I hate this.

I’ve applied to maybe 7 or 8 jobs so far. I’ve freaked out early and maybe applied for one of those shitty backpacker “events promotion” things, too.

Other options:

• Milkman
• Crossing Guard

I didn’t know that Melbourne was actually a Richard Scarry picturebook.

I wish I had bought more anti-anxiety meds.

Upside: St. Kilda is still fantastic.

Thank you Xanax. I spent 6.5 of my 7.5 hour overnight flight from Kuala Lumpur to Melbourne asleep. Which made it a little strange to wake up and suddenly be in the summer, in upside-down land (where hamburgers eat people), big and clean and modern and full of whities who are there legally.

I’ve been here four hours and here are a few observations:

• Forget China’s one-child policy. Australians are constitutionally obligated to keep 75% of their 22-35 y.o. male population hot as fuck. I’m not exaggerating. I have seen more good-looking locals in four hours than I see in a typical year in Boston. It’s absurd. I feel like I’m being punked. Some of them have even met my eyes as I walk by and creep on them (I must invest in sunglasses). It has to be a joke.
• I had a great plan to stop drinking beer here after I changed my body composition in Thailand from 70/30 water/solids to 30/30/40 water/beer/solids (read: fats). Then I went into a store on the corner of Ackland here in St. Kilda that claimed 600+ types of beer. They had Schlenkerla. They had Racer 5. They had Sam Adams and I presume that they will have Sam Summer Ale when it is in season (i.e. winter). I thanked the stockist for filling my wank bank with alcohol porn and left empty-handed.
• Then I went down to Woolworth’s, one of my favorite grocery stores ever, where I ogled the cheese section. I bought a half-pound of almonds which only cost $2.50. I wept a little.
• I went to the attached liquor store and bought a beer. Oops.
• In between not buying beer and buying beer, I went to a falafel store, where for *only* $10 I constructed my own delicious falafel pita. It was gluttonous.
• Now I’m back at the hostel and I remember now why I stayed in Thailand for so long avoiding drunk Americans at hostels. Where am I, Prague?

I don’t have much else to say, so now I’m going to continue browsing job postings online and hoping not to end up in a call centre or bothering people on the sidewalks. And ignoring this group at the table next to me.

As for the 5 month gap in writing that I spent in Thailand, I’m keeping all that to myself.

I know that it’s been a month and a half and I’ve been to the Gobi and through China and lingered in South Korea since I last wrote, but you’ll have to excuse me because right now I want to talk about Vietnamese food. When I arrived in Hanoi last Saturday I was a sick girl. I had a fever, my body ached, and there was something living in my gut that wanted all the space to itself. I spent the first two days here lying around the hostel, moaning and torturing myself by reading about Vietnamese food online (mostly on this blog). As I improved I warmed my system up with pho and Vietnamese iced coffees, and then I went on a two-day trip to Halong Bay where there was much fish.
But what I really longed for was bun cha.
Bun cha, as I read, is only served at lunchtime in hundreds of street stalls and holes-in-the-wall across the city. The grills fire up around 10:15, and by 2:00 it’s gone, and everyone is somewhere napping it off. Today, powered by sweetened condensed rocket fuel, I went off on a mission. As usual, this took me an hour by foot in search of the “perfect” place without any idea of what it would look like. I call it “march of the gut”. It worked.
This is bun cha: seasoned pork belly strips grilled on the sidewalk. You can see the plumes of smoke and know you’re nearing awesomeville. The pork is served in a bowl of the usual broth/sauce: water, sugar, rice vinegar, fish sauce. This one was sweet in a subtle way that made me think at first that the slices of potato floating in it might be apple. Along with the meat comes a plate of vermicelli and one of assorted greens, lettuce and mint and other cruciferous things that don’t come in pre-washed packages in the US. If you hunt out bun cha nem ran, you also get two fried spring rolls. Throw some mint and some noodles in the bowl, mix, eat, voilà. It sounds too easy, right? It’s god damn delicious. Maybe it was the anticipation, or the walk, or the fact that instead of eating it at a tiny table on the sidewalk I had to go upstairs to the second floor of the building and eat on a tiny table in a room with a few chirpy birdcages hanging nearby. I couldn’t even take a picture, partly because I didn’t want to be that girl and partly because I didn’t want to stop eating. Oh my god.
Oh, and it cost 30,000 dong, $1.50.
Then I had more iced coffee.
I think I love Hanoi, btw. I’m serious.

I am newly returned from my venture into the vast expanse of the Mongolian countryside.
Ok, so pretty much all of Mongolia outside of the capital is the countryside. Even the provincial capital of Tsetserleg, where we spent two nights, was a few streets of shops, a heavy sprinkle of outlying homes and gers, and then nothingness.
Anyhow, I went to the country, and it was good. Mongolia is BIG and to go anywhere takes just short of forever. My six day trip consisted of two 8.5 hour bus rides to/from Tsetserleg and two 6.5 hour minibus rides from Tsetserleg to the White Lake region. So basically, if you’re thinking of going to Mongolia and doing a trip or tour outside of the city, make sure to pick one long enough to justify the travel time. Not that I didn’t have a great time – I did. Just sayin’, s’all.
In the summer Mongolians eat a LOT of dairy. We were given meals by nomad families in both places we camped (one in a tourist ger camp, and one next to a random family), and they were very milk-heavy. One just kept giving us hot milk to drink. It wasn’t awful, and I didn’t get sick, but boy do I wish I could get my hands on a cold glass of Lactaid. I also saw one sheep and one yak get skinned and gutted. However, winter is generally the time when the diet becomes meat-heavy. I also tried the legendary airag, or fermented milk. This was from cow’s milk, not the mare’s milk that’s often mentioned. I was suprised to see that it’s clear, not white, and not overly powerful nor milky-tasting. Still probably not what you’d wanna mix with your tonic or cranberry juice. We did some camping, some climbing to the tops of extinct volcanoes (the area was littered with igneous rock, which I thought was pretty neat), and some horseback riding. Which for me is a medium-big-deal because I don’t like horses at all, and don’t generally get near them. But I gave it a shot, and my ass was super sore, but I didn’t get thrown off or anything like that. So it was good. Don’t know that I’ll be doing it again anytime soon, though.
Side note: I was talking with a guy I met in Moscow about scuba diving, and how I’m afraid of the bends. And he talked me through his whole diving certification experience in Thailand. And though his story involved near-medical incidents, now I sort of want to try it. Bends, get bent? So maybe I’m just gonna go up against the few fears/apprehensions I hold? Okie dokie.
I’m back in Ulaan-Baatar but trying to get out tomorrow. Ideally I’d have left today, but the two tours forming that I found leave tomorrow. They’re both scheduled to get back on the 30th, which is when I leave for Beijing, so they’ll have to detour a bit to one of the provincial capitals so I can catch a bus back on the 29th. Here’s to hoping it all works and I can ride a camel up a sand dune! I’m a simple girl, with simple needs. Bonus if afterwards I get to eat camel (not necessarily the same one).

As evidence of my refusal to carry an ethos by which to travel (which is itself, I suppose, an ethos), I’d like to share that I just finished that Talmud of chick-reads, Eat, Pray, Love. And I’m about to crack open series read du jour, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I’m in Mongolia, the book exchange isn’t full of German titles for once, and I’ll do what I want. Then I’m gonna read Kinky Freidman and think about Austin. Yes.
I’m in Ulaan-Baatar for 9 days, which is frankly too long, but at least I don’t feel pressured to go out and see everything (whatever that is…). Yesterday I attended the opening ceremony of Naadam. It was HILARIOUS. There was mayhem both inside and outside of the stadium. Lots of horse riding, archery while on horseback, army men performing a sort of Mongolian capoeira, horseback acrobatics, Mongolian 80′s-style metal about Chinggis Khan (p.s. It’s not Genghis), parachuters, children doing traditional dance, parachuters landing on children doing traditional dance, and a parade of sponsors that was comprised of the 2/5 of Ulaan-Baator who weren’t sitting in the stands. There was also a stampede in my section and I was repeatedly poked with an umbrella. I loved it. Photos forthcoming.
Later that day my hostel organized a tour outside the city to see the horse racing. That was less fun, because we were crushed onto bleachers with no personal space (nonexistant in Asia) and it began to thunder and rain and after an hour we finally got to see 7-year-olds run by on horsies. So painful, mostly. Scenic though. Hilly.
Today I meant to go back to the stadium to watch some wrestling and archery, but after hearing multiple stories about other travelers getting cornered and pickpocketed on the busy bridge to the stadium it sort of lost its appeal. Instead I went with my Italian friends from the train to the main monastery in the city. It was quite beautiful – the first Buddhist monastery I’ve ever visited, I think. It won’t soon be the last on this trip, that’s for sure. I was going to go with them to the natural history museum, but I was feeling a bit of ennui and came back. I’m restless and it’s time to get out of the city. On Thursday I’ll be leaving on trip #1, and when I return on the 20th I’ll try to quickly find another one, maybe down to the desert, though that involves quite a lot of driving.
The plan then is to train it to China; however, first they have to let me in. I STILL don’t have my visa because on my second trip to the embassy another “requirement” materialized that I didn’t have. I could have got a single entry visa, but that would mean paying another $140 when I get to Korea to get back into China. No thanks. They already charge Americans over 4x more for a visa than other nationalities. So hope for me that I get what I need on Wednesday so I can go on another tour without having to keep fighting the Chinese, and so the train and plane tickets I’ve purchased don’t go to waste.
Speaking of China, when I came back today I was restless about all this uncertainty about my remaining time here, so I decided to settle my nerves with tactical logistics regarding my (thoretical) trip to China. In case you’re curious, after 4 days in Beijing and my week visit to my friends Shannon and Jamie in Seoul (where my requirements are bulgogi and karaeoke), I’ll be going to Xi’an, Chengdu, Kunming (to get my Vietnam visa), Lijiang/Tiger Leaping Gorge, Guilin and the surrounding area, and then on to Vietnam. Not planning anything yet for Vietnam because I don’t know when I’ll get there, though I hope to at least take a night or two in Ha Long Bay, and see (aka eat) Hanoi and Saigon, before meeting Kristen in Thailand. WHICH I CANNOT WAIT FOR! Any tips on this leg of my journey are thoroughly appreciated!

Hi friends.
So the epic train ride is over! I had my fears that I would be in a cabin with three sweaty, loud, drunk Russian men. This was not the case! Here is what transpired. First, in typical fashion I completely misread the metro directions and went to the wrong stop, found myself at the wrong train station, panicked, couldn’t get any help from the workers, then finally gave up and took a (overpriced) taxi. So I barely had any roubles, but I didn’t miss my train!
When we first took off the cabin was full. Two Russian women on the top bunks, myself and a Mongolian girl, Nomina, who studies in Moscow and speaks very good English, on the bottom. She was heading home to UB for the summer. The Russian women got off the next morning. Which was good because these are not the biggest of cabins. With a few exceptions, most of whom disembarked along the way, we were a car of foreigners: three drunk Swedish men who got off somewhere in Siberia; Anne, from England via California; Michel, an Austrian who works in urban development here; a Finnish couple later joined by their Dutch friends; and three Italian guys, students in Bologna! We all ended up having a fantastic time. Lots of card playing, chatting, watching the scenery go by. We stopped about 2 or 3 times a day, 15-30 minutes each. Some of the platforms were crowded with babushki and other locals selling both homemade foods (dumplings, potatoes, pickles), beer, juices, and the dehydrated meals that we grew to loathe. I had armed myself with soups, cups of pasta, oatmeal, tea, hot chocolate, and trail mix. There was a restaurant car waaaaaay at the other end of the train (we were in the first car), but I had no money and thus no use for it. I did find 65 roubles in my pockets, so on the 4th of July I bought myself a big beer at a stop somewhere in Siberia and pretended I was home celebrating with y’all. At one point a gaggle of young Mongolian tennis players got on and two girls joined our cabin, but they moved the next morning. The border crossing on the 5th took the better part of the afternoon and evening, but went swimmingly. No hassles even though I didn’t register myself in either city and filled out the customs sheet all wrong. They barely checked the cabins. I got to see a cow graze on the lawn of the station and get chased away by a babushka. The Mongolian side was nearly as long, but as we pulled in their soldiers were saluting us, and it was about the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. All in all, it was a great time. Really! I did a lot of reading.
So now I’m here at my guesthouse in Ulaan-Baatar. Anne is at the same place so we’ve been wandering about together, though she leaves on a trip tomorrow morning. Yesterday we got lost twice, first trying to find her tour company and then trying to find the place to pick up her train ticket. At one point we heard the beating of native drums and walked over to Suukbaatar Square in front of the Parliament building where there were soldiers and a great to-do about foreign dignitaries arriving. The first was a Finn, the second was unclear because we didn’t recognize the flag, and the third was from Guinea. RANDOM! I guess they’re here for the Naadam festival which begins the 11th. P.S., that’s why I’m here. It’s the biggest party of the year! When they get back from their little trek I’m meeting with the Italians at the hostel I’m moving to, and together we’ll attend this great celebration of “the manly sports” – wrestling, horse racing, and archery! Everyone who’s spoken to me at all about this trip knows how excited I’ve been for this.
This morning I was up bright and early and down to the Chinese Embassy to apply for a visa. Well, long story short that didn’t happen. I bought myself a cheap $44 ticket from Haiku to Singapore to have proof of exit, since I plan to take a train out and can’t book those this far in advance. But apparently I needed a ticket in as well. Don’t you suppose my applying for the visa proves my intent to enter? Anyhow, that was annoying but didn’t take up more than an hour, plus I got the guy to admit that the list of requirements posted right in front of his face was wrong.
So after that, I went to Anne’s tour company and booked myself on a tour leaving the 15th to “White Lake” west of here. It’s a combo trekking/horseback riding/jeep tour around this lake and staying in Gers aka YURTS along the way. (If you’re curious go to Ger to Ger’s website and look at the White Lake tour, or read about the company). Anyhow, so there’s 5 people already on this trip which is good because what really gets you on costs is the price of hiring a jeep and driver, so the more the merrier. Hopefully we’ll get along. I’m also hoping to take another trip into the Gobi desert after I get back from the first one, so I went over to another guesthouse nearby and checked one of their itineraries and left a message there soliciting travel partners to leave the 21st or 22nd for an 8 day tour. Also have been in contact with a guy I met in St. Petersburg who’s coming into town soon and then off to Beijing too, so hopefully he’ll want to join and I’ll have at least 2! Aiming for 6.
ANYWAYS, then I came back and sat for a bit and thought about tickets and decided to walk down to the train station and see if I couldn’t just buy a ticket to Beijing myself instead of going through the agency I’ve been using, who have been great, but naturally they add a big service fee. And lo and behold, instead of paying $215 for a ticket on the 29th, which I thought would be cutting it close if I get that tour together, I paid $95 for one on the 30th that the agency didn’t even have available. BOO-YA!
When I returned from that incredible journey I went with Anne and another Ann to the Black Market, which is where everyone does their shopping that they can’t get at STATE DEPARTMENT STORE. So the black market was just an enormous collection of outdoor vendors. We were in search of Mongolian riding boots, which were in the boot district along with probably 100,000 other pairs of shoes (no exaggeration). They were actually really cool, and if I had room to lug em I’d have gotten some too… only $30! I got into the super cheapness and bought a hat (I hate hats but should have one if I’ll be outdoors), a bandana and 5 little storybooks to give to the kids living in the gers. Those plus the taxi ride was maybe like $9. Everyone said to watch our backs there, and it was huge and crowded and chaotic but it was fine. You could get everything!! Need a new bra? How about a sofa? A few yards of fabric to make whatever those Mongolian robes are called? Perhaps on your way out you should pick up a kitten. It was pretty awesome. After we exited our taxi a bum accosted me for my empty water bottle and then touched my ass. Sadly it wasn’t for another hour or so that I learned the Mongolian equivalent of giving the finger.
Had some fantastic vegetarian food for dinner (not everthing is meat and dairy, though I did see a few horse dishes on the menu at lunch yesterday), and now I’m fixin to go to bed. Have to pack up and move hostels tomorrow, then deal with China again Friday and hopefully then keep myself entertained til Naadam!
Hoping to get photos up soon, stay tuned!

Here are the facts.
Russia is not at all terrible. I might even go so far as to say I like it? St. Petersburg and Moscow are two big-ass cities. St. P has some beautiful buildings, nice canals, P the G did a bang-up job. The first two days I swung it alone, saw some churches (including the Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood – amazing outside and in), went out with some folks from the hostel for a few drinks. On Monday Jeremy and Rachel, siblings I met in Riga, got into town. I did some more wandering during the day, seeing the Museum of the Seige of Leningrad and St. Isaac’s Cathedral (disappointing inside, awesome view from the collonade).
That evening we met up for a midnight boat ride! I thought the white night was awesome in Riga, but further north in St. Petersburg it’s even more extreme. I’m talking wearing sunglasses at 10:30 pm, the northen sky is still baby blue on the horizon at 2 am. Anyhow, our boat tour was an entertaining confluence of sparring tourists, racing boats, and champagne (not too dry, you know how those Russkis are). The views were incredible along the Neva river. I guess the big draw is when the bridges are raised for the big boats to pass after 1:30 am. Next time you’re passing through the neighborhood, I reccomend it.
My last day was mostly spent at/in the Hermitage, which is one big ass museum. If I were more of an art nerd I could have spent another day here, but as it was I blew through the antiquities floor because I’ve had quite enough mummies and Greek statues for one trip, thanks. There was a Picasso exhibit that I really enjoyed, along with the Asian art floor and the preserved palace interiors. Bummer though, the big staircase that is kind of emblematic of the Hermitage, and also of the extravagance of the Russian nobility in general, was all covered up for renovation. I also did not find the big room of Fabrege eggs, but that room likely only existed in my imagination, so no harm really.
I also purchased my first real souvenir of the trip: a sweet watch. I got it at a stand in a little souvenir market run by my friend George the Georgian. First I checked em out and slept on it. Then I came back and bought the white face with a hammer and sickle as hands. I was so happy! Until I didn’t know what time it was because the bugger stopped and started whenever it pleased. So after the Hermitage I returned and George kindly let me choose a different one. This one’s a nice collection of Soviet symbology. And the red band has a little picture of the first Soviet cosmonaut on it. You know, what’s-his-facesky. Still tickin!
On Tuesday night I had my trial-run overnight train trip to Moscow. It was kinda baby steps there because I reserved a single-sex car so I was guarenteed no creepy Russian dudes. The trip went well but oh boy, those cabins could stand to be just a wee bit bigger. I was on the top bunk, which has its pros and cons. The bottom bunks are obviously more comfortable to access, but your bedtime is also at the mercy of others who want it folded down into seats. But you get storage space under the bed for your stuff. So we’ll see what I end up with this time.
Moscow is apparently the biggest city in Europe. I believe it, it’s a damn metropolis. I spent my first day exploring the Red Square and the Kremlin with another traveler at the hostel, who gave me a good history breifing and also some stories and tips about traveling in Asia. Then I ventured forth to pick up my tickets, getting lost once only because I was busy following the woman in front of me carrying a Trader Joe’s reusable bag. After a shower and a nap, I went to the grocery store for train provisions! First I was distracted AGAIN because I saw someone carrying a bag from DUNKIN DONUTS and walked allllll the way down this pedestrian avenue trying to find the source (no success damnit). Anyways, then I went and bought apples and tea and soup packets and a bunch of dried fruit. Lord willin’, it’ll get me by for four days. Then last night I wandered the city with two other hostellers, we bought beer at the world’s most ornate grocery store that in a past life was someone’s ballroom or something of the like (ps everything seems to stay open 24hrs). This place sells OSTRICH EGGS! They cross-merched them very well next to the quail eggs. Don’t worry, photo to come.
Today I tussled with my stuff til I got it all in its right place, though I’m sure I’ll have to dig through my big bag for something sooner than later. Then I went and bought some books, in case my portable charger doesn’t work and I can’t read the 4 or 5 I downloaded. Then I had a photo shoot with line 5 (the ring line) of the Metro. Moscow’s metro is awesome! I can’t wait to share the sweet Stalin mosaics and images of good patriotic Soviets working the fields and excelling in arts and sport. Then I met a very nice young Russian man named Ivan who showed me a few things around the neighborhood while proclaiming his love for the USA. Refreshing!
A note on Russians: they aren’t that bad. I don’t get hassled on the street because I’ve perfected my don’t mess with me face in public, but occasionally I’ve been asked things in Russian which I’ll take as a sign that I’m blending in. For the most part, everyone I’ve spoken with (in English, that is) has been incredibly helpful and friendly. I have even gotten a few smiles from ticket venders and such! I’m incredibly proud, actually. Heed the old advice: learn the important phrases when you go somewhere like this which isn’t exactly bending over backwards for tourism. Hello, please, thank you, excuse me, one two three, good afternoon, goodbye. That’s all you need really. I sort of want to learn more. I bet I’d be a good spy… FOR THE USA I MEAN. Also: learning the Cyrillic alphabet helps big time.
So, with that, I come to the end of the European part of my adventure and pretty much the midpoint of my travels. I’ll do some more reflecting over the next 100 hours of transit and get back to you in any major insights. One thing’s for sure: I’m not living a bad life. Thanks y’all for listening.
Next stop: Ulaan-Baator.
CLARK OUT!

Hawaiian shirts.
See-thru clothes.
Roller blades.
High heels.
Mullets.
Public intoxication.
These are the things that Russians like.

Dear my friends. Time has passed, yes? I’m sorry. Here is an overview of where I’ve been, who I’ve seen and what I’ve eaten this past few weeks. Let’s call it A Tale of 7 Cities.
Florence: I’m glad I came back here after my initial rainy gray experience. The weather was nice, and the city was teeming with tourists. TEEMING! After playing local in Bologna for four weeks it was nice to get back on the move. I checked into a hostel that was the size, layout and capacity of a medium college dormitory. Boy was that overwhelming. It had a good location and facilities, but still… Took a drink up on the rooftop bar and got to watch a British soccer team (by their physique I’d say intermural) in matching t-shirts drink, hit on 19-year-olds and expose their (also matching) banana hammocks way too many times. Fortunately this provided some common ground by which to befriend a trio of cute cute young Aussies. We met another soccer team when we were ushered downstairs to the basement bar/disco. This one had great dance moves and topped out at 13 years old. Also in the hostel was a church group, possibly choral, nicely dressed. Super weird. On Sunday I overate at the gelato festival and also had a delicious Tuscan steak with a girl who I met in class in Bologna. Then on Monday I went on a wine tour, which actually was more of a party-bus-to-Chianti full of co-eds. I probably should have seen that coming. I sat in front of the the most (and only?) obnoxious Canadian girls on earth. Perhaps they grew up near the border. It wasn’t all bad – I went the world’s most delightful charcuterie and bought a variety of cured meats, and later the Canadians were drunk enough to fall asleep the entire ride home. Great success. My maybe-I’m-too-old-for-this panic came to a head that evening when I was convinced to attend a toga party (yes) in the basement/disco of the hostel. I did end up having a good time, aided by beer and a resolve to pass the twilight of my youth with vim and vigor. With a heavy heart and light wallet, I said goodbye to Italy the next morning. That country rules.
Berlin: Philip and I rendezvous’d at 19:00 hours at the Munich airport. We boarded an efficient and comfortable Lufthansa flight to Berlin. The details of our trip are inconsequential. We saw many strange things and people and discussed current affairs at length. All you need to know will be revealed in due time.
Prague: I met my dear brother on a Saturday afternoon in Prague. This marked my exit from the floundering Euro-zone and into a region whose currency value is entirely its own responsibility/fault. Prague is a beautiful city, but it’s too much of a Disney. No grit and far too many people. Our hostel was in a decent neighborhood, but again I felt old, and on the first night there were adult noises coming from the next room and I was thoroughly embarassed. Would I have to explain these sounds to my brother??!!?? Awkward. We did a lot of walkin’ and lookin’ and goin’ to a communist museum. I had a fantastic bagel sandwich with bacon egg and cheese. In fact, I should mention that this particular week was peppered with melancholy, which I self-medicated with sushi, Ben and Jerry’s, Dunkin’ Donuts, and a strict regimen of falafel. I’ve recovered, thanks. Anyhow, Prague was where I think we both realized that antisocialism may be heriditary. And with the help of Amanda Comer I’m learning to accept this.
Budapest: It got really hot really quickly and Jamie no like. Budapest is a pretty cool city. It’s not super-old and doesn’t have a lot of old buildings, but then it’s not museum-like and actually feels like a city where people live. We stayed at a very small hostel and lucked out to meet a cool group of people (Americans, good Canadians, Brits). Went out to one of the main squares where young… Budapestians? Anyhow, where people just hang out, there’s a club type thing actually beneath the park and musicians both outside and in. Also went to a very cool bar called Simplah. You know, just in case you ever go to Budapest (as you should). I spent one afternoon at a big bath/pool/sauna in the big park. Soaked in the sulfur pool, could not handle the sauna, and then watched the season finale of Glee on my iPod by the pool. This sparked an appreciation of how bizzaro my life is. The heat sort of killed my motivation to do much else, but with good company at the hostel we both enjoyed Budapest.
Krakow: The bus ride in the afternoon went north through Slovakia and the High Tatras mountains. It was incredibly beautiful. I want to go to there. Next trip. The mix of atmosphere, history, architecture and entertainment in Krakow was probably my favorite of this part of the trip. It’s quite busy (it’s “the next Prague”, so I hear) with lots of bars and people handing out flyers for bullshit, but the main square is enormous and bustling, with a beautiful church and a trumpeter on the hour. The old Jewish quarter, Kazimierz, had lots of small shops and restaurants, including yummy yummy peorogis, and one day we even stumbled upon a Polish food festival and I ate keilbasa. It was just a nice town to wander around. After our third Nazi/Commie/General WWII museum plus a lively visit to Auschwitz, we got our fill of Eastern Block depression. But not our fill of peirogos. Such a thing does not exist. We were unable to identify any of our distant relatives. I suppose they’re all dead and such. It was in Krakow where we began our World Cup overdose.
Vilnius: Vilnius (Lithuania) is a nice little city. It too has a well-preserved Old Town. And across the river is a neighborhood called Uzipis that declared itself an independant republic with a cheeky little constitution. There is a statue of Frank Zappa which is actually just his head on a pillar so he looks like a spoil of war. So Vilnius is a little weird and I liked it. Their national dish is essentially a peeled and boiled potato with meat or cheese or butter in it and a sauce on top. It’s called a Zeppelin. What oddballs. We ate at what was essentially TGILithuania’s, all dark wood and themed out. I had a “potato pizza” which was just a round pan of shredded potatoes with cheese and other toppings baked on top. Lithuanias? They love potatoes.
I’d like to take a moment to tell you that I’m writing this on a bus to Riga with a tv showing music videos. Some of the gems include The Final Countdown by Europe, Opposites Attract by Paula Abdul, and Shoop by SnP. It’s like they knew I’d be on this bus.
Tallinn: So after a quick 1.5 days in Vilnius we headed to Tallinn, Estonia. My brother and I have held an odd fascination with this country for a time now. Did you know that Tallinn is one of the most wired cities in the world? This was a help to us at 7am when I unsuccessfully called the hostel we had reserved that never answered the door or phone, and then used the webs to find us another one. The place we ended up was fantastic, it was barely two weeks old and still in transition but everyone working there (and these lines were blurred) were really friendly. It was right in the old town, which again is a well-preserved, medieval collection of old buildings and churches on uneven, cobblestoned streets. Very pretty, even though there were far more waitstaff in “traditional” garb than I’ve seen anywhere yet. Bonus points: the Estonian flag has very lovely colors. It’s important. Bro and I had a final hurrah with an evening out with the hostel staff (no organized, pre-paid “pub crawl”, thank god). On Saturday me and my hangover escorted him to the port, where he boarded a ferry to Helsinki, no doubt loaded with grumpy heavy-metal fans. I stayed behind in Tallinn for two more days and discovered some awesome things. Like an antique mall selling Soviet artifacts. And hiking shoes on sale for under $60. And a baked potato chain that sells a potato with a scoop of whatever (for me, chicken and mushrooms) for like $2.69. And delicious fish and chips. And the psychologically calming effect of being in a northern, cold, seaside city, like home. Ya so basically I liked Estonia and was sad to go and hopefully will return.
So. Now I’m in Riga, Latvia. It’s raining, boo. Tomorrow I’m meeting many strangers 45km south of the city to celebrate Midsummer, the longest day of the year. Hippy fest, yay! And then… To Russia, With Love! I’ll update if the Stalinists allow me…

I’m writing this as a sit in a trattoria in Rome, eating my bruscetta misto (mixed – looks like white beans, olives, and pomodoro are my choices). Today I want to talk about something that is often on my mind, and I suspect on those who share my particular blend of gluttony and pride. I speak of eating (alone) in a restaurant in a foreign country.
I will narrate for you the series of mental crises that I am experiencing right now.
So, I find the place fine. The guy working at the hotel recommended it to me, saving me the trouble of wandering aimlessly, which I appreciate. If this were daytime, and especially if I were looking for something specific (see: Ferrera and the tortelloni di zucca), I could spend upwards of thirty minutes wandering around and looking at menus and never pulling the trigger until I’m ravagingly hungry (and, in said case, the tortelloni is done for the day). I enter. It’s busy and vibrant and obviously full of mostly locals and thus awesome. But ROADBLOCK! There’s a covered seating area to the right, busy but with empty tables, and the actual building to the left which offers things like waitstsff and a general sense of organization. I go left. Chaos. No tables. Fake to the right! I find myself a seat because I’ve at least learned that about Italy so far. I should reitorate that this place is hopping. Before I can worry too much that maybe I’m not supposed to seat myself, a waiter drops off two menus. For once in my life, choosing what to eat is not my biggest problem. I decide and close my menu. The waiter swoops by and says something to me, I nod, he gives the second menu on my table to the folks who just sat down next to me. And I wait. He comes and takes their drink order. And I wait. And I think, did he maybe ask me if I’m waiting for someone? I know how to say “I’m alone” in Italian, but I don’t know the proper inroad. Shit. A few more minutes pass with noteable lack of attention from the waiter. An eye-catch transpires that, judging from it’s inability to produce anything, may have been wholly misinterpreted.
Finally all seem to agree it’s time for the forlorn girl to eat. I order a plate of fetuccine with shellfish (I’m told this place is great with seafood), the mixed bruscetta, and a half-litre of house white. I’d order just a glass but I have no idea how and it’s not on the menu. I hope I don’t look like a lush by not ordering water but come on, I’m not made of money and I have priorities. Plus, I don’t have the time to worry about that. I’ve taken note of something very curious. After the people around me order, hell maybe even before, they disappear into the restaurant proper and return with plates of antipasti, seafood and veggies and fried things and big plates of bread. I think about asking the people next to me about it but that might open up a world of trouble. So with a hope and a dream that it’s included in the price, I check it out. Just as I suspected. Seafood. Fried stuff. I take a modest plate but can’t find the bread. No time now! Back to the table, which now has my wine and a plate of crispy breadstuffs (two bread plates, wouldn’t THAT have been awkward, PHEW). I try not to be bothered that the little cured sausages I’ve taken are completely impenetrable by fork or knife, and barely by my teeth, and I go to town on ‘em with all the grace I can muster.
Something I noticed in my cooking class is that napkins dont always live in laps. Mine is already there and, self-consciously, I put it back on the table. Moments later I bite into a stuffed pepperocini and the filling drops onto my crotch. Ok, the napkin stays. I’m too messy for a world without napkins. Have you ever heard the story of me eatig ice cream when I was little? Ask my dad sometime. I think it’s his favorite story ever.
The bruscetta is awesome, but I encounter the same problem I had last week in Florence. I’m supposed to eat it with my hands, right? But it gets soggy real fast. Can I eat it with a fork then? Should I have been doing that the whole time? Is anyone laughing at me yet?
All this time I’ve been typing away at my iPod and, to be honest, I’m not too worried about that. I mean, what else am I going to do? Read? I did that in Tuscany and I may have looked too dorky for my own good. At least with my iPod I can pretend to be doing Very. Important. Things. Right? However I do draw a line. When my fettucine arrives I take one sly and humble photo and then put the camera away. I’ve been food pron-weary since I was on Corfu and a girl in my hostel took photos of a store-bought, plated gyro we were served for dinner and looked totally ridiculous.
I’ll be honest. The fettucine wasn’t anything to write home about (irony?). I had one in Crete that I was hesitant to order because I figured it’d be better in Italy. Glad I ignored that little voice, the Cretan one was amazing and this one was ehhh. Is it kosher to go back to the appetizer bar? Fuck it.
I want you to understand that things are going smoother at this point only because I am by now about 400ml deep into my wine. As I linger over the last 100, I reflect on two things. The first is my check. I’ve been watching the peole around me like a hawk, and I think they get it from the waiter, and then I think they pay in the other part of the restaurant. I don’t want to think about what’ll be on mine. What’s eaten is eaten in that department.
The second is my special mission. When my friend at the hotel sent me off he gave me 5 euro and asked me to bring back a bottle of the house red. Thank god I asked him how to say take-away, but it remains to be seen if this will be a smooth transaction. Mostly because I can’t remember the name of the guy at the hotel, and maybe they only do this for him?
It turns out just fine. Curiously, my Italian is fantastic after wine. I grab the wine and the check, pay, and bust a move outta there.
And so it goes.
A disclaimer: all of this craziness naturally only exists in my head. The Italians are really very nice people and none so far have done anything to make me feel foolish. Just me!
And now, Rome and il Papa await…