the transition: gujurat.

india has a way of sucking you in. removing your want of all things electronic and most forms of contact. the hiatus in bryndia's writing won't happen again.

from goa, bryndia wanted to head north.

turns out, india is a very large country. so the journey took some time.

bryndia broke up their journey to rajasthan with a brief stop in mumbai where they shared french fries dipped in spicy curry before boarding a train to vadodara; a self described 'college town' halfway to their desired destination of udaipur. their splurge on first class tickets assisted in making the seven hour ride more comfortable. the two sat between a malaysian father visiting for a friends wedding and an ancient indian woman who, throughout the trip, continued to remove her dentures and scrape at one large tooth with a rough stick. in broken english, she inquired whether bryndia were married, and when they politely said no, her shock showed. well, she said to bryn, you must be very rich then, for her to be kissing you. she smiled and wrote down her home address and phone number, insisting that bryndia come and visit. you are most welcome! most welcome in my home!

bryndia wandered throughout the busy center of vadodara as night set in. arriving the same weekend as a ambiguous 'conference', the two found the first ten hotels they passed to be completely full. after what seemed like hours, bryndia finally found a place. they opened the door to their room and watched cockroaches flee from the light.

the next day, bryndia decided to stick it out and spend a day exploring the city. they visited the one museum, a mixture of asian art and natural history, ancient ivory statues next to stuffed ostriches and owls. in the cool basement, they saw a gigantic whale skeleton and plaster copies of the venus di milo, michelangelo's slave. too sticky to enjoy the surrounding park, bryndia caught a rickshaw to the city palace where they were given a private tour by a quiet man and admired the grand ballroom and the sparking fountains, all original, and over 125 years old. that night, the two returned to a air conditioned hotel with an international menu where they ate mexican and italian.

the next day, the two wandered throughout the downtown area and found a large bookstore. here, they hid from the heat for hours. bryn read freakanomics and listened to india read his numerolgy. india purchased copies of indian vogue. in the evening, they returned to the center of the city and waited for hours for their bus bound for udaipur to arrive. finally, sleepily, they boarded, and slept, and awoke in rajasthan.

goa.

bryndia arrived in panjim after a long but comfortable bus trip. it was early. just passed five am. the sun was rising over the mandovi river. dozens of men stirred from their sleeping places in the middle of dusty traffic roundabouts. bryndia shuffled through the quiet streets with their heavy backpacks, searching for a place to stay.

india was immediately taken by a small, bright yellow building down the block from the large post office. bryn noticed the red sign that hung over the door. a pousada: a guest house. the pair rang the bell, forgetting briefly that it was so early in the morning. a middle aged man came to the door in a tank top and plaid boxers. yes, yes, i have room, he said. you go in, you sleep, we worry later. thank you, thank you, bryndia said, and then cozied up in their lucky room.

a few hours passed and the two emerged feeling clean and rested. they met their hosts, a homeopathic doctor and his housekeeper wife with a daughter who was living in hollywood. obviously, bryndia immediately took a liking to them. the couple made bryn & india's happiness their personal responsibility. they sketched out maps of the city, of the beaches, explained the locations of all their favorite restaurants and sights, and helped bryndia rent a scooter to get around. that first day in panjim was spent getting acquainted with the city. bryndia walked the length of the river, down trough the portuguese influenced architecture, inside of the largest christian cathedral in all of asia. it was a definite change from bryn & india's first days in the country. in goa, jesus was everyone. bumper stickers and murals and hand painted posters plastered onto the side of white concrete buildings. the smallest state in india wore their european heritage proudly.

the following morning, bryndia rounded the corner from their guest house to find their host's favorite breakfast spot. the two ate poached eggs and toast while perched on a tiny balcony overlooking the cobblestoned street. here, they thought, if they used their imagination, it could feel like they were back in spain. refueled and ready, bryn mounted the rickety rented scooter, india strapped on the helmet, and the two rode thirty minutes north through the dense tropical forests and small river side towns packed with donkeys, up to the famous beach of baga.

bryndia sat in the throngs of indian tourists, their feet buried in the damp sand. the ocean waves crashed loudly in front of them, their company jumping into the brown water, all the men in their tiny underwear, all the women fully covered in their bright colored saris. women carrying huge baskets on their heads approached, selling piles of chunky jewelry. teenage boys pressed dangerous looking paragliding packages. bryndia walked all the way down the beach and then turned up onto the road and walked back along the dusty path dotted with beach boutiques and outdoor bars. they bought forty cent ice cream cones from thirty one flavors and dresses and tee shirts for a few bucks each. the ride back to panjim felt like flying.

the next morning, the two returned to their breakfast balcony, drank mango juice as bright as turmeric, and took off on their rented scooter bound north for mapusa, a small town forty five minutes north of panjim, where the goan branch of international animal rescue was located. bryndia volunteered walking dogs for the afternoon. the scrawny animals lay panting in concrete cages, circling anxiously, and bryn would coo them out of their corners, loop the leash around their neck, and stroll around the jungle compound with them, sprinting down the road and collapsing on their heads, ruffling their ears. after each of the dozen dogs had been let out, bryndia went behind the building to where the puppies and kittens were kept, and ohhed and ahhed over the assortment. they missed their animals at home.


as they were leaving, a leader of IAR mentioned to them that the founder of the charity was now living in a secluded mansion housing a collection of different monkeys only twenty minutes from where they were. could it be true? it sounded magical. a phone call was made and an invite was extended, and bryndia rode along winding rocky roads to find the tree house, the home of john hicks and his twenty five young monkeys. bryndia was greeted with an air of routine friendliness. john shook their hands as he emerged from the swimming pool with a quickly moving ball of fur on each shoulder. bryndia was given a tour of the house, three stories overlooking green goa, and shown to the wooden chest filled with bathing suits for unprepared guests. put on one of those, john said, and come take a swim with the little buggers.


for thirty minutes, bryndia floated in the fresh water pool and watched two one year old monkeys dart through the water like they were michael phelps. they were so full of energy, so fearless. soaring from their perches on john's shoulders into a cannon ball that splashed all over bryn's face. john told them stories of the work IAR did in india and bryndia told him of their time in europe. the afternoon grew late, and bryndia rode back towards mapusa as the air began to cool.

the two decided to stop in mapusa for the famed friday market. here, hundreds of families gathered to sell their goods. thousands of shoppers surrounded them. bryndia walked through the produce wing of the market first. their breath grew hot as they walked through the aisle of huge piles of red chili peppers. they found a bakery stand and stood, staring bewildered at the piles of cakes and cookies. two teenage girls approached them giggling. bryn smiled at them. you look so different than everyone else, the girls said without shame. yes, said bryn, i don't look very indian. you look like barbie, the girls said to india. come to my shop, come buy nice silk from me. india picked out a scarf printed with elephants. pink, the girls said, is barbie's favorite color too.

that night, bryndia ate pizza and drank gin and tonics in their guest house. they planned for a scooter ride to old goa in the morning. they slept soundly and set off on their adventure early. they didn't count on their scooter breaking down in the middle of the highway halfway there. their afternoon was spent hitchhiking back to panjim and obtaining a new ride. that evening, the two rode down the mandovi river, out to dona paula where it meets the ocean, and sat on the beach for hours, watching goats graze next to the water.

the next day, bryndia made it all the way to old goa, the old colonial capital, now an impressive collection of beautiful catholic churches. the two visited the se cathedral, st. francis of assisi, and the basilica of bom jesus. it was funny to be back in the grand gothic buildings of the catholics. after a break from western europe, a month filled with mosques and temples, returning to the cathedral felt comfortingly familiar. the two wandered through the flat park that connected the three churches and shared a coconut, the top hacked off and a straw stuck in by a preteen boy. the two explored old goa by scooter, found some beaches, and some shady corners, and relaxed for their last afternoon in goa. that night, they returned to their favorite restaurant, ate spicy indian food and sweet wine, and took off for the bus station late.




on their bus, bryndia reveled in how concerned every indian they had met had been. after awaking their guest house host at daybreak, he had insisted on getting them comfortable before returning to bed. stranded on the side of the road with a dead scooter, a young man who spoke no english at all had stopped to help before offering a ride. this kind of sweet affection, offered without any expectation or hesitation, flowed from the people of goa. bryndia drank it up.

the south had been sweet. the northwest awaited.

the arrival in india: mumbai and pune.

after a rough journey back to cairo, bryndia boarded their red eye egypt air flight headed to mumbai. sure, they were excited. sure, they were used to traveling by now. but india admitted an unexplainable fear as they took their seats on the jet. their first time in asia. their first third world country. the monumental first trip to her namesake for india. the nervous butterflies set in. the pair sat next to a belgium man who had been working in mumbai for the past few years. after only thirty minutes, the man had (sort of) calmed india down AND convinced them to change their travel plans and head south first in an attempt to avoid the upcoming monsoon. bryndia broke out their fat lonely planet guide and searched for a city below mumbai. they would head to pune.

arriving in india is a scene difficult to describe without relying on cliche. the word "overwhelming" is one that bryndia hears often in discussions about the country, and is a word that they are not found of. sure, there are moments on the subcontinent when one can feel a little like they are drowning, but the important thing, they have realized, is to continue to kick, to keep on swimming.

the heat hit bryndia like a wall. less than five minutes outside of the airport terminal, there was sweat dripping everywhere. from places one didn't know one could sweat. behind the knees, under the ears. they waited in line for a taxi to the train station patiently. given a slip of paper by the airport attendent with a taxi number scribbled on it, bryndia wandered to find their car. men in dirty polyester pants rushed up to them, offering to help. please! my friend! let me carry! please! no, no, bryndia said. thank you, but no. despite the protests, the men followed them to the taxi, opened their door for them, closed it behind them, and quickly stuck their head in the open window. money, money, they said, pushing their faces and hands at bryn. no, no, bryn said back. fifty feet later, as the taxi driver stopped at the airport exit for change, barefoot boys rushed up the window. money, money, they said. biscuits, biscuits, they said.

on the long drive from the airport to the train station, mumbai flew past them. on the highway, india watched an entire family of six swing by on a single motor scooter. a father piloted with a small boy perched in front of him, balancing before the handlebars. a mother sat side saddle behind her husband, two toddlers wedged between the parents, an infant slept soundly in his mothers loose arms. no helmuts. no tickets. no traffic laws. no fear.

at the train station, bryndia sat under a large ceiling fan next to a scruffy sleeping dog. they had hours to wait before their train to pune departed. they found a small silver cafe where bryn ate thali and they talked about what they had seen. down on the platform, a round woman in a dark sari approached them and offered help. no, thank you, bryndia said. you are from america! the woman said. she asked strongly: may i inquire how many celebrity encounters you have had? bryndia looked at each other and shrugged. i work for the tourism burrough here, the woman said. i have met angelina jolie, brad pitt, matt damon. her list went on and on. wow, bryndia said. yes, the woman said, i am better off than you.

in an attempt to be brave, bryndia had booked their train tickets to pune in a second class compartment. it was to be the only time that they would do so. the five hour ride was spent mostly in silence, india drifting in and out of sleep, bryn with his head out the window. the car was made up of long blue benches facing each other, travelers jumping on and off, rotating their positions, cramming tightly into shared seats. everyone with their shoes off, with their hankerchiefs out. at each stop, various wallahs boarded the train and hawked their goods... foil boxes of warm spicy rice, hot chai, cold water, packaged candy and nuts, plastic jewelry, paper fans. bryn talked with a man across the aisle who showed him pictures of hindu temples on his cell phone and the two traded ipods for an hour, bryn bobbing his head to big bollywood showtunes. the train landed in pune in the early evening.

off into the packed streets, bryndia searched for a cheap hotel. the first two they approached were booked, the third too expensive. together with their bulky backpacks, the pair walked for kilometers, up into a slower, quieter part of the city. after hours of searching, feeling defeated, the two found hotel sunderban in koregaon park, paid far too much for a large stuffy room, and settled in. after what was, perhaps, one of the best showers of both of their lives, the two departeded into pune's dusk in search for dinner.

on their walk down north main road, bryndia encountered many sites that, though shocking at first sight, have, in time, become commonplace. small shelters on sidewalk corners serving as homes to families of five. bright stalls selling hundreds of styles of shoes that were manned by such young, young boys. food carts with small fires, wood burning ovens, cooking sugar cookies or samosas. these were all, strangely, across the street from high rise hotels, american fast food chains, girlish clothing boutiques. the parallels of india were displayed quite literally on pune's busy boulevard. tucking back off onto a quiet sidestreet, bryndia found a garden restaurant, it's wrought iron furniture surrounded by sparkling white lights. the two kicked their shoes off, ran their toes through the grass, and ordered tom collins', palak paneer, crispy tandoori chicken, big bowls of rice, garlic naan that dripped with butter. hours later, their stomachs bulged, and the bill came out to be around fifteen US dollars, most of which was accounted for by the alcohol.

the next day, bryndia was served breakfast on the veranda by their hotel staff before returning to north main road to ride in their first autorickshaw. the short ride was bumpy and dusty, but the breeze felt good. they arrived at pune's largest tourist draw. the gandhi national memorial at aga khan palace is the site where the mahatma was imprisoned for years after the quit india campaign. a large stone building with many bare rooms that have been left exactly as they were when gandhi and his wife lived there. bryndia walked among the faded photographs, the captions of which were all hand written in broken english, and saw clothing, combs, bedding, letters, that they had left there. through the large park, they found the site where gandhi's wife and secretary's ashes were kept, burried in large flower pots that sprouted tiny green plants. here, they removed their shoes, and walked in a circle around the site, mimicking the indian tourists who walked before them. as bryndia bent to slip their shoes back on, they were asked, for the very first time, to pose for a photograph with some indian teens who were in pune on vacation. how strange, india thought. we are celebrities for our whiteness.

not yet having adjusted to the extreme heat, bryndia escaped to a mainstream coffee chain resembling a starbucks and reveled in the air conditioning for much of the afternoon. here, they had more pictures taken of them, some snapped not-so-subtly on camera phones by shy preteens, and observed business meetings and romantic dates, all set to the loud soundtrack of 50 cent, fergie, and dr. dre. the cafe coffee day seemed to serve as a meeting point for everyone in pune. that night, the two ate dinner at a restaurant called king arthur where india ate a vegetarian dish called the vivian and thought of her mother.

the next day, bryndia got to know their neighbors at the osho meditation ashram down the street from their hotel. osho, a mystic and a guru known infamously for his liberal views on the use of sex to attain enlightment (and for his sketchy behavior at his commune in oregon in the 1980's), died twenty years ago but still has a large following, particularly with the westerners in india. bryndia couldn't afford the pricy meditation classes, the fees of which included a mysteriously unexplained HIV test, but did get to spend a few hours walking throughout the expansive garden, an oasis of rushing water, bamboo groves, and rocky footpaths in the busy city of pune. a dog followed them sleepily, indian couples blushed furiously when the pair would stumble upon them nuzzling in hidden corners.

that night, bryndia journeyed to the bus station, a large gravel lot packed with dozens of different busses. they boarded a fancy volvo, an air conditoned sleeper, a bus made up of many private sleeper compartments, stacked double beds with sheets and pillows and curtains. after two hours cuddled in their bunk, the bus stopped at a lively roadside stand where they bought big bottles of kingfisher and melting bars of chocolate and saw cages of chickens, rabbits, and rodents. again, they boarded their mobile hotel, and early the next morning, the two awoke in panjim, the capital of goa.

israel and jordan.

the holy land.

bryndia had been anticipating their arrival to israel for awhile. not because tel aviv was constantly cited as the youngest and hottest city in the middle east. not because of the constant sun blaring over beautiful beaches. not because of the thousands of years of religious history. (though these ideas did help.) mostly, bryndia was excited to be reunited with india's bff judith chriqui, a corrupted but sweet jew who had offered the pull out couch in her apartment to them for two weeks.


bryndia rode a hot six hour bus ride through the sinai desert, empty sand the only thing they saw for miles at a time. they reached taba, a dreary port town on the red sea, where they walked a kilometer from the bus station to the country line. here, they passed their bags through security, bought a reentry visa for egypt, and were pushed into israel. immediately, the tone of their surroundings changed. two buildings not 100 meters apart bore drastically different conditions. in egypt, floor tiles sat in piles, cracked. there was no furniture, save for a few rickety plastic lawn chairs. unsavory bathroom options. and then, right there, across the street, in elat, israel, were luxury tour buses, towering hotels, sparkling toilets! bryndia passed through israeli security, all executed by army officials, none older than 20. they hopped a cab to the bus station, ate some hurried falafal, and boarded a five hour bus to tel aviv. a full 18 hours after leaving their hotel in cairo, bryndia arrived into the arms of judy. and her cute jew roommates, sabrina from LA and marta from philly.

the girls lived in a large, breezy three bedroom apartment on dizengoff, a busy street dotted with sidewalk cafes, designer boutiques, corner markets selling greasy pastries and bright fruit juices. their apartment was above a yellow painted bakery that made their bedrooms smell of baking chocolate and powdered sugar every morning. across an alleyway was a window into their friend civonne's kitchen. greetings and dinner invites were shouted across the way. the glass doors to the balcony were always left open, the tea kettle was often on, and music flowed constantly from small speakers in the living room. the girls were relaxed and inviting. bryndia welcomed this feeling of home.


bryndia's first weekend in the city was commemorated in many celebrations. sidewalk art shows before pizza and bottles of cava, long walks through the busy city at night. a traditional shabbat dinner, the fixings of which were bought from large jewish families selling them inside of a large mall every friday afternoon. a long day on the beach, watching macho boys play paddle ball, hacky sack. the group swim in different waters of the mediterranean. and a late night party on the girls rooftop. dozens of their friends gathered around pink jungle juice in sparkling white christmas bulbs and tea lights. by the end of the weekend, bryndia felt acquainted with the israeli lifestyle. and they liked it.


when sunday rolled around, judith headed to a fancy job in a tall building downtown, and marta went off to work at a chic pr firm. sabrina, who worked from home, stepped up to the plate as tour guide. the three of them fell into a nice workday routine. a leisurely breakfast, a walk to the shook, a dark and busy market where they could buy pitas, fruits, alcohol, and any clothing item or kitchen appliance they could dream of. a slow walk back to the apartment to drop off their purchases, and then an afternoon of adventuring.

they walked the long length of the beach. wandered through the dodgy bazaars of old jaffa, trying different famed hummus restaurants. they swam in the ocean and visited judith at her work. they napped in the sun, met friends for drinks, lived life slowly.


after almost a week in tel aviv, bryndia decided to venture out and see more of the country while two of their three friends were busy with work. they hopped an hour long bus to jerusalem and arrived in the country's capital in the early afternoon. they first wandered through a packed market, where they ate smooth hummus and saucy green beans over rice. they discovered sabrina's favorite bakery, marzipan, and spent sheckles on a big box of ruggula for their hostesses. they lay in a park and soaked in the heat. and finally found their way to the old city without a map where they walked the tight covered alleys packed with trinket shops and hooka cafes. that night, they slept at citadel hostel in the armenian quarter, spooning in sleeping bags on a bare open roof overlooking the ancient walled old city. the awoke early and watched the sun rise, a loudspeaker pumping melodic muslim prayers from a mosque nearby.


the two visited the wailing wall, where india's knees were hastily covered by a female guard, and she was scolded by an old woman for turning her back to the gray stone as she walked away. they braved their claustrophobia and trekked through the pitch black tunnels of the city of david, up to their knees in icy water, holding hands tightly, sandwiched between loud israeli school children. they walked through the same streets that jesus christ had. saw the tomb of the virgin. circled the old city from atop the wall's ramparts. ate an israeli breakfast and discussed their historical adventures. and headed back to tel aviv.


bryndia's second weekend in tel aviv was marked by a special visitor. judith's mama, mindy, came to play with the group for a while. india's second mother showed them some serious maternal affection and took judith and bryndia out to a fancy dinner on the namal, the chic new neighborhood of restaurants and clubs that bordered the harbor. after cava and burgers, bryndia met marta and sabrina and the four of them partied late late late, dancing to bumping house music on flat leather couches. the next day was spent recovering with iced coffee on the beach.

the following week, while the girls were busy with work, bryndia attempted a day trip up north to haifa, a small coastal city famed for the baha'i gardens. and where india's sisterfriend brianna had lived and volunteered for two years. foiled on their first try by a fire on the tracks, bryndia finally made it to the top of mount caramel and looked down upon the gardens - 19 terraces of perfect symmetry, bright red flowers at the bases of large palms hanging over sparkling fountains, that seemed to cascade down the mountainside and into the ocean. bryndia took a tour from the top to the center terrace, learned a little more about the baha'i faith, and thought of bri, working hard to clean the marble of the temples with a tiny toothbrush.


one evening, the group attended a goodbye party for a friend of the girls at a bar in a busy courtyard. they drank cold beers and smoked hooka and laughed at a girl kissing a friend on the mouth and immediately turning to vomit everywhere. the bartenders handed out popsicles and bryndia marveled at the dark hair of israeli girls - some wore it so long it seemed to touch the ground. another afternoon, sabrina and some friends joined bryndia on a wine tasting tour at a vineyard thirty minutes outside of tel aviv. their young guide talked with her hands and flipped her long braid everywhere before serving them big glass pitchers of delicious red wine in a leafy courtyard. another evening was spent at a party for an up and coming food blog on a hotel rooftop. the group drank cocktails, watched shirtless boys cannon ball into a glowing pool, and bryndia gathered advice about asia from israelis who had traveled there. one particular late night was capped off by bryndia trudging to an empty sports bar on the beach to watch an important lakers/thunder game aired at 430 am in israel. kicked out when the sun was rising and the bar needed to be mopped, the pair sat on a picnic bench outside and watched the final minutes through an open window.

two weeks in israel slipped by too quickly. bryndia had become accustomed to their new roomies. it was their home away from home. and they were sad to leave it. their last night was spent at the most special of jewish occasions: judy's young cousin was having her bat mizfah. mindy met judy and bryndia at their cousins home.. a large open courtyard that was surrounded by four different townhouses that housed a grandmother and her three sons and their families. bryndia was welcomed into the family. they ate kosher bbq blessed by a rabbi and watched the girls of the family join hands and dance in hopping circles while the uncles played their guitars and sang boisterously.


the next day, bryndia said mushy goodbyes to their amazing hostesses, and hopped a bus down south. their plan was to cut the long journey back to cairo in half by spending a few days relaxing in the beach/border town of elat, with a day trip over to jordan to check out petra squeezed in.

on their way through the desert, bryndia's bus spiraled down deep into a valley where the dead sea sat quietly. the two spent an afternoon floating in the salty water, permanently pushing their feet downwards, their bodies buoyed in the dense liquid. they ran their feet along the sea floor and pulled out huge rocks of salt between their toes, felt their skin smooth in the sun after an hour of floating. famished, they ate french fries and milkshakes at "the lowest burger king in the world!" and another two hours on the bus and they reached elat and the red sea.


bryndia found a hostel close to the bus station, dropped off their heavy backpacks, and found sushi for dinner. they circled the compact downtown, found the movie theater, and paid the low price for iron man two with only a handful of other viewers. the following day was spent sunbathing next to the red sea, swimming in clear water with the most colorful fish floating around their ankles. purples and oranges glowed all around them; their presence didn't bother the sea creatures. that night, they ate a picnic in their room with cnn on, falling asleep early, preparing for an early journey across the boarder to petra.

bryndia had been determined to get to the hidden city by themselves. the package tours that were offered by the front desk clerk seemed expensive and boring. the pair set off for the boarder early, excited to save money and pave their own path. at the boarder, they paid the country tolls, got fresh stamps in their passports, and hired a driver to the nearest town in jordan. here, they were sketchily passed on to another man in another car who would take them the two hour journey to petra and back. the ride passed quickly, the orange sand zipping past them. they reached petra's entrance by mid morning and entered eagerly, agreeing to meet their driver four hours later at the gate.


petra was as breathtaking as had been promised. men wrapped in scarves galloped by on horses, trotted by on camels. a long passageway cut into the tall red earth led them through the mountains and out into the city center. there were very few guards or gates, and bryndia enjoyed jumping all over the place, climbing ancient staircases that led to huge empty caverns. they avoided the crowds and tried to find unseen paths with new views. they loved how free and uninhibited this world heritage site was. literally the opposite of the controlled colosseum in rome. after hours of wandering, they turned to begin the long journey back to the gate, dehydrated and sweaty. another seven wonder of the world the pair had gotten to see on their journey. the car ride back was broken up with a hot sweet tea at a roadside stand with their driver and concluded with an easy reentry into israel. their last night was spent munching pizza and calming india down about the next days journey to cairo, and then asia.

the next morning, bryndia packed their bags and kissed israel goodbye. they would miss this country. such a small area packed with so many different kind of cities. the laid back beach life in tel aviv. the mystic air in jerusalem. the manicured beauty of haifa. so many different kinds of people in different kinds of places with a shared love of their country. they made their way through the gates and back into egypt. a guard greeted them. "richard gere and julia roberts!" that makes me a prostitute, india pointed out. the two were then told the next bus leaving for cairo wasn't due to depart until four pm, too late for bryndia to make their flight from cairo that evening. they debated their options. bryn visited the tourist office and returned proclaiming that the guards had been wrong! there was a bus leaving at 1230 and hurry hurry! the two ran to the bus station quickly where the sat for over two hours, strung along by the constant promise of a rude egyptian. "five more minutes and bus come for my friends. no problem. five minutes only. no problem." finally, when they realized there would be no bus until four, and confronted their "friend", he offered them a shared seat in a rickety mini van, packed with large egyptian men. no, thank you, my friend. enraged by their afternoon disappearing, bryndia stalked back to the gate where they were forced to hire a private car to drive them the five hours to cairo. they made it to the airport with time to spare and boarded a flight to the next destination on their world tour: india.

cairo.

the sun was setting over the desert as bryndia exited the airplane & loaded onto the shuttle bus toward cairo international, a perfect introduction to egypt! the two only scheduled 3 nights in cairo and looked to get a quick start to their egyptian journey. they were greeted with a swift pickup at the airport by a hotel juliana employee with a love for celine dion songs & any other mid 90's ballads. this fool could dip & dive through insane traffic while singing word for word "my heart will go on"... gangster.

after getting a quick tour of the city, being stared at by passerbys, nearly causing accidents when other drivers heads turned, noticing their whiteness (or in bryn's case, orangeness) , the two made it safely to... a huge office building? it turns out that their hostel shared a space with offices, a bank, and a travel agency amongst other things. they were shown to their room by a boy that looked around the age of 15, but spoke better english than their 45 year old taxi driver. upon entering, the two noticed that there where 4 huge beds & instantly asked how many people they would be sharing the room with over the next 3 nights. they were pleasantly surprised to hear they had the room to themselves along with a connecting bathroom & cable tv with multiple english movie channels. the two tried a new bed each night. after a long day of travel and pounding a couple bottles of water, the two found themselves fast asleep.

bryndia awoke early the next morning with big plans. desert! camels! pyramids! oh my! the two were served hard boiled eggs and nescafe in the lobby as the owner of juliana organized a driver for the day. india was worried. were they cheating on the cairo experience by just getting a driver to shuttle them around? shouldn't they try to figure out public transport? or at the very least, hail their own cab? this was before she realized that white folks in cairo are forced to depend on the guidance of locals. case in point: juliana's owner not only set up a driver for them, but made it his personal responsibility to book their bus tickets out of cairo. how sweet.

at 10 am sharp, bryndia met their driver, and soon, homie, yahya. they told him, pyramids, ho! and the three were off, zooming through cairo's busy streets, the nile at their side. yahya bumped some egyptian jams and told bryndia about the rules of cairo traffic. "there are 25 million people here, my friends. that is why each driver is allowed to kill three people in road each day! you see? how men just run out in front of cars? like they want to die! they crazy! how many you want to kill today? three? yes? ok! we kill three!" bryn laughed. india covered her eyes.

after about a twenty minute ride, bryndia was spit out in a dusty square and told by yahya, here! yes! you are! the two were shocked at how close the pyramids were. really? right here? they had anticipated an hour deep into a barren desert. on the contrary, the great structures were right in the city's backyard. they sat in a tiny concrete room while they were told about their options from their "secure, government approved pyramid tour agency." in a rush to see the sites, the two realized later, perhaps they were ripped off hard core on their first egyptian purchase. they paid their cash and met their guides: one, a teenage boy, young but enthusiastic. the other, a kid no older than ten, a mute, really, as he spoke no english. and a big camel with ringworm. and a crazy horse who really didn't like to be ridden.


and off they went! scuttling along the dirt road that led to the opening of the great sahara. but just as bryndia was going to really get going, they were stopped by a group of tourist police. they spoke loudly and heatedly, bullying bryndia's teenage tour guide in arabic. they turned to bryndia and demanded: how much did you pay for this tour? bryn answered and the guards smirked. shortly after, the young tour guide pulled cash from his pocket, paid them off, and the group was on their way. this became a reoccurring event. four times during their two hour tour did cash bribes get byrndia out of sticky situations. it seemed this was the way of the law.

the pyramids were beautiful. impressive. huge. but a two hour visit is more than enough. paying off guards to ascend the man made monsters is a must. galloping on horse back, playing lawrence of arabia, or aladdin, bobbing up and down on a spitting camel, is also pretty sweet. but by the time the sphinx came around, bryndia was dehydrated and exhausted. they trooped through the exit gates. their guide was insistant: are you happy? my friend? 10 out of 10 for happiness? yes?

yahya met bryndia back at the avis camel rental hub and ushered them into his air conditioned car. you know, said yahya, we are very close to my friends small museum. a nice museum. about papyrus paper and how you make. you want? shall we go? yes! sure we do! bryndia was fooled once again. the rest of the afternoon was spent being shuttled from yahya's friends papyrus museum to his brother's perfume shop to his cousin's flea market-esque hole in the wall store. each place they were greeted like kings. welcome, friends! america! let me tell you about my store! my shop! they were given "welcome drinks", customary in egypt... apparently. presentations of how to make paper, how to mix the perfect perfume, pictures of family members. every man was so friendly, every woman stared silently at them from behind their veil. after each show and tell, bryndia was told to buy something. everything was always special price! just for you! and they bargained and bargained and apologized for not buying more. and at each place, after purchasing, were given a gift, a small token of appreciation for their time.


the day was exhausting, with only one stop for a breather, at a buffet restaurant filled with egyptian goodies. yahya instructed bryndia on the choice options, on the best soups and desserts, and then joined them on the roof for a pipe of shisha. the waiters asked bryn, what flavor you want? i want the egyptian flavor! the one that every egyptian orders! bryn said. are you sure, my friend? very strong! very strong! yes i'm sure! bryn said. ten minutes later, his head was floating like a helium balloon. the men all laughed. they approved. bryndia ended their rooftop excursion posing for pictures in front of the pyramid view backdrop and bizarre taxidermy animals. here, a young busboy insisted on not only taking photos of bryndia with his camera phone, but posing for photos with india. she oblidged, flattered, thinking, how sweet. it turned sour when his hand moved quickly down to her ass and asked for one kiss, one kiss. they left quickly.


that night, yahya joined bryndia on a dinner cruise on the nile. the two sat in a crowd of one hundred sri lankan tourists, again, the only white kids in sight. they watched traditional turkish dancers, spinning in circles for minutes, their skirts dancing around them in blurs of color. and a bellydancer, who yahya insisted was one of his wives, with big lips and big breasts and long finger nails scream at the old indian men, yank on bryns long hair, and pull india up to dance for the audience. they ate rice and veggies and sweets and did it all sober. because alcohol is, of course, a no no in the muslim culture. after eating, bryndia enjoyed the rest of the cruise on the top deck, watching the dark nile move beneath them, a full moon hanging in the black sky.


bryndia awoke the next morning and headed off to the egyptian museum. they spent hours wandering through the long beige halls and marveled at king tuts jewelry collection. they mused on what they would be buried with. if they would mummify chloe and sugar when they passed. halfway through, the pair realized they were being followed by a small boy... or india was. creepily standing right behind her as she peered through the glass cases, smelling her back, breathing on her elbows. egyptian boys are horny.

after leaving the museum, the two wandered around cairo awhile longer, and indulged in some local food... pizza hut. what can they say? they have moments of weakness. familiar food can be comforting when one feels very different and far from home. the forty eight hours in cairo had been exhausting. not just because of their schedule or the crowded city, but because of their extreme difference. throughout the entire visit, they never saw women who were not completely covered, outside of tour groups. despite india wearing her most conservative clothing the whole trip, her head covered, sweating in a long sleeved shirt, india was oggled at constantly. aggressively stared at. pursued, despite being accompanied by bryn the entire time. more than once bryn was asked, how many wives? he would joke, five! i have five wives at home! well then, the inquisitor would ask, can i have this one? i give you many camels. they would all laugh, but bryndia could never tell if they were joking. blending in in europe was easy. here, their first non christian country, bryndia found it much harder. but hoped for a better understanding of different cultures and their norms as their trip continued.

before sunrise the next morning, the two caught a cab to the bus station. their long and nerve racking journey through sinai to taba, a mile walk to the border of elat in israel, and then north to tel aviv was going to be a trying one. they didn't know how long it would take, or how far it would be, but they had something great to look forward to at the end: two weeks on the beaches of tel aviv with judith chriqui and jew friends.

holy land! here they come!

athens.

after the most relaxing week of their lives, bryndia reluctantly boarded a boat in mykanos headed north for athens. they were accompanied by their new friend cian, a homie from florida who had been working tech for the us army in germany for the past four years. the three of them rode the gigantic ferry for five hours, sipping frappes and giggling over "stepbrothers" on india's ipod. they docked, grabbed a bus into the city and, all of a sudden, were in the heart of the capital of greece.


athens is a city that bryndia had completely underestimated. they had thought, if the greek islands were as beautiful as they were, than the capital must be a metropolis of blue skies, ancient marble ruins, strong smells of spicy foods and free ouzo flowing through the gutters. they had, in a way, been right. the city was booming with life... hordes of people everywhere... greeks, immigrants from the middle east, huge men from north africa in every bar. it was like new york in that way. a melting pot. unfortunately, many of those people seemed to actually be melting on the street... deranged, shaking, oozing at the mouth. heroin addicts everywhere. on the walk to dinner one night, bryndia and cian passed a man tying a rubber band around his elbow with a loaded needle hanging from his lips like an unlit cigarette. "wait a second, wait a second. did that really just happen? did we really just see that?"

before arriving at their hostel, cian and bryn had already had their pockets grabbed at by a bundle of burly looking men, their backpacks unsubtley pulled at. the three of them quickly dropped off their belongings, ridding themselves of the "i'm a tourist!" look. the afternoon was spent wandering around omonia, jumping over addicts, avoiding the advances of malnourished prostitutes. the three of them walked through the meat market, whole cow hides hanging from silver hooks, goats faces frozen in a final bleeting plea. chicken livers next to chicken hearts next to pigs feet. every edible mammal present with pale flesh and beet colored blood. india made a hasty exit. they kept walking to discover the flea market, fruit stands with thousands of strawberries, piles of ripe oranges, five cents each. three story townhouses packed full of everything you can imagine. old pistols, tea sets, dusty couches, wooden coat stands, refrigerator boxes overflowing with costume jewelry. cian picked out some delicate greek pornographic comic books. india found pearl covered pill boxes. that night, the three ate dinner at a cafe on a square. cian insisted on "eating like a local" and ordered a lambs head. the waiter was shocked. "are you sure, my friend? are you sure?" cian made a valiant attempt to finish the vile looking thing. india kept her head under the table, feeding pieces of tzatziki covered bread crumbs to the kittens who circled her feet.


the next morning, the three amigos took off for the acropolis. huge stone carvings, gigantic buildings. the stairs were over two feet tall. they climbed and felt tiny among it all. the rocks were slick under foot, smoothed out by the thousands of sneakers that passed over them every day. from the top, they stared out over the huge city, the sea sparkled in the distance. bryndia was, again, reminded of how young their country was. and how green their city is. in athens, things were very stark, very cream, very plain.



they wandered down through the the theater of dyonisis. india put on a show and dance. over to the olympic stadium. up through the cobblestone streets, big shops selling soaps, jewelry, scarves, linens. stopping in a super market for water and wine, bryndia witnessed a security guard wave his baton and wail at a group of young egyptian men angrily. he had seen them stuff beers down their pants. they had to leave the store now! now! now! bryndia escaped the chaos with chocolate and sweet sodas.

that night, bryndia returned to the base of the acropolis and ate greek salad at an outdoor cafe. they watched huge families kiss each others cheeks over and over again at the table next to them. cigarette after cigarette and opa! and cheers! and i love you so much! back through the curving streets packed with tourist shops and through the big open squares, passed the meat market, up into their neighborhood, dark and dangerous. they sat in the hookah bar next to their hostel, smoked mint flavored nargile with the young owner from amman who served them big pots of sugary tea and told them how much love he felt for obama and america. cian joined them. they sat on soft red sofas and watched football on the television, filled the bar with sweet smelling smoke while more middle eastern men played backgammon, throwing their dice very casually and quietly.

the next morning, bryndia awoke at four am and made the long public transport journey out to the aiport. after almost 10 weeks of traveling, the european leg of their journey was ending. springtime in europe had been lifechanging. wonderful. brand new and, yet, familiar. now, they headed into unknown territory. the middle east awaited.

Recipe for One Week in Mykanos

1. Start with a base of Paradise Beach. (Three parts thick cut white sand, two parts cool clear ocean, one part melting blended margarita. Salted rim to taste.)

2. Slowly sprinkle in a mix of International Young Adults.* Try one part South African, one part British, one part US solider stationed in Germany, two parts Nova Scotian, and two parts Oregonian for a particularly sweet batch.

*Can be substituted with oiler up, speedo-clad Grecian body builders with an affinity for backgammon and/or paddle ball.

3. Stir well.

4. Whip up a marinade of Coppertone, green bottled Greek beer, extra virgin olive oil, strawberry scented shampoo, and ouzo.

5. Paint base mixture with excess amounts of marinade and leave it, enclosed in a two sleeper beach bungalow of white concrete, to simmer in high heat for six nights. NOTE: Biter ants may infest said bungalow. Ingestion of copious amounts of cheap red wine will help exterminate. Or, at least, help in the ignorance of most.

6. After six nights, remove mixture from bungalow oven. It should be sweating a rich brown bronzed color. (The optional addition of chopped red tomatoes, pitted black olives, and feta cheese cubes to be combined here.) Roll flat into a thick patty and separate into individual sized servings. Tip: Use sea creature shaped cut outs for extra flair.

7. Smoke patties with the exhaust of a rented red Four Wheeler. Drizzle with baby goat saliva - plentiful in the rolling hills of the Greek Isles.

8. Top with a dollop of spicy tzatziki. Serve, hot, in an Australian themed bar in the center of town, frequented by vacationing midwestern sorority girls and beefy brown Greek men in combat boots.

Best when accompanied by "pink" flavored ouzo and shared on an empty dance floor with 50 Cent playing.