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.

santorini.

bryndia arrived in santorini and was greeted at the airport by kostmos, the owner of their hotel, villa romantic, in the main town on santorini, fira. right away, they knew they had made a lucky find with this hotel. upon arrival, they met kostmos' girlfriend, mother, sister, brother in law, infant nephew and puppy dog (BOO BOO!), all of which played a role in the upkeep of the 12 room hotel. everyone was so relaxed, so sweet, so gentle, so encouraging and excited that bryndia had arrived. kostmos led them to their room: bright oranges and yellows decorating the space that led to wide french doors opening on to a balcony that overlooked the pool, then the sparkling aegean sea. heaven. after getting settled, kostmos sat with india and a map of the island and pointed out all of his favorite spots, circled all of his favorite restaurants, and hooked them up with a sweet super powered four wheeler for their stay, all before telling them that breakfast was included in the price, and served to them in bed, if they chose. oh. did they mention this hotel cost 35 euro a night? bam.

bryndia circled around fira on their ATV, hopped off in the main square, a tiny patch of cobblestone circled by hole-in-the-wall shops selling crayola colored sunglasses and white linen greecian clothing. the two wandered in and out of the tight, hilly alley ways that were walled with white washed houses with deep blue roofs. "free wine tasting! free olive oil tasting! free shots of absinthe!" by accident, the two stumbled upon kostmos' favorite restaurant in town, where they were greeted like kings. "free shots of ouzo! free dessert for you! the special guests!" they ate spicy tzatziki and stuffed peppers and drank house wine that was served in big glass pitchers.

the next morning, bryndia met up with their favorite aussies, dave and rachel, who were staying in fira as well. the four of them hopped on their ATVs and took off to check out the beaches of the small island, a little gang of vroom vrooms and "yee haws".

first, the red beach, a small bay surrounded by huge, jagged walls of maroon stone, where they lay in the sun and watched greek boys hit stones into the water with sticks. then, to perissa, the black beach, where they drove down the boardwalk, past beach bars still empty, closed until may when the tourist season started. they finally found one that was open towards the end of the beach and ordered cold beers and sweet cocktails and lay in the sun, deep charcoal colored sand beneath their feet. bryn had somehow forgotten to pack a bathing suit for the trip, so dave was a gent, and the two took turns jumping into the chilly water, sharing a single pair of swim trunks. (sharing is caring.) a second round of drinks and the waitress got all greek on them with her super hospitality. "free shots of ouzo! and apples and honey yes yes!"


a few hours and the four of them were tipsy and sunkissed. they hopped back on their atvs and took off for kamari, the black stone beach, where stray puppies ran next to bryndia's ride, tongues out, and dave got cocky with his steering skills, knocking rachel to the gravel, where she sustained some major injuries, but was, as always, a badass, who got up, hopped back on, and relished in her sweet new scars.


that night, the four rode out to oui, the northern most point on santorini, where hundreds of locals and tourists gathered on tiered white walls to watch the sun set. the four hopped a fence and found a nice flat roof to post up on, where they drank wine and talked about rachel and dave's upcoming engagement party and next years wedding, what it was like for dave to be a firefighter in sydney, and what kind of trouble rach used to get in as a teenager in the outback.


the sun set sparkled oranges and pinks and the four returned to fira for more food and more wine and more shared love. rachel and india sought out the best bar in fira, which, it turned out, was a scottish themed bar manned by muscley greek boys, and the girls danced while the boys drank until it got late and their sunburns hurt and the four went their separate ways.

their last full day in santorini was an adventure. the four took a glass bottomed boat out to the volcanic island on the west side of the island where they hiked up unsteady, fragile volcanic rock and laughed at their tour guide as he heaved rocks over his head in demonstrations on how volcanoes erupt. their tour ended with the four jumping from the side of the boat into chilly waters and swimming (what seemed like a very far distance!) to some not-so-hot springs that smelled like rotting eggs and threatened to turn india's skin a faded orange. arriving back at the old port, the four got super touristy and each mounted a donkey for the steep ride up. the race was intense, each donkey vying for its spot at first. (arguments continued into the evening who the victor was.) the afternoon was spent in travel agencies, in bikini stores, at huts selling postcards and sunscreens. that night, the four picked a restaurant with huge open windows overlooking the dramatic drop down to the sea, their volcano and hotsprings standing solid in the distance. india ate swordfish, buttery and soft. bryn slurped calamari dusted with feta.



the next morning, bryndia drank their coffee and ate their toast slowly. they didn't want to say goodbye to kostmos and his family so soon. they rode to the new port in a van with an older couple who were gushing over their hosts as much as bryndia had. ten minutes into their conversation, they discovered that the woman had grown up mere miles from where india's father had in wales, and that both husband and wife had been in portland when st. helens blew back in 1980. when they reached the port, the woman grasping at her walking cane and smiling broudly, she cooed at bryn and india: "never stop traveling. never stop going." they promised they woudln't.

rachel and dave found bryndia at the port, drinking cold coffee frappes, and the four boarded a high speed ferry north board, dave and rach hopping off at ios, all four of them depressed as hell to have to part ways, while bryndia continued on to find out what all the mykanos hype was about.

rome.

bryndia arrived in rome and met at the hostel after their seperate journeys from florence. the two had booked two beds in an eight person dorm at alessandro’s palace, a hostel that came highly recommended from various backpackers they had met. When they arrived, they understood why. The hostel was about a five minute walk from the train station, and manned by a staff of really friendly, international kids who were full of advice.

Bryndia made their way up the four flights of stairs to the dorm where they met their first friend, frankie, a 19 year old baller from south carolina who immediately got the check of approval as he was bumping the cuts off of the newest wayne mix tape. Soon after bryndia’s arrival, two girls from thailand, a guy from brazil, and two aussies filled up the room. Bryndia immediately made friends with dave and rachel, a newly engaged couple from sydney who were backpacking around europe for four months. The four of them got to know each other over free pizza and five dollar bottles of red wine in the hostel bar downstairs. Frankie joined them, accompanied by a fly beezy from georgia (“zee country! Not zee state!”), who he proceeded to woo over the course of the evening and bring back to the hostel room late night... we were all asleep. Ahem. You know what that means. (BOW CHICKA BOW WOW.) All in all, bryndia felt real good about rome after their first day: they had made friends!

The next morning, bryndia awoke leisurly and set off on a walking tour of bernini’s art. India having been a bernini fanatic at sarah lawrence and writing a hefty conference paper on some of his work, acted as tour guide as they circled the city and ooed and ahhed at his moving marble. The two visited the ecstasy of st teresa before heading down the spanish steps, checking out the piazza del popolo, and throwing coins over their shoulders into the fontana de trevi. A bit pizza’d out, the two tried their hand at the local chinese joint for lunch… it was gross. A little nap in the hostel (you gotta juice those afternoons when the dorms will be empty) and the pair walked to the colosseum only to find that it closes at sundown, or, in bryndia’s case, a little earlier. Upset but enjoying the outside view, the pair circled back and checked out the ruins… piles and piles of roman ruins everywhere… grabbed a slice of coconut off of a street fruit vendor, and headed back to the hostel. There, they met up with dave and rachel and found an italian retaurant around the corner that served them free glasses of champagne and big bowls of pasta. After dinner, dave and rachel headed to bed after a long day, and bryndia posted up in the hostel bar again, meeting more international travelers while sipping on a five euro bottle of vino rosa.



The next morning, bryndia awoke at the buttcrack of dawn to beat the crowds for vatican city. Almost trampled and suffocated on the subway line, one of only two that run through the city, the pair barely made it alive to the vatican. (it should be noted that the reason rome only has two subway lines is because every time they dig a hole for a new one, they find another pile of 3000 year old ruins. Pretty cool, they guess, but it makes public transport tricky.) when they arrived at the doors to vatican city at 830 am, there was already a hefty line which soon grew to wrap around the entire wall… miles and miles of all different kinds of people, big groups of children in matching bright baseball hats, hourds of tourist groups bouncing off of big buses. Bryndia was smugly proud of doing their traveling independently.

Vatican city is hard to decribe without depending on cliches. Of course, everyone has seen a picture of the sistine chapel, but no one really understands what it is, what it means, until you have actually been there. The grandness of it all is overwhelming. To stare up at the cielings in the raphael rooms and think of how many people have walked on the floors, have seen the same paintings, have stood in awe in front of the michelangelo frescos and masterpieces… it makes you feel like you’re really witnessing something big, something special. Bryndia tried to latch on to different english speaking guides where they learned little tid bits about each work of art they saw. Bryn was particularly found of the story of constantine room by raphael (“in hoc!”) while india got into learning the stories of all the apostoles, particularly bartholomew and his skinless body. The two made their way down the spiral staircase and exited out to st peter’s square where they admired the outside, but skipped the inside, as the line to enter literally wrapped aronud the entire square.



On their way back to the hostel, bryndia walked over the ponte st angelo, another bernini favorite, the marble angels of which each carry a relic from jesus’ last days. Their faces were all so full of emotion, india could have sworn she saw them blink down at her. One more stop at the pantheon which was, disappointingly, covered in scafolding but, encouragingly, across from a mcdonalds, where bryn downed no less than four cheeseburgers and india indulged in soft serve. The two walked leisurely back to the hostel, stopping in various small churches and parks, and brainstormed about where to head next. Upon arriving back at alessandro’s palace, the two realized they had to hit the road again in the morning so they booked a dirt cheap flight to santorini greece after finding that the 24 hour boat ride from italy was unavailible (thank god). (take note: flying to greecian islands isn’t as expensive as you think its going to be. and the Grecian airlines have the cutest flight attendants and best meals, voted by bryn, for 2010.)

After this was taken care of, the two got back to sight seeing and returned to the colosseum where, this time, they got in! here, they mostly pretended to be gladiators, practiced badass sword fighting moves, and read about the different animals that Russell Crowe would have fought against. (Ostriches! Rhinos! Hippos!) back in the day, a stadium wasn’t just a stadium, but a full on tail gate extravaganza. The colosseum had running water up to every level of the seats and each section came equipped with a fire pit to throw some shrimps on the barbi to snack on while you watched fools get murked.



After taking millions of panoramic shots on bryn’s fancy digi cam, the pair met up with dave and Rachel, grabbed a picnic of hella wine and cheese, crackers and meat, and strolled to the Spanish steps to watch the sun set. The stairs were filled with all sorts of internationals and they soon became a group of ten, sharing their travelling stories and laughing at a flasher up on his balcony do little dances for the crowds applause. The night concluded with kiwis-on-a-stick from the fanciest mcdonald’s ever and learning that dave was not only a big brother Australia star but an accomplished author! Such a modest boy, that dave. (buy our friends book here: http://www.boomerangbooks.com.au/Breakout/David-Tchappat/book_9781741108163.htm)

The next morning, dave and Rachel and bryndia hopped a train to the airport where they split ways, only to meet up again, later that evening, on the island of santorini in Greece.

florence.

bryndia boarded the train to florence sunburned and drunk at four in the afternoon. because of this, they didn't make it to pisa for the leaning tower day trip they had planned. instead, they got into florence with the sun setting and spent a solid hour trying to locate their hostel that was, apparently, two blocks from the train station. after wandering in circles (and walking right past their hostel's front door more than once), india stopped a stunning dark haired woman in a red trench coat who turned out to be armenian and a little angel who brought them to her apartment, googled the hostel, and walked bryndia (ahem, around the corner) to their new digs.

by now, bryndia was exhausted, and rather grumpy with each other. most of the time, they've learned, this is because they are hungry. the two approached the front desk clerk at the hostel who informed them that they would have their own hostel room for the night which instantly changed their moods, but when the two asked where to eat he informed them that the only thing open in florence at 10 pm was mcdonalds. (weirdly enough, this turned out to be a lie. and the first sign that this hostel blew hard.) so bryndia decided to take matters into their own hands and find some grub that wasn't puffy with preservatives. surprise surprise! two blocks away from their hostel was a fabulous little italian place with cheap sparkling wine and a crowd of late night diners. bryndia ate pizza and pasta and loved italy all over again.

the next morning, they made their way into the center of florence. walked in the crowd of tourists and italians, body heat blending with the scent of cooking crapes and melting gelato. the sun was out! spring was here! bryndia was happy! they ate breakfast criss cross applesauce in a small patch of grass in a tiny square next to the piazza del duomo before walking to the galleria dell'accademia to check out how big david really was. (he's big! he's so big!) bryndia played the game of "which painting do you like the best on THIS wall" and meandered throughout the gallery, recognizing plaster molds for marble statues that they had seen in the louvre in paris.

more walking, more wandering. through the piazza della signoria, across the ponte vecchio. falafal and sparkling water and complaints about how expensive everything seemed. eventually, bryndia found a park that didn't charge them to enter, and they walked on shaded trails until they found a horse race track with dozens of italians rushing to the windows to place their bets before the gun went off. india cooed over the horses and convinced bryn it was a bad idea to put money on an italian horse race they knew nothing about, and they retreated back to the cool park where they played cards on a park bench for the rest of the afternoon.

that night, after a dinner of lamb pasta (for bryn) and veggie risotto (for india) at an all together WAY too expensive (but very delicious) restaurant, the pair got a hold of india's old friend amy from back in her tulane days. amy was living in florence for her junior year abroad and had an understanding for the city that bryndia was excited to learn. they met on the steps of the duomo, amy looking very italian with her long dark hair and crop top. the three of them bought a bottle of wine and a couple of cans of beer and met amy's friends in a tiny square tucked into the back streets of central florence that was packed with italians of all ages pregaming their saturday night outside. to feel so local, so part of the scene in a foreign country, was special. after an hour, the crowd began to disperse, each sect making their way to a different bar around the square. amy led bryndia to a cute bar that had a large seating area in the front with people chatting, drinking & smoking joints which led to a banging dance club in the back that was dj'd by two fired up lesbians playing LOUD house. (house, is bryn's new favorite music. look at that, connor hyde: you are no longer alone in your uhn-tsha uhn-tsha love!) bryndia and amy kept the dj's spinning until early morning.

when bryndia finally got up the next morning, the previous days bright warmth had disaperated into heavy clouds and pouring rain. the two experimented with travel options and decided to each take a different train to rome. the plan backfired when bryn's train was high speed and india's was local and she got lonely and cried on the five hour journey to rome. they reunited in the capital city. they weren't going to try that again.

cinque terre.

after venice, bryndia headed into the Italian mountainsides to a part of their trip they had been looking forward to since the beginning: cinque terre. cinque terre, it seems, is one of those places that you’ve either never heard of, or you’re absolutely obsessed with. five tiny towns carved into the moutainside, bright tall buildings that seem to hang suspended over the ocean, all surrounded by olive trees and grape vines and basil plants. bryndia was first introduced by their sweet as honey friends emma and paul who had traveled there together two summers ago. bryndia had been told it was the most special place they would ever see.

when they arrived, emerging from the dark tunnel that cut through the mountains, India jumped onto the train platform, so quaint and cute that it resembled a disneyland train station, and did a little dance in front of sun setting into the ocean. bryn refrained. both had decided to be spontaneous, and be a fly by the seat of their pants sort of pair that night, so they hadn’t booked a hotel room for the two nights they planned on staying. after circling the city India began to whine about how heavy her backpack was so they chose a cheap hotel on the hill. they had chosen to stay in, the last of the five towns, monterosso with a fabulous beach strip hosting many restaurants. that night, bryndia ate mozzarella and tomatoes and pasta slathered in creamy pesto on the ocean. two australians played bob marley out of their tiny ipod speakers at the table behind them.

early the next morning, bryndia got up, donned their snazzy neon running shoes, and prepared for the 22 k hike from monterosso through the other four towns of cinque terre and back again. their hotel, albergo ristorante la pineta, had the best free breakfast they had had so far. marble cake! unlimited cappuccinos! and nutella! bryn enjoyed multiple pieces of sliced turkey on a platter (so classy).

they took off after about five cappuccinos each ready to hike the infamous trail. little did they know, the first part was the most difficult. the trail was tight, winding in and out of cliffs; the steep mountain to one side and a deep plunge into the ocean through mean looking bushes on the other. some other walkers who they passed were using big hiking boots, professional looking walking sticks. bryndia is way too hard core for that shit.

the first stop of the hike was vernazza where they stopped for giant jug of water & a coca-cola for bryn. they walked along the small beach in vernazza that was more of a mini harbor & up to the top of the tower where they declined on paying three euros to go up the lookout because the hiking trail views were way better.

then bryndia hit the mountain again, this part of the trail mostly in shaded olive groves, big stray cats waiting on scattered picnic benches for hikers to feed them from buckets nailed high to trees filled with cat food. here is where they found a bundle of signs advertising a “nude beach!” that enticed bryn into repelling down a steep part of the mountain using a rope that had been looped around a tilting tree. india pointed out there was no way she was climbing down a cliff backwards just to take her top off and bryn returned to the top of the trail.



a little more walking and they arrived in corniglia where they bought paninis that oozed olive oil and brought them down to the beach. there, the two ate on a large gray rock while a girl next to them stripped totally naked to change into her bathing suit for a swim. (so much for the nude beach.) after lunch, india got ballsy and began jumping from rock to rock, which lead to a major injury on her shin and knee, the bruise from which lasted for weeks.

after corniglia, bryndia descended a huge hill of stairs that lead to a tamer, flatter trail to the next two towns. about forty minutes of walking beside the sea and they arrived in manarola, where they continued to contribute to each cities economy by purchasing gelato. they walked through the town square, elaborately decorated with mosaics of sea life and murals of grape vines. then they began the last leg of the hike, a short walkway through a sort of open-air tunnel called via dell’amore. here, one wall is covered with impromptu graffiti and proclamations of love (“sara & jack 4eva’’), while the other are carved windows looking out onto the ocean.

the tunnel spit them out into the last town, riomaggiore, with a small harbor and a rocky beach. exhausted, bryndia made their way to the beach where they immediately stripped off their clothes and passed out in the sun on a big rock. rejuvenated by their nap, the two decided to attempt to make the entire walk back before it got dark. they made it to vernazza, where they stopped, bought a bottle of wine, and took a five-minute train ride through the mountain back to monterosso. that night, they ate more pesto by the ocean before they fell asleep on top of the covers, sunburned.

the next morning, the two discovered there had been ANOTHER major train crash and all the trains in italy were delayed for hours. lucky for them, bryndia didn’t really want to leave cinque terre so soon. the two lounged on the beach in the sun all day, bryn making friends with stray dogs and swimming in the ocean. they picnicked, drank white wine gifted to them by the man at their hotel’s desk, and boarded a train to Florence in the late evening, feeling GOOD. and bronzed.

ever since bryndia left cinque terre, they’ve tried to spread the word to fellow travelers who they have met. many of which have taken their advice & found the same outcome, overwhelming joy. bryndia suggests cinque terre as a must visit as it is great for a single traveler or a family vacation…it is literally heaven on earth.

venice.

after three weeks in sunny spain, bryndia hopped the cheapest flight to italy they could find. this flight happened to be into venice. so, with no plans and no expectations, the two travelers found themselves in the canal filled city. and loved it.

when bryndia arrived in the airport, they hopped a "water bus" into the city, which turned out to be a nice welcome tour of the entire edge of venice. getting off at the final stop on the line, the pair trekked through the tight canal streets with their stuffed backpacks until they found their hotel, alla salute. here, they were bonused by the receptionist to an unexplained UPGRADE. "you won't have to share a bathroom with the entire hallway anymore!" instead, bryndia would stay in their own little suite, number 69 no less! though the door to which, weirdly enough, was immediately to the right of the reception desk. (the looks they got from fellow hotel guests when stumbling up to that door late at night was priceless.) only in venice for an hour and already, the best!

that night, bryndia did circles around the city, stood on cobblestone bridges and watched the gondala guests kiss beneath them. they shared a pizza, shared some wine, and continued to walk. just as the dark set in, they heard a faint but recognizable song. following the music, the two discovered an outdoor concert of italian musicians playing american rock at an irish bar. while sipping dark beer and humming along to the eagles, india struck up a conversation with three american kids who were visiting venice on their spring break from their abroad program in prague. coincidentally, one of the boys had been the freshman year roomie of one of india's best friends at tulane. her world shrunk a little. it feels nice, safe, to meet people who you have met before halfway around the world when you least expect it.



after the concert, bryndia and their three new friends (hannah from bennington, kevin from villanova, and langston from tulane) headed into the older part of venice in search of a new, preferrably italian, bar. walking into a piazza surrounded by bars with people spilling out, the group was startled to hear a loud chant from a corner. "god is dead! god is dead! we must drink!" no, no, they pointed out to the wastey italian boy. god isn't dead anymore. it's easter. he has risen. "god has risen! we must drink!" their knew obvoiusly not very religious friend dragged them into the closest bar where he bought campari spritzers and asked everyone about their favorite american slang.

after thirty minutes, bryndia's new friend, even more drunk then before, had began to take roses from the bums selling them on the square put the bud into his mouth and spit out petals like confetti at passerbys & the group itself, while yelling "god is dead", it was a quite a specticle. After the first Italian bar ridded itself of the group they all made moves up the street to another bar to use the bathroom & buy a quick drink, taking the glasses they were givin to walk down the street as the italians told them, "you must screw the bars by taking glasses, because they screw you". they spent their easter swigging wine in a dark sqaure with a pack of italians who aged from 16 to 25.



the next morning, bryndia awoke to another gorgeous sunny day. (they bring the lucky weather! really! really!) they ate breakfast in a cafe, sprawling out across a piazza packed with tourists, staring up at the tall bell towers that all looked like sinking ships, all tilting slightly under the unstable ground of the old city. after cappucinos and mozerella sammys, bryndia took katy olsen's impromtu advice and hopped a water taxi to burano, a tiny island about 30 minutes outside of venice. the small community is recognized for its artistically painted homes and its skilled lace making. (standard, really.)



stepping off the boat, the pair was met with a crayola crayon box of houses, packed tightly together, pastel colored legos, one right next to the other, forming loops of cobblestone alleys walled in bright pinks, purples, blues. after circling the island on foot twice, bryndia bought a bottle of sparkling wine from a street vendor (who opened it for us and gave us two cups... drinking laws in europe are the beeest) and took it to the water where they chilled in the sun for most of the afternoon. (sidenote to all travelers in venice, there is straight up zero reason to pay for public transportation to burano. or anywhere else really. no one ever checks tickets. its great. save yourself euros.)



after leaving burano, bryndia returned to venice and strolled through the markets on the largest canal. ate delicious cookies and talked about what it would be like to live in a city that was that packed with tourists. dinner that night was more insane italian food - buffalo mozerella and baked pasta and wine in big glass pitchers - and more wandering in the dark streets. venice is a city meant for that kind of aimless and wonderful walking. they slept, their legs aching, but minds wandering, dreaming of the beautiful towns of cinque terre that would grace them the next day.