Awful things to drink in Scotland

Little known fact; coke is the number one soft drink in nearly every country of the world with the exception of the Scotland. There IRN BRU is king. With the slogan, "feel phenomenal" how could I pass up the opportunity to take part in the beverage heritage of someone else's Scottish forefathers? Despite the Rifampin orange urine color, I took a big drink. It has the awful flavor of Red Bull, you know the taste of sugarcoated cancer...but it is less crisp, and somehow even less appealing than Red Bull. People in Scotland love it.

Other beverages available include barley water, which must have been a remnant from the Dark Ages. No doubt it was probably intended to soothe the aliments of the merchant class and ward away the evil eye. That is the only possible explanation for it's existence.

If you are interested in another beverage that must have originated as a dark magic Pagan potion, I can recommend a brew of Dandelion and Burdock. Rachael, my UK travel buddy, decided to buy a bottle, despite the fact that we already know that there is nothing good to drink in the Scotland.

While it doesn't look awful---I assure you that it tastes of candied mothballs and old people clothes that are ground into a fine powder and reconstituted into what you see above.

Moral of the story---don't drink anything that isn't water or alcohol in Scotland.

"Irish men are either grumpy or pervy"

"Irish men are either grumpy or pervy" a young, 18 year old Irish girl told me.

For some reason, a rather foul natured Irish man decided to adopt me on the bus ride from the airport to my hostel. I asked the bus driver to let me know when we reached O'Connell Street. My new grumpy old man friend spoke up and let me know he was headed that direction. I thanked him and took my seat. After cantankerously informing me that we were at our stop, he proceeded to ask me the address of my hostel. He walked ahead and simply said "follow me". On the brisk walk he grumbled about how tourists like me were the reason that pints of Guinness were now 6 euro in the Temple Bar district. At the Millennium Spire his surliness became directed at the government for erecting an ugly poll in the middle of O'Connell Street. When I reached my street, I thanked him for the help.

"well you aren't there yet." He continued along with me going out of his way to help me find my hostel. I felt like an imposition, but maybe I had earned a soft place in his heart; he seemed a worried for my safety. "Don't go north of the spire after dark," and with that he left.

Once at the front desk, I was informed that a free walking tour of the city was about to start. The first rule of defeating jet-leg is to stay busy; so I happily joined. It was really well done and strongly centered on Irish History.

The moral of the tour seemed to be that the British Government was awful and that it kinda sucks to be Irish.

Our first stop on the tour (and by far the most interesting stop) was Dublin Castle. Dublin Castle had been the seat of British rule until 1922, when Ireland became a free state. It is on a site that was formerly a Viking settlement, which was invaded by Normans who built a castle around 1200 AD. Only one tower remains, which was used as a prison for some time.

In the 1700s the British renovated and rebuilt the castle. They included a front gate with a statue of justice, which faced into the castle courtyard. (it is on the opposite side of the photo above) According to my guide, Emer," Many call this a perfect representation of justice under British rule. The lady is not blind and she has her back to the Irish people."

We also dropped by Trinity College, Christ Church Cathedral, and wandered through Temple Bar. When I told Emer about the girl who claimed that all Irish men were grumpy or pervy, she responded that they were "actually grumpy, pervy, drunk or some combination thereof."

During the tour I became friends with a few Aussies and a guy from Chicago. We discussed our shared love of bagged wine, which the Aussies call, Goon. Turns out they have a game that involves pinning the goon to a rotary close line and spinning it. If it stops in front of you, it is required that you take a sip. They call it Goon of Fortune. Amazing.

We all went out that night along with a huge group of Spaniards. My Spanish has gotten woeful, but we had a great time. Of course, the Spaniards kept me up late dancing.

By the end of the night I had drank lots of Guinness, met some locals, and got kissed by a red-headed Irish boy in a pub. My guess is that he was some combination of grumpy, pervy, and drunk.

Yup, I did Dublin exactly right.

Travel, two years later

There is comfort in travel. I can't exactly explain it, but there is a peace which accompanies wandering in a foreign country with no idea what the following moments will bring. The next several posts of this blog are dedicated to places outside the US, but I would have failed the spirit of this blog if I did not say a few words about Kansas City.

First, the BBQ-
Honestly, I was fairly unimpressed by most of the BBQ in Kansas City. I am a St. Louis girl, and I believe there is such thing as St. Louis BBQ and it will always and forever be my favorite. But there was one great BBQ place; one place better than anything in St. Louis--Oklahoma Joes. It is in a gas station.

On a slightly more serious note, moving to Kansas City ten months ago marked a significant change in my life. I regained a control of my life once lost and began cultivating a career again. Kansas City surrounded me with thoughtful people who challenged me constantly. It is a vibrant, diverse community with all the convenience of a large city while it maintains all the sensibilities of a small town. It is a place to be a young professional, to raise kids, to grow old and do wonderful things.

I enjoyed most every moment of living in Midtown--close to Westport. It was walking distance to the art museum, maintained a pulsing night life (that offered plenty for beer enthusiasts), and presented a diverse cross section of people. It was a beautiful city that is so easily under appreciated.

While there, I could not have known how much I would learn on a Missouri Secretary of State's race, and I owe my co-workers so much. It was a good job---surrounded by good people.

I left Kansas City in a blur of giggles, balloons, and victory. We won.

Fire in the Sky

Sunrise may be more beautiful 30,000 feet above the earth.

Maybe I should have been updating all along...

After several months spent meaning to update this blog I may have just succeeded. Awhile back the realization struck that I am still very much traveling. I may now have a mediocre full time job, monthly rent higher than the most morgage payments in the midwest, and a Cold War arsenal of kitchen gadgets...but I am still traveling, exploring, and learning.

Aside from mutually assured destructing in the kitchen, Jordan and I have fallen into a routine of sorts. As a result, it has been fairly easy to dismiss the past few months as a return to routine and normalcy. But hold everything... I learned how to do this

dang....I look cool.

For those that were with me for my first day on the mountain this year I thank you for your kindness and patience. On a related note, I have discovered that most people don't remember how hard it was to "use the potty" for the first time. Much in the same way, most snowboarders don't remember how hard it is to strap yourself to a glorified piece of plywood and throw yourself down a mountain using only moon boots to control your frantic, desperate movements. To them it is as natural as using the potty.

For the rest of us, that first day down the mountain is a little different. First of all, it is scary. It is, "forget the potty, find me a diaper" scary. Real snowboarders don't understand this, to them it is a sense of freedom and singular joy flying across snow. Thankfully, my first day on the mountain Ali accompanied me. Having someone who also understands snowboarding as the "plywood + moon boots = punishment for sins in a past life" equation keeps spirits much higher. The other kind of spirits that Ali brought with her also helped quite a bit.

It took us four, awful hours to get down the mountain that day. That same route takes maybe 25 minutes for me now, and probably 15 minutes for someone that is good. When we finally reached the bottom, neither Ali or I were entirely sure that we would be able to walk. "I feel like I have cerebral palsy" Ali giggled at me. That really is the only way to describe the feeling, regardless of how politically incorrect it may be. Nothing moves except to shake. All you want is a glass of water and a horse tranquilizer, hoping that you sleep through the next several days of sore muscles.

Learning to snowboard may be my first big accomplishment since I have been stateside. But I still have more stories, and more travel.

Nice to see you again, blog...I have so much to tell you.

Istanbul...its cool, it only happened about three months ago

I would be completely remiss if I didn't devote a proper blog to Istanbul. Istanbul was the one big city that actually managed to capture my heart. It captured it in the same way that my college friend turned Istanbul resident, Jenn had several years ago; through copious amounts of anise flavored alcohol.

...well, there was much more to the city than raki, just as Jenn is much more than my favorite sassy lil' sot.

I reached Istanbul via bus from Izmir. Thankfully, there was none of this passport loosing which I am prone to. Izmir was lovely, and I was able to stay with the Durmaz family there, who were so incredibly kind. The mother and father did not speak a word of English, but we figured each other out. It was also just nice to be in a family unit after several months of travel. I owe Nalan (and Eray for introducing us) more than I could ever repay.

Jenn and her Nietzsche-lovin', Anatolian boyfriend, who I absolutely adore in spite of myself, live in Beyoglu So the first day in Istanbul (8/23) was spent ambling down the Istiklal Caddesi. The giant pedestrian mall that continues down towards Galata Tower, eventually branching into a number of alley ways lined with music stores. I was followed home by some fellow that fancied himself a gentleman I believe.

I spent pretty much all of day two wandering the Grand Bazaar, which is an beautiful covered market of more than 330,0000 sq feet. There are several streets clearly for tourists, but as I continued to wander I noticed shops and restaurants with a few locals perusing goods. A man also sang an Usher song to me while trying to convince me not only to buy some fancy Turkish tile, but that fate had brought us together. Lets just say I didn't buy any tile....and I was followed home...again. Different fella' same idea.


The following day was spent at home, cooking with Jenn, chatting like little teze. It was nice to just catch up...chuckle and cook. I will stop now before I start sounding like the salty moose from Eat, Pray, Fuck myself. Since I didn't really leave the house, I was not followed home.

My fourth day I spent walking through the Mosques of Istanbul. I entered the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia. Words can't describe how massive these buildings feel. Nor can they do justice to the amazing artistry inside. History will tell you the Mosques meld a variety of cultural and artistic traditions. All I know, is they were rad.





Since Jenn and Aras were off the next day, we did a tour of the Bosphorus, and dinner/ drinks to follow near a small fish market. In Turkey, they really really know how to do food. Sooo good. This is the view from our plastic lawn chair table, where I had some kind of whole fish served to me on a huge tray. Since we were with Aras, I was not, in fact, followed home that night.


My final day was spent at the Basilica Cistern and Sulthanamet Palace. The Basilica Cistern was my favorite site in Istanbul. The subterranean structure feels very....ethereal. I have no word to use properly here. I am sure there is one, but I don't have it. Think Moria from Lord of the Rings. The place feels massive and hushed, despite having a few hundred tourists in it at any one time.


I left Istanbul that night, but I will be back.

Neglectful

"So, what was it like?"
I get asked that question about travel more than anything else. Tonight Hamad gave me the answer. For everyone that wants to know what it is to hop from culture to culture this is the answer:



Over the past month I have been neglecting my journal. Mostly cause I figured with the fancy traveling around the world being over, I would have little to say. I thought a few follow up entries would suffice and this book would close.

Then I realized I am still traveling. I am, a month after returning to the United States, still a tourist. I am in Denver now, which presents itself with a whole new experience worth exploring for me.

I owe Istanbul about 12 entries...but after that, a peek into learning how to live a completely different life.