwardly on a hill, and then on a cold concrete slab, we are more than professionals at finding the perfect sleeping place).
As we encountered few people on the road as we rode, Joe and I further cemented our traveling relationship with each other. Our most common phrase to other people was, “Donde esta el supermercado?” The dynamic between two people riding together translates significantly off the bike. We emotionally and physically powered through injury, exhaustion, and hunger, leaving us with great moments under the stars, sweaty in our sleeping bags. Showers became the currency of happiness as we went many days without them on the road. The same goes for cooked and spiced (not spicy, just taste-ful) food.
The more we travel, even in the deserts of Africa, we meet other bikers doing their own trips around the world. I thoroughly recommend this mode of travel to anyone with a down payment of 200 euros and the time to travel by bike for a couple weeks. I am sure we will do this again. Especially when we run out of money, probably in India ;)
That’s all folks!
Namita
I just figured out after 20 minutes on this computer how to change the keyboard from Arabic to English…
If that is any indication, the fact of the matter is Joe and I are NOT in Greece. We are in Egypt and have sadly not been as vigilant in updating our blog. Logistics and adventure-seeking has taken over our life, leaving little time to write.
Last I left off with a jaunt through Greece with my parents. Soon after that, Joe and I flew into a rainy Barcelona where we realized our hard-earned money was going to burn quickly, in spite of the increasingly favorable euro to dollar exchange rate. Given this and a chance encounter with a man named Dost, or friend in Hindi, Joe and I set off on a less than whirlwind, but more than exciting trip around Spain.
Our first couple of nights in Barcelona, we spent time with Dost, a German man who was riding by bike from Turkey to Morocco. The trip sounded ridiculously masochistic, but the more time we spent with him, the more the trip sounded like medicine to our adventure-seeking souls. Especially given the fact I was hobbling around the cobbled streets of Barcelona due to some freak knee injury. (It doesn’t really make sense that riding a bike would fix your knees but it worked!) Within 24 hours of meeting dost, we found ourselves in the Decathalon sporting goods store purchasing 2 bikes, 2 sets of road tires, 2 helmets, 2 sleeping bags, 2 carryalls, and a glorified parasol, we called a “tent.” We left the famous Gaudi La Familia Sangrada cathedral un-seen in our dust as we began making our way down the coast of Spain towards Valencia.
Dost was in love with India. His hair dreaded, mystical tattoos, and a case of strict vegetarian-ism, might cause one to write him off quickly. After talking to him for more than 2 minutes, you’d find out that he didn’t give a shit if you didn’t like him. He was a clean “hippee:” he brushed his teeth for 5 minutes at a time, bought nice pieces of equipment, and kept them for a lifetime. He rode on “Ganesh”, an old but sturdy steel road bike with “Ohms” and feathers placed accordingly for good luck. He convinced us in his genevan german accent that, “You don’t need much,” an adage we repeat to each other as we look hungrily on a piece of kitschy merchandise we could buy. We spent one night on a cliff above the sea with him in our tent overlooking a harbor, while trains rumbled below us every 5 hours. We found a make-shift home in our state of homeless-ness.
We lost Dost after one day. In the hubris of our new metallic wings, we sprinted ahead on his command due to technical issues. Within 20 minutes we lost the way the three of us agreed to take, and found ourselves on an interstate. We were soon escorted off by the Spanish police. Losing Dost wasn’t a major disaster, because he truly had a purpose on the road, and Joe and I still had to find ours. Convoluting his trip with our n00b status wasn’t beneficial to anyone. We held the memory of Dost and his minimalist philosophy as we rode to the nearest gas station, purchased a map, and continued around Spain for the next two weeks. Whizzing by orange groves in Valencia, and sleeping in olive forests around Cordoba, we really SAW Spain. We know the name of ever little costal town from Barcelona to Valenica, and then Granada through Cordoba to Sevilla. The kilometers didn’t matter. Nor did the fact we subsisted on baguettes, chocolate, and GIANT BEANS, for two weeks. Meeting dost has cemented my belief in following the signs the universe sends you.
I loved the natural flow that riding my bike ( I named her “Lady”) had to offer. Reminiscent of yoga and meditation at 20 km/hr, biking healed my knee, and brought the semiblance of peace to my spirit as we rode for about 6-7 hours a day. Dodging camiones (semi trucks) on the narrow shoulders of the N-232 still left half my brain to ponder things outside of the 6 feet that set me apart from imminent death. One day we rode almost 130 km from Granada to Cordoba. It was a personal physical triumph! We saw everything from road side prostitutes giving us blank smiles, to orange farmers inviting us to his house for coffee. We weren’t responsible to anyone but ourselves. The only requirement we had was to find the perfect place to setup a tent by sundown. (After sleeping awkwardly on a hill, and then on a cold concrete slab, we are more than professionals at finding the perfect sleeping place).
As we encountered few people on the road as we rode, Joe and I further cemented our traveling relationship with each other. Our most common phrase to other people was, “Donde esta el supermercado?” The dynamic between two people riding together translates significantly off the bike. We emotionally and physically powered through injury, exhaustion, and hunger, leaving us with great moments under the stars, sweaty in our sleeping bags. Showers became the currency of happiness as we went many days without them on the road. The same goes for cooked and spiced (not spicy, just taste-ful) food.
The more we travel, even in the deserts of Africa, we meet other bikers doing their own trips around the world. I thoroughly recommend this mode of travel to anyone with a down payment of 200 euros and the time to travel by bike for a couple weeks. I am sure we will do this again. Especially when we run out of money, probably in India ;)
That’s all folks!
Namita
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Greece
I am writing this post from the safety and comfort of Ryan Corces apartment in Madrid, Spain. It has been a harrowing and beautiful three weeks and I would like to take a minute to TRY to relate the craziness of our lives…
Greece:
From around the 12th of October to the 18th, Joe and I took a hiatus from our pastoral lives to visit my family in Greece. After a couple whirlwind nights in my truly favorite city so far on the trip, Naples, we made our way to Bari, Italy where we took a ferry to Corfu, Greece. Easy right? I said a well-earned goodbye to Italy from ontop of the dark deck of the ferry as we slid down the Eastern coast of Italy towards the bluer waters of the Ionian Sea. We awoke to garbled message over the intercom and a peach sunrise of Corfu. We saw trucks exiting the belly of the ferry and slowly began the process of collecting our meager belongings and getting off the ferry. I was particularly excited because I knew that there was a large chance, despite my inability to create a clear line of communication without a cell phone or internet, that my parents were waiting for me on the other side of this 9 hour ferry. I calmly asked one of the crew members if this was truly Corfu and if we could exit the ship…in response I received some hand-waving and the incomprehensible but clearly enunciated fact that we were on our way to Igonemitsu. Surely enough, looking out the window, we saw the same scene of Corfu town sliding by, in the other direction as we left the port, with us still on the ship!
My waterworks started and the officer even tried calling the engine room to see if it was possible to turn the ship around. Sadly no, and we were on our way to Igonemitsu. In my mind I thought this was another 9 hour ferry, and the comfort of my parents after a long month in Italy just at my fingertips made me very sad. However, it was really only a 1 hour ferry, and we would be back in Corfu just 4 hours later with the mountain of finding my parents on this GORGEOUS greek island left. Joe was a trooper and carried my bag half the time we meandered our way to Corfu town in search of an internet café. (My knee at this point in time of the trip was all messed up and hurt to walk). We eventually found them on the other side of Corfu at Glyfada beach. After some showering and feeding we were back to normal after the harrowing 24 hours. We even were given our OWN hotel room with our OWN bathroom. The next week we spent riding around Greece in a car, looking at seriously old structures and sites. Like 2000 years before Christ old.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Greece:
From around the 12th of October to the 18th, Joe and I took a hiatus from our pastoral lives to visit my family in Greece. After a couple whirlwind nights in my truly favorite city so far on the trip, Naples, we made our way to Bari, Italy where we took a ferry to Corfu, Greece. Easy right? I said a well-earned goodbye to Italy from ontop of the dark deck of the ferry as we slid down the Eastern coast of Italy towards the bluer waters of the Ionian Sea. We awoke to garbled message over the intercom and a peach sunrise of Corfu. We saw trucks exiting the belly of the ferry and slowly began the process of collecting our meager belongings and getting off the ferry. I was particularly excited because I knew that there was a large chance, despite my inability to create a clear line of communication without a cell phone or internet, that my parents were waiting for me on the other side of this 9 hour ferry. I calmly asked one of the crew members if this was truly Corfu and if we could exit the ship…in response I received some hand-waving and the incomprehensible but clearly enunciated fact that we were on our way to Igonemitsu. Surely enough, looking out the window, we saw the same scene of Corfu town sliding by, in the other direction as we left the port, with us still on the ship!
My waterworks started and the officer even tried calling the engine room to see if it was possible to turn the ship around. Sadly no, and we were on our way to Igonemitsu. In my mind I thought this was another 9 hour ferry, and the comfort of my parents after a long month in Italy just at my fingertips made me very sad. However, it was really only a 1 hour ferry, and we would be back in Corfu just 4 hours later with the mountain of finding my parents on this GORGEOUS greek island left. Joe was a trooper and carried my bag half the time we meandered our way to Corfu town in search of an internet café. (My knee at this point in time of the trip was all messed up and hurt to walk). We eventually found them on the other side of Corfu at Glyfada beach. After some showering and feeding we were back to normal after the harrowing 24 hours. We even were given our OWN hotel room with our OWN bathroom. The next week we spent riding around Greece in a car, looking at seriously old structures and sites. Like 2000 years before Christ old.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)