This is the second time I’ve been to Paris and I’m happy I returned.The first time I was able to do all of the touristy stuff like Euro Disney, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame and the Louvre. This time, however, I was able to just wake up and walk! You really can see the city with new eyes when you have no agenda and you can simply go wherever captures your eye. Sometimes I woke up and wandered along the banks of the Seine. Sometimes I woke up and purposely got lost on the train, getting off wherever it took me. And sometimes I woke up and sat on a park bench and people watched for hours while eating French pastries and sipping chai.
It sounds cliché, but watching regular people do regular things amongst a backdrop so saturated in beauty is surreal. At times I wanted to stop the lady playing catch with her dog and say, “Do you realize that you’re playing in front of the Eiffel Tower?” Or tap the man screaming at his children and say, “Hey, you’re in the Louvre!” The reality of the situation is that many of us can get so caught up in everyday life that we don’t get the opportunity to simply wake up and be. Wake up and appreciate.
I have no story to tell of Parisian wonders or traveling mishaps, but it’s Christmas Eve and I wanted to first say Happy Holidays to all those who read this mess of a blog. I have three countries left and my trip is winding down, so I may be feeling sentimental. Nevertheless, while you’re rushing around the house cleaning, cooking, and opening presents, I wanted to encourage you to take a moment, breathe, and enjoy.
They say that the people you surround yourself with are in many ways a reflection of you. I can only hope that that is true.
Grafitti painted on the wall in Old Town
My friends back home in New York are God fearing, highly educated, and equally intelligent women who are quick to laugh and even quicker to handle their business. They hold themselves to a high standard, yet it’s not so high that they can’t recall from whence they came. Their eyes still twitch and they still feel this pull to spit a blade at the first person that threatens their family and friends. These people are fierce…
My friends back home in Colorado are deep. Deep like they’ve been there through all my crap, yet still manage to plant roots. They keep me grounded by calling me on my bad behavior, my out of character actions, and my straight tom foolery.You’re acting crazy and I don’t like it. Pull it together. We don’t roll like that!” These people are solid…
My friends back home in California are family. They are going to claim me come hell or high water. They are a strong, highly prayerful, tight knit group of people and if I fall, their loving arms will always be the last barrier I fall through before I reach the hands of God. They are me and I am them. These people are not to be played with…
Friendships like these take years to develop. Yet, sometimes you are fortunate enough to know from the onset of meeting someone that you will gladly put in the time required.
While in Germany I met up with Christian and Richard from my Indonesian leg of the trip. I had already fallen in love with both of them after leaving Indonesia and knew that once I reached Germany I would make it a point to spend the majority of my time with them. So I rushed through Berlin attempting to see what I could during my one night there and boarded the train the next day. Richard and Christian opened their homes, dragged me around their city, introduced me to family and friends, and made sure that I felt at home. I would do no less for them, so I was thoroughly pleased by their display of friendship.
Christmas Markets in Cologne
Fortunately, we were also joined by Dalia, Yusur, and Dalia’s sister Rasha. We met Dalia and Yusur in Indonesia; they were two parts of group of friends traveling around Bali. When the bus company over booked the bus ride into Denpasar and they were asked to sit on milk crates in the aisle, they threw a fit. I vividly recall Dalia arguing with the bus driver and Richard leaning over and whispering, “I like her. She’s pretty.” I responded, “I like her! She’s got balls.” To which Richard, in confusion, scrunched up his face and said, “Testiculos?! Did you mean to say this?” Side Note: We laugh about this now, but I swear I spend a lot of time trying to explain American colloquialisms and slang to these guys; including Christian’s roommate who asked me what a “baller” was. Learning from each other is the best part of our relationship. We literally only spent maybe seven hours with these girls on a bus from Mt. Bromo to Bali, but during those hours no one slept. It was one of those moments when you knew you were making good friends.
While in Cologne our little crew went to some of the most magical Christmas markets where we drank Glühwein. Glühwein is a traditional German drink made from mulled/warm wine. It packs a punch and Christmas markets in Germany are equally amazing. We also went dancing all night. Literally… all night. Salsa dancing is Richard’s choice and hip hop is Christian’s, so we clubbed hopped and were able to see all the diversity available in Cologne. The highlight of the night was watching the faces of the people in the club when Dalia, in her hijab, jumped up to guy dancing and started battling him. OMG… Talk about shattering stereotypes.
Cologne is a city with a small town feel and overall I really enjoyed it. The Cologne Cathedral near the main train station cannot be missed. It is extremely impressive and it is the largest Gothic styled church in Northern Europe, not to mention the tallest Roman Catholic cathedral in the world. The stained glass windows in the church are also unique in that they include a lot of black people in them. The visit there was lovely; my only wish is that I were taller so that I could get better pictures.
In Cologne I also enjoyed simply walking around the city as well. There are random surprises everywhere you look. For example, there are gold bricks inlaind in the pavement in front of various buildings. It's called the Stolpersteine, "the stumbling blocks, and the project was created by artist, Gunter Demnig, as a means of memorializing the jews who lived in those buildings and died as a result of Nazi actions. Quite humbing, yet beautiful. Walking around the city, you may also come across the love locks on the Hohenzollern Bridge as well. I've written about these locks before, in other cities, but Cologne wins the prize for their massive display of locks. Most cities remove them after a while so they don't become a hazzard, in Cologne they've become a tourist attraction!
Aside from Cologne, we also spent the day in Düsseldorf walking along the Media Harbour and admiring the Rhine Tower, the markets in Old Town, and the architecture along the Rhine.Dusseldorf is worth going to just to see the architecture in the Media Harbour area. Internationally acclaimed architect, Frank O. Gehry, has helped revive this area by creating some of the most astounding buildings. I’m not a knowledgeable architecture fan, but I like what I like and I’ve noticed a lot of Gehry buildings throughout my travels. The IAC Building and the Eight Spruce Street tower in NY , the Dancing House in Prague (which I didn’t write about… sorry), the Guggenheim in Bilbao and the Olympic Fish in Barcelona (both of which I will be seeing shortly when I arrive to Spain) are a few of my favorites. I’m floored each time I see his buildings and Dusseldorf’s Media Harbour area is basically his playground. After spending an inordinate amount of time chit chatting and admiring the area, we ended our time with the girls by having proper tea at Pebble's Champagne Lounge, an uber modern, pebble shaped building overlooking the River and completely constructed of mirrors.
While in Germany, I was also able to experience a really unique event. One evening, Richard invited me to an “open house.” When he first brought up the idea I immediately thought real estate, but he explained that once a year his friends, this cute, young, German couple, open up their home for 72 hours and invite friends and family to use it as their own. For three days, people can come into their home and cook, clean, do laundry, sleep, take a bath or whatever else they’d like to do. Mi casa es su casa, FOR REAL! This sounds really strange, so of course I agree to go and off we went with his cute, little, cousin Rodrigo.
While there the two men baked a cake and since I’m not much of a cook, I became the impromptu deejay for the evening. Eventually others joined in the kitchen and dinner was whipped up. Singing along to Richard’s guitar, drinking wine and eating entirely too much was how the night progressed. We literally had to leave before we passed out on the couch; just like home.
Reflecting back, I realize how fantastic is was to hear all of the languages being spoken throughout the house that evening: Italian, English, Spanish, German, and I think French as well. The entire evening was borderline hippie, but it reminded of my time in Italy picking olives; a lot of diversity, yet camaraderie amongst strangers. This is hilarious to me because at no time during my stay in Cologne had it escaped me that I was spending time with people from South America, Europe, the Middle East, and Africa and not only were we spending time, but we were really digging deep and we only met four months ago. Our associations are so lose, yet I know without a shadow of a doubt that someday I will meet their children. Someday they will crash on my couch, will dine with my family, and occupy my space. Sometimes the only danger when befriending strangers is that you'll make great friends.
If the people you surround yourself with are truly a reflection of you, then I have been blessed to have met some amazing people throughout my journey. Even better, now I can say:
My friends back home in Germany and a number of other countries are new. They have taught me the true meaning of an open home, an open heart, and an open mind. These people are all strangers who have become family…
I had just dragged myself away from Budapest, where I was tempted to stay for at least another week, and now I was in Austria with an attitude.I literally checked into the hostel with my iPod headphones in my ears and my money and documents ready in hand; clearly throwing out a “don’t talk to me” vibe...
Christmas Market in Vienna
I used to be really good at this gypsy type of life; moving from place to place, friend to friend, job to job, but lately I’ve noticed a trend. I’ll meet really interesting people in one country, dig into their lives forming a bond and when it's time to move to the next country, I get a little depressed because I have to leave them and there's a possibility that I may never see them again. When I arrive in the new country, I won’t try to meet new people because I don’t want to put my heart out there just to get it broken again. So, I isolate myself and become the lone tourist. I’ll isolate myself so much that by the time I move to the next country, I’m starved for contact and meaningful conversation. It’s a roller coaster of emotions and I have to literally shake myself out of it in order to enjoy my time during the low periods. Why am I telling you this? I’m sharing this tidbit about my travel persona so that you will have some context on my views of Vienna and understand that I probably didn't give the city a fair chance...
My assessment of Vienna: Vienna is likely the most boring, pretentious, plain vanilla on a wafer cone with no toppings city I’ve been to on my journey. Again, this may not be a fair appraisal. Friends of mine love, love, love Vienna and have commented on how much fun it is, how clean it is, and how pretty the city is. I, however, couldn't wait to leave.
Austrian Parliament
Now, I will say that Vienna is pretty and I really felt like I should be interested in all they had to offer.For example, the Vienna State Opera is world renowned and employs some of the world's best talent. I should be interested in seeing La Boheme; again. It’s important they tell me.There was also the Museums Quartier, which is home to a number of really large museums that house some of the world's greatest works. I should be interested in seeing the world's largest private art collections of Baroque art or masterpieces of the Viennese Secessionist movement. It’s important they tell me. Don’t forget their excellent classical music programs, which highlight the works of Mozart, Beethoven and Strauss I and II. Also, there's always the option of learning the Viennese Waltz, in order to attend a ball, or taking traditional riding lessons at the Spanish Riding school for Lipizzan horses! These are all must do, highly cultured, tourist activities in Vienna and they are all important they tell me.
If you are interested in packing each day with this type of fun, then Vienna would be an orgy of entertainment and a cacophony of pleasures for your refined palate. Unfortunately, I can only handle the opera about once a year and although I like music, classical does nothing for me. And another fine art museum... umm... about ten countries ago, I gave up feigning interest in things I really couldn't give a crap about. I know... I think I'm a hillbilly at heart. Whatever the case, I walked around Vienna with my tourist map, visiting key sights, taking note of the silence and at times being really impressed by the architectural features of the buildings, including; the Natural History Museum, Austrian Parliament and Hofburg Palace. Nevertheless, I left Vienna understanding why the Austrians were prominently at the center of both World Wars; boredom.
On to Slovakia, where I was now in the mood for companionship…
Bratislava is only 1 ½ hours away from Vienna, but the change in energy from one city to the next would make you think that they are worlds apart. It’s possible that they are so different because the history of Slovakia is so intertwined with the Hungarians that many of the cultural and architectural features of the city are similar to Budapest. So I immediately recognized and fell in love with the small village feeling of the city; narrow, cobbled stone walkways leading you along Gothic style buildings and opening up unto medieval squares with massive fountains, cozy boutiques, and people everywhere! People milling along the streets and talking arm in arm; people sitting in coffee shops or eating pizza outdoors; and people wondering in and out of the many Cuban, Jazz, or Blues music venues throughout the city.
The Slovakians, surprisingly, are super serious about their jazz music. If I had been there the week prior or had plans on staying a week later, I would have been there for one of their many jazz festivals. Instead, I opted for staying at a hostel called the Blues Hostel. This place has a stage in the bar area for guests to jam together and it has large pictures of blues and jazz musicians featured throughout the hostel. I couldn’t name most of the musicians pictured, but it’s a kick to see these old, black and white photos of Billie Holliday, Duke Ellington, Fats Waller, and Louie Armstrong; it reminded me of being in my dad’s music room.
Taking advantage of the free walking tour, I had the opportunity to explore Bratislava at length. We visited Hlavne namestie (main square) and Hviezdoslav square, named after a famous Slovak poet. We also perused a number of places including: St. Martin's Cathedral, Church of St. Elisabeth (nicknamed The Blue Church), Slovak National Theatre, and Michael's Gate. We also watched the changing of the guard at the President's office and the tour guide showed us the four most photographed statues in Bratislava. Quirky... The tour was nice, but most of the time, the people you meet while traveling will make or break your trip.
Since it was Thanksgiving and I was alone, I was tremendously grateful to have met a really lively group of people during a Slovakian cooking lesson. I was the only American in the group and when I mentioned that it was Thanksgiving, everyone became really excited. We prepared our meal, chatting happily, singing, and joking and all that was missing was a family fight and it would have been a perfect Thanksgiving.
Funny enough, once we sat down to eat, everyone around the table started holding hands. Unfortunately, holding hands before eating the Thanksgiving meal is all they really knew about American Thanksgiving traditions. So after sitting there for a minute, someone finally said, “ok. What are we supposed to do now?” I answered that traditionally we either pray or everyone says what they are thankful for. However, considering I was having Thanksgiving dinner with Australians, Brazilians, French men, Brits and Slovenians, a proverbial rainbow coalition of people, I was okay with starting new traditions.That's when the worm began. Suddenly we were pop locking around the table with our hands locked together like a breakdancing crew - A new tradition! Yes... definitely a hillbilly at heart. This ended in a fit of laughter and I proposed a toast, so we could finally eat. Raising my glass I said, “I’m thankful for meeting new friends in new places and starting new traditions."
Here’s to the worm! Cheers!
Micheal's Gate - It's bad luck to talk while walking through, so it's VERY quiet.
The Blue Church - The interior is blue as well!!
The cannon to the left of the window is courtesy of Napolean.
Meet Bogáti Bogáta… HELLO! I met her while olive picking in Italy and after hearing about my trip she said, “If you are coming to Budapest, then you can stay at my house.” Eager to save a little cash, I answered quickly, “Okay! Send me your information.” Sometimes these types of arrangements don’t work out and you spend most of your time trying to get away from your host. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case here. She’s quirky, easy to talk to, and quick to smile or crack a joke; my type of person! We had a great time hanging out and she showed me modern day Budapest her way.
Bogáta has two little girls, Katerina and Agata… HELLO! They are precocious and sweet.Agata, the eldest, wants to travel like me someday, so she begs her mom to hurry and teach her English; apparently Italian, Hungarian and German aren’t quite enough for her. The youngest, Katerina, is an absolute clown and loves to get dressed up and star in her sister’s plays. I adore these kids and we spend our time surfing YouTube, going through my coin collection and trying our best to understand one another; I speak in broken Spanish and they try to understand what it means in Italian.
While in Budapest, Bogáta introduces me to her friend, Erika Sólyom… HELLO! Erika is an author and director of The American Corners (AC) program at the Pest Side Campus of Corvinus University. There are American Corners all over the world; nevertheless, AC is an U.S. State Department program that makes correct information about American culture, history, current events, and government readily available in foreign countries. “I am being interviewed by a few exchange students about Hungary and the history of Communism. You should come and sit in on the interview. You will learn quite a bit of information,” she offered after we had coffee one afternoon. Eager to learn, I agreed quickly. While listening to Erika’s interview, I learned about life behind the “iron curtain.” She talked about standing in line for food, about being a “little drummer” and later “a pioneer”. She also discussed the 1956 Hungarian Uprising and how life changed after communism fell.
The next day, I was able to take the Free Budapest Walking tour and connect many of Erika’s stories with actual places. There are two different walking tours in Budapest; one that focuses on faith, terror and communism and anotherthat focuses on Pest and the basics of Buda; I took the latter, but I wish I hadn’t taken the first. The tours cover the Inner City, Saint Stephen Basilica, the Parliament, sites of the Communist dictatorship and the 1956 revolution, the Danube bank, Chain Bridge, and the Buda Castle with Matthias Church. I’m amazed at how much history is in Budapest. I’m also amazed by the horror that exists in their past.
Before communism and the Soviets had their way in Hungary, the Nazis were there. The cruelty that the Hungarian people suffered during both occupations is presented with great detail at the House of Terror museum, which I also visited. This museum is heavy. Walking around actual cells where prisoners were interrogated and beaten and listening to the firsthand accounts of people who were held there is pretty heady stuff. I couldn't help but cry at a few stations and at the end I left that museum gunning it for the nearest “fluff” I could find to balance my emotions; Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 1. Please don’t judge me…
While in Budapest, Bogáta wants me to join her for a new class she is really excited about. She is a fan of Afro Beat music and there’s a new African Dance class she wants to go to. African Dance in Hungary? Umm… “Yes, Budapest is a multicultural city. It will be fun. Let’s go!” We go and while there she introduces me to Cheikh Ibrahima Fall… HELLO! Cheikh is the master; the dance and music teacher with many, many, older musicians under his tutelage and he’s only 26 years old. Since this dance class is relatively new and hasn’t been advertised yet, we are the only “dancers” there. As such, the other musician packs up and head home and Cheikh decides to bless us with a personal concert of sorts. Picking up nearly every type of instrument in the room, he proceeds to play song after song and I’m floored by his talent. “Come to the concert tomorrow night,” he says in French. Eager to hear good music, we quickly agree.
The following evening we head to the concert and the place is packed full of people. The musicians (Abdul Azis, Saïd Tichiti, and Cheikh Ibrahima Fall) are on fire and I’m enjoying myself immensely. I don’t recall ever having been to an Afro Beat concert and I’m excited to be experiencing it in Budapest.
Mid-way through the set, the musicians call up Jalalu-Kalvert Nelson (J.K Nelson) to join them on stage. Jalalu is a New Yorker, now living in Switzerland, and he has flown in for the concert. The fact that he’s a New Yorker piques my interest, so after the concert I approach him and say … HELLO! We begin talking and suddenly he stops and says, “Wait. You live in New York now?!”
“Yes,” I answer and he fires back, “So what are you doing in Budapest?”
Taking a deep breath, I go into my spiel – 33 years old, 33 countries, yada yada yada. His eyes light up immediately.
“So how do you know Cheikh,” he continues.
“Well, I met him through my friend, Bogáta. She is Hungarian and she lives here.”
“And where did you meet her,” he asks incredulously.
“Well, I met her while olive picking in Italy,” I simply answer.
Boisterously laughing, nodding his head with approval and slapping me on the back he says, “This is what travel does… It opens you up. You are becoming too big to fit into little boxes now.” Running to his gear, he pulls out a cd with his information on it and handing it to me he says, “Everywhere you go, I want you to take a piece of me with you! I want to hear about all your new experiences.” Taking a deep breath, smiling, and looking me in the eye, he says, “Wow, child, look how many people you’ve met all over the world. See... sometimes all it takes is ‘Hello’.”
As I travel, I see more and more families with young children, backpacking together and learning about history, art, language and working with people from all walks of life by exploring countries foreign to their own. Of course, they are typically non-American and typically Caucasian; regardless, I find myself both envious and hopeful that one day when I have children of my own, I will have the wherewithal to expose them to other cultures through travel.
St. Alexander Nevsky Cathedral - Bulgaria
When my mother was traveling with me, I asked her why she and my dad never thought to take me and my brother to countries outside of North America and her answer was that they simply didn’t know that these things were possible. The thought of packing up your family and going someplace like Vietnam was so foreign that it wasn’t even a thought. It occured to me that at times, parents can only teach their children the extent of what they know. However, good parents, like my own, will always try to make sure that their children grow to know, see and experience more than they did.
Statue of Skanderbeg - Albania
I can recall getting signed up for everything under the sun, when I was a kid. I went to pottery classes, clarinet and piano lessons, taekwondo classes, the Math Olympics, 4-H, and Girl Scouts. When you’re a kid, you don’t appreciate these things. I just wanted to watch Thunder Cats, collect Garbage Pail Kids cards, and play with my brother’s Castle Grey Skull and that’s it! Now that I’m older, I recognize that my mother understood that you have to enlist the help of good neighbors, knowledgeable friends and family, and more importantly effective teachers in order to erect a solid base for your children to stand on. Without knowing the word for it or having studied the concept, my parents were practicing synergy. Synergy is the idea that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts; it’s teamwork.
So, when people learn about my trip and say, “Wow, who told you that you could do this?” or “Who gave you the idea to travel like this?” I can’t say, “Oh, I grew up traveling. My parents took me on excursions through South East Asia as a kid.” However, I can point to the multitude of people who my parents introduced me to and who at one point or another poured into me.
Kale Fortress - Macedonia
It was my mom’s friend Shari Hamilton, who was very passionate about doing the things she loved and would quit her job in a heartbeat to follow her dreams. She was the first black woman I knew personally who fearless, worldy, well read, and well traveled.
It was my elementary school teacher, Marty Richardson, who taught me what stereotypes were and systematically tried to break them by exposing me to Homer’s Iliad, figure skating and the wonders of Folk music. “You can like what you want. Do what you want and be what you want. You are not a stereotype,” she would say.
The Prizren Hammam - Kosovo
It was my middle school geography teacher, Mr. McCord, who made us listen to Pink Floyd and watch slides of his adventures backpacking through foreign countries. He jump started my wanderlust. It was a high school economics teacher, who taught me about Adam Smith and the concept of making choices and accepting consequences.
It was my Aunt Johnette, who would pull me to the side, give me a dollar or two and whisper, “It doesn’t matter if you are married or single, a woman should always put aside some money for herself.” All of the people worked like a team with my mom, who along with our prayers would make my brother and I recite “when I grow up I want to be self-sufficient, independent, and very intelligent.”
Memorial House of Mother Teresa - Macedonia
Teachers, both formal and informal, are the greatest resources in the world. Period. Hands Down.
So, I’ve written this entire diatribe and you have to be wondering where this is all coming from…. Well, Chad and I just finished traveling through major cities in a good part of the Balkans (including: Greece, Albania, Kosovo, Macedonia and Bulgaria) and my mouth is on the floor!
Let’s be honest...We ate our way through many of these countries. So my mouth could literally be on the floor because it’s exhausted from chewing big hearty meats, enormous vegetables and ridiculous amounts of bread. Side note: I have never in my life walked away from a table and while trying to keep my tights from automatically rolling down, longingly wished for the prospect of diarrhea. Yet, I did this almost nightly.Great food!
Where was I?
Changing of the Guards (President's Office) - Bulgaria
Yes, my mouth is on the floor because I am seeing and walking into places that I only learned about from teachers and it’s absolutely surreal.I’m looking at castles in the countryside of Albania and Kosovo that once housed the Kings in the history books my teachers taught from; ruins in Greece and Bulgaria that were the backdrop to stories teachers introduced me to; stomping grounds for Jesus, Paul and all of them that preachers use teach me about; and massive and old churches and cathedrals that were built before them.
For example, we walked up on a statue the other day and I asked Chad, “Who is that?” “Alexander the Great,” Chad responded. “I thought he was Greek,” I said. “Nope. Macedonian. Do you remember when…” he continued in a history lesson that I recalled having learned in school. This was another, “Holy crap! That happened right here!” moment and I was feeling really overwhelmed; overwhelmed by my surroundings; overwhelmed that I was getting the opportunity to see these things first hand; and overwhelmed by my journey. I am immensely grateful and God is so awesome that it’s scary sometimes.
Czar Samuil Statue - Macedonia
I know I write these “I’m so grateful” posts often and it can get tiring, but please bear with me, there’s a purpose. First, I have to pinch myself sometimes to realize that I’m actually doing this, that I’m actually here, and writing it down is the best way I know to make it concrete. Secondly, I think it is vital to expose yourself and your children to international travel and all that can be learned from it (especially black folks). Again, writing it down and sharing it is the best way I can express the emotional and social impact this trip has had, in hopes that others will take the leap. Lastly, I am nothing but a dwarf standing on the shoulders of giants, so I absolutely need to pay homage and say thank you to any and every teacher who has poured into me. I am in the midst of living my dreams and it would not have been possible without the teachers in my life.
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
War Memorial - Kosovo
Partisan Statue - Albania
Ivan Vazov National Theatre - Bulgaria
Alexander the Great - Macedonia
Sunset - Patras, Greece
Ampitheatre at the Acropolis - Greece
St Alexander Nevsky (Daylight) - Bulgaria
George W. Bush Street (He is loved in these parts) - Albania
