The Infinite Abyss

Liz life update.
Everything is nothing. I have all the time in the world and nothing to do in it. I have turned doing nothing into a full time job. I can literally force myself back to sleep for two or three more hours just so I have less time during the day to be faced with my own reality. I have walked out to my studio numerous times and just stared at it. Stared at the paints and the ink, the pencils and paper, the paintings half finished and the projects half started. I want so much to create. To be able to use this time to my advantage. But my heart tugs me deeper and deeper and I can't do it. I cant pick up the brush, I cant. Or I won't. More likely won't. I started meditating again and can work at that day by day. hour by hour. While sitting there I find images floating into my mind that I linger on although I know I shouldn't. Mostly places I slept while I was traveling alone. There is the one room in Dharmsala. My perfect space. The place I close my eyes and go to when I want to remember being most happy. I remember shitholes near bus stations with monstrously large bathrooms and bags of noodles. Creepy lofts in North Thailand where lots of reading was done. Hostels in Athens with their loud streets and bad internet.
Where I am now, these all feel like make believe.
But in my reality. In my head. In that meditation time, I sit with myself and know they were real. I know I was there, me and my head. Me and my meditating. I remember every place I ever sat for an hour in silence. But I can't remember what my dreams are.
I can't remember what I am passionate about, what I want to do with my life. What I want my life to be. So I drown myself in television and sleep until the long day is finally over and I can sleep again.
I believe they call this depression. It feels like depression. I feel like that little circle who bops around too sad all the time. Or the robot from Hitchiker's Guide to the Universe. My mom gave me a psychologist to talk to. I might have to do it. I'm out of ideas and I'm losing days faster and faster.
I fell hard in Roller Derby the other day, knocking the wind out of me and seriously smashing up my shoulder. I do a great job of kicking my own ass.
I found out today that another friend died.
And its spooky and surreal and of course what the fuck.
Jared, Jen's first and I'm pretty sure only love. The first boyfriend that mattered. Jared was in a head on collision in October, one month after Jen died and was in a coma for three weeks before passing away. Jared was in his twenties.
I sat there on the phone when i found out just fuckin shell shocked. First of all that another young, kind, loving person has died far too early. And two that it's Jared, so soon after Jen.
I talked about Jared with Jen when I saw her last in India. Their love was a fated one. They met and connected like magnets only a few months before she was supposed to leave on her Bonderman fellowship. I remember thinking then how fucked up it was that an awesome girl like Jen and an awesome guy like Jared had to meet then. And that they only had a short time to be together before she left. Turns out they each just had a short time to live and be awesome before the fates wiped them out.
But I'm a firm believer in loving what you have when you have it. None of this, 'I don't want to miss you or I don't want to get hurt when you leave' bullshit. They took what they could get. They spent their time together and they loved each other for as long as they could. And Jared even visited Jen in Honduras in the first year of her travels. But as it was things couldn't hold up to such time and continental divides, and they had to go their separate ways.
But when Jen and I talked she talked of him fondly, she did love him and always would, if she ever came back to America they would maybe figure it out. But she was living her life in South Africa and Jared was living his in Seattle. I know a lot of men fell in love with Jen while she was gone, but I'm pretty sure Jen loved Jared more than any of those hot Brazilians or charming Brits.
Jared was a vegan, a carpenter, an avid bike rider (even up all those Capitol Hill bitch ass hills) a musician and a good man. With a really good beard. He loved Jen very much. As I know she did him. I remember one time when Jen and I rode bikes to meet Jared at a bar in Ballard. Jen and I were early and turns out at the wrong bar, buut it was a bar, so we started drinking a pitcher anyways. After the pitcher was gone Jared kindly told me that Stella, actually was NOT a vegan beer, as they filter it through fish bladders. But that he didn't want to tell me until after cause he hated when people did that to him.
That was the last Stella I ever had. But it was damn good. Ignorance is bliss. Thanks Jared.
Also the amazing Halloween night out Jared had some insane WWF costume on that I had no idea about. Cause I don't know shit about wrestling. But he looked incredible. And crazy. Fit in well with a crazy afro hippy lady, a unicorn, Larry David, and John Waters.
I am saddened to learn of his death but in a weird way it seems too close to be a coincidence. If I were religious I would picture them up in Heaven drinking union and vegan beer (aka Budweiser)and eating vegan cupcakes that Jen made. And being happy. Being as I do not lean religious I'll just think of them as together again, in some alternate universe where the young get to live their lives and where people who love each other get to be near each other.

Sab to the Rina

Four days after Jen died so did Sabrina.
Twenty four years old as well, she died on a Wednesday.
My best friend all through high school, glued to the hip. I remember ten years ago meeting her, almost to the day... Braces and curls and catholic uniform in Mr. Nick's history class. And that was it, for the next five years you couldn't tear us apart. Sabrina and Liz. We began to dress and look and talk alike. We were those annoying girls who couldn't stop giggling when together and you would never know why because we had too many inside jokes. We slept in each others beds, drank each others orange juice out of the carton, walked into each others houses without knocking. We made mixed tapes and videos and music together. If I went out of town for a week I would get letters and calls every day detailing even the most minute of events. We went on vacation together, to each others house for Thanksgiving and for family dinners. If you wanted to date one of us, the other better really really like you or you're out. We fell down on purpose, we shouted at boys, we stayed up late. We told each other everything and still had more to talk about. We dreamt about the white 67 mustang we would buy (together, duh) and her dad would fix it up and we'd cruise around as cool as any Rob. We made two person bands even though we both sucked at our instruments. We jumped into fountains and ran into bushes, we kissed boys and we cried about high school. We called in Limp Bizkit requests to KRZQ, and ate peanut butter and jumped on the sofa! (j/k we would never jump on the sofa)We would ride to school together and then call as soon as we got home to talk about what funny stuff happened after we got dropped off. We would watch movies like it was going out of style. We played soccer together, we tried to be track and field discus throwers together. We went to Palm Springs and wore matching sequined butterfly shirts on the strip. And sang karaoke. We had the same favorite foods. We ate fries with Ranch dressing. And drank Dr. Pepper. We were each others ally, we held each other up, we got in petty high school fights and we competed. But we were always together no matter what. Any bullshit could be solved with a Wendy's run and a Slurpee. And Night at the Roxbury. We would make our mothers and our brothers crazy. We had an encyclopedia of inside jokes. And nicknames. And matching outfits. Sometimes people would call us by each others names. Especially(and this was often) when our hair happened to be the same. We dressed up like 1980's bridesmaids and went to homecoming together with Melissa as a threesome of awesomeness. We made up stupid dances to random songs and videotaped them. We shared our art and our deepest fears. We were ridiculous together. We got each other. We shared a sisterly closeness to a sickening degree. Sharing clothes and food and lives. We ran together, we studied together, we partied together. I have hundreds of notes intricately coded written by her during some class or other. (Probably religion) We were so close it was almost telepathic. One look would say a million words. One roll down of a car window, one tiny movement of the face. We never went anywhere without the other one and if we did it was really boring. I loved her and she loved me. Sabrina and Liz, Liz and Sabrina.
I never imagined ten years was all I would get. And not even the full ten.

We began to lose touch one year after I moved to Seattle for college. Something had flipped and she began to find different friends and pretty soon we weren't talking on the phone as much, she wasn't telling me the truth, and our friendship began to fall apart. I last saw her maybe three years ago, and we didn't even have anything to talk about. There was something missing behind her eyes, something she was hiding from me and from herself. That hilarious, unrelenting humour was gone and something had replaced it. She no longer was this amazing girl who didn't care what anyone thought, the girl I loved and grew up with. Her sense of lightness had disappeared. A dark fog blew into her life and never quite left. Everything that had been hiding behind the jokes and the fun was burbling out. She was finding new ways to deal with pain she had been clutching onto for a long time. We lost all touch after a while and that is when I began to hear about the cocaine. I had almost lost a friend to heroine who was lucky and lived after emerging from a coma, she knew how I felt about this, and so she kept it from me. And she kept herself from me as well.
I don't know much about these years, only that they were dark and lonely. I should have been there for her, I should have come home and literally slapped some sense into the girl. But as life is, I didn't. I would change things if I could, and I'll never forgive myself for letting her slip into such a world. But I had to let her live her own life. We couldn't be hip to hip forever.I had my own life too and I had to live it. What can do?

I wrote her a letter before she went to rehab. I knew we wouldn't ever be friends like we once were, but I told her I would love to start over. If she got her shit together. And when she was healthy, when she wanted to, I'd be there, ready to begin a new and different friendship.
She moved to Austin, Texas she went to rehab, and for the past two years or so she had been on the up and up. She had her own apartment, she was finally out of the hellhole that Reno can be, she had a job.

During my year of travel we began to reconnect. I would see some Milk Bar in Australia that reminded me of our obsession with Clockwork Orange, or see some Indian dude in a Roxbury shirt. Or meet another upper thigh toucher, or see something I knew she would love. It was in no way on the level we once were, but it was something. I was curious about her life and was so happy that she finally got to move, something we had been plotting since teenagers. And every now and then we'd throw an inside joke each others way.I was happy, even if it was only an email here or there, i truly missed her and would take what I would get. I had no idea that things were beginning again. I thought everything was fine.
But she began drinking again in the past months and then last week it was all over. One too many things in a recovering body and that was it. I will never see her ever again.
We were supposed to grow old together in Palm Springs and fight over who was the Romy and who was the Michelle.
This is all wrong. None of this is right.
I miss her, I've missed her for a long time, I can only hope that no more follow in her footsteps. I can hope against hope that she is finally at peace. I'll have to live for both of us now. My Sabrina shaped space will always be there. My hilarious, beautiful, bootylicious Sabrina.

If I can't dance...

Jen. One of the most alive people I have ever know, is gone from my life. It takes so much not to agonize and hate and curse the earth right now. She lived like no one I have ever known. A million lives in just twenty four years. I sit here and scream and shout and cry and nothing I do will change any of it. No matter how many times I shout NO, this is life. And life ends.
She died in Africa, she had been gone for two years traveling and dancing and lighting up lives like no one but Jen knew how.
And unlike most who loved Jen and missed her terribly since she left to see more of the world, I was blessed with the most beautiful gift of seeing her when I was in India. She happened to be flown there for work and had just seen the tops of the Himalayas in LeDak. Jen said the air up there at the top of the world was something she'll never forget. So I showed up at her hotel and it was like we were back in Seattle again. Except we had to haggle with rickshaw drivers and step in pishy filled streets and get stared at a lot by Indian dudes. We went to a totally weird mexican restaurant and paid way too much for 'nachos' and she told me tales of her travels. Of Brazilian streets and diving in the bottom of the Ocean and Argentinians who fell in love with her. She told me about living in Africa and about this perfect(if slightly underpaid for how brilliant she is) job she had found and about her recent trip around South Africa. We laughed about the good ol days when we would get off work at 3pm and ride our bikes to Agua Verde and drink margaritas, even if it was the middle of the week. We spent a few days in shitty Delhi, sharing tea and breakfast at her fancy work-paid for hotel. We rented Bollywood movies and tortured her roommate with the four hour long singing romances. Then in the even shittier Pahar Ganj neighborhood where we basically hid in a guesthouse ordering food and watching crappy movies on t.v. and neither of us gave a shit. We walked and walked around Delhi in the hottest heat to the India Gate and then decided we'd rather just sit in the shade and talk. We rode the metro one afternoon for two hours, just because it had air conditioning, and really good people watching. We went to see movies, drink soda and eat popcorn and pretend we were in America or something. Except for everything was in Hindi. We ate snickers bars and spent hours in bookshops.
I feel a Jen shaped space in my life which will be there forever. She taught me to enjoy things, to say fuck the corn flakes and eat delicious breakfast if you feel like it. She was a person who found space for everything and everyone. She could paint some pottery like you wouldn't believe. Jen was sexy in an unassuming way, like she didn't know how fine she was. Jen could party till dawn and still wake up and go to work then write some massive important paper for school. Jen supported herself and she was more selfless than anyone I know. She put her friends first and was always ready for adventure. I distinctly remember her working two or three jobs, a double degree, volunteering for various fair trade organizations, and still made time to go to support her many friends in their lives, go for a beer afterward, and then maybe go to an African dance class.
And probably the best Unicorn I've ever seen.
I sat at my desk in Seattle many a night reading her travel blog and just thinking, Of course- Jen is becoming a dive master, of course she is doing a road trip around the Congo with some dudes, of course she is living in Brazil speaking Portuguese and frolicing in waterfalls.
http://splendidtraveltales.blogspot.com/
When I last saw her she was learning Zulu for fuck's sake.
If it wasn't for Jen, I probably wouldn't have had the confidence to leave on my own travels.
No one I know was more in love with the world than Jen. When she got the Bonderman Fellowship to travel I knew no one more deserving. Jen understood people, she wanted to make life better for as many people as she could. And I know that she did. I for one will never dance without thinking of her, cause this girl could shake it. Especially when you're at a Michael Jackson/Prince dance off party.
This sudden and tragic event has shaken me and I know that Jen would want me to snap the fuck out of my pity party and start living. I'll miss her every day. But I know that from now on, when I paint, dance, or travel- Jen comes with me.

Smells like Sagebrush

It isn't all bad, this coming home business. Reno for example, smells terrific. There's something about the smell of home that really brings me back to reality. Or at least makes me stop and think for a bit. Keeps me in the moment if you will.
I smell sagebrush blowing in the wind, sweet and dusty. Asphalt and construction, the hot exhausting smell of progress. And although I feel I have changed and grown older, some things will always be here, just as I left them. That massive, low Nevada sky that sits on the mountains hanging puffy clouds about town. These mountains, I have forgotton how beautiful they are. They circle around town; golden and violet, deep dark blues behind bright fiery mustard yellow, orange and sometimes rose. The abundant sagebrush is on every hill, every street and fills the barren hills behind my house. Fatty blue-belly lizards slither in and out of the rocks and bluebirds sing their oh so familiar tune.
I went on a walk with Charles wonder dog(who has totally gotten fat and can hardly keep up, even with me which is saying a lot) down my neighborhood streets and hills. The creeks run with cool fresh and probably dysentery free water, cows and horses and sheep hang out in their pastures. I smell damp hay to feed the animals, the rain threatening with the coming thunder storm. And let me tell you there aint no smell like desert rain. The dry wood on the deck, the old oil paint in my studio, ripe crab apples and willow trees. The carpet in the living room, the sandpaper couch, the laundry room. I can even still sense my moms footsteps first on carpet, then on wood, and back to carpet again as she walks through the house in the morning for work. The sticky smell of fruit sugars cooking in the kitchen fogged through the house while my mom made this years batch of crabapple jelly.
Today while I was walking I passed my old middle school bus stop and dragged the garbage cans up the long driveway, I felt like I could be eleven years old again. And just as moody.
I went out this weekend to the Wine Walk. Which is exactly what it sounds like. Drunken traipsing with Kaylene, her brother and a massive crew. Ran into everyone from camp counselors to neighbors to relatives. Reno reno reno. It was nice but drinking at 3pm can only end with a 9pm bedtime, no matter how tough you think you are, the wine walk gets you every time. Downtown is getting it together though, revamping, getting hip, or whatever. There was music down at Wingfield park and the river is looking awesome, and a rad place to hang out for hooligans. It even felt good just to walk those downtown streets. Hear the slots and see the mullets, the jeans and Harley t-shirts, the smell of cigarettes coming out of all the tattoo shops.
This is my home after all, and I do love it for what it is. The sun shines almost every day, everyone talks to you wherever you go and waves at you when you're on the street. I can walk five minutes and be completely surrounded by desert. I can ride my bike, eh thirty minutes and be downtown. I left for a reason and I know that I can't live here forever, but I'm here now and I need to understand Reno for what it is. My home. Complete with laundry machine, comfy bed, fridge with food in it, art studio, drum set and of course my loving family and friends.
I am still desperately trying to pull myself together however.
I go back and forth between Goldie Hawn in the beginning of Death Becomes Her, and Zach Braff in Garden State. Not that good.
I find it hard not to cuddle up on the couch with my favorite mug and watch hours and hours of recorded Entourage. Actually hard is to go through a year's mail, call all the friends I've missed, come to grips with the people I love who've died, update my cv, balance the longest distance relationship ever, and find a purpose in life.
So I decided to roll out. I bought a bus ticket to L.A. and am heading there in two days to see my brother, my aunt and uncle and my grandparents. Then see more friends around SoCal, and then I think I'm going to make my way up to Seattle and maybe to Vancouver. Because I need just a little more time moving before I can totally pause.

Reno... seriously?

I was hyperventilating. I was panicking. I was about to cry. I did NOT want to return to the United States. I kept wishing the plane would crash or I would get detained or deported. But not so much as a flight delayed. Seamless all the way to the Reno airport. I slept none. I watched many movies and listened to the same music for the last time. I wrote and tried to read. I had that garden state feeling where I felt the plane in chaos all around me, yellow air bags and tiny vodka bottles flying all over the place, and all I would do was sit there and stare. I was shaking when the plane landed in SFO. I dragged my iron feet across the airport, coasted through it all and there I was. I had arrived in the United States of America. San Fransisco. Took the BART. Which in comparison to the world is one of the worst public transit systems ever. Eight dollars for a twenty minute ride? I don't think so. And a bus to the Oakland airport. I sat in the terminal where I have sat many times on flights to and from Seattle and stared blankly at the television. I was sleep deprived, shocked and sad. For the first time I saw Obama as actually the President. Addressing the nation about healthcare. I was so tired and wrecked and delirious I could hardly keep my eyes open. No offence Barak. And then I was home.
Melissa and Eric, and my mom and Eric all met me at the airport. A place I have landed many many times, and usually always been happy to be home. To see my family and friends, to be wrapped in that comfortable hometown blanket. Nope. I was and am of course delighted to see friends and family, but I'm struggling with the returning home funk.
And now the other news. So Sean has moved to China. He went there originally for a few weeks cause he got a free ticket and some work. And now has decided to stay and save up money for eh, at least six months. And so the end of my year of travel is the beginning of his time abroad and we aren't in the same place. And we won't be for much much longer. Thus transforming all plans I had for my return home. Opening many doors and closing others, but all in all I am beginning to understand the right thing for both of us. So now my options are unlimited and I can go to Africa, or Spain, or some random ranch in the states, or back to Seattle, or down to Georgia or wherever the fuck I want.
Right now though I don't know where to go or what to do and end up pacing my big empty house in pajamas and spending way too much time listening to kexp and not accomplishing anything.
So I'm gonna bring down my glorious golden bike, I'm gonna set up my drumset, and I'm gonna screen print some shit. And I'm going to try and live and love life as much here as is possible, because its too short to stay in your pajamas all day long.

Aint no sunshine

I left Santorini today. I leave Greece tomorrow. My trip ends. The year is up.
The bookshop has become such a special place to me and I would stay there forever if I could. I was only just getting into it and then whisk- done. But thats the way it goes eh? better to leave something while the sweet taste lingers than to suck it dry of all flava. I had an interesting last couple of days as well. New developments have come to light that will completely alter every vision I had for my life when I return home. And this awakening shook me to my core and I tried to come to grips with the curve balls life throws at you. The timing of situations you run into, people you meet, people you love. Freedom and responsibility, selflessness and selfishness. You think some things are controllable, manageable, impermeable. Well even those things end eventually. Anicca. In one day I will be back in the house I grew up in, I will be in America. I am terrified. And its going to get a lot worse before it gets worse.

I had an incredible last night in Oia drinking beers in weird parking lots and on the beach, listening to Amanda and James and John try to play guitar over the strong sound of the sea. Cruising around the island road trip style bumping jams. Eating one last greek salad, drinking many last Mythos. Looking back I suppose its strange to be doing such american style things with americans the day before returning home. But it made me happy, and I will really miss hanging out with both Amanda and James. A couple of very good American specimens.

This morning was my last day waking up in the bookshop. It was early(for me) today and I was greeted for departure with a cold stormy sea surrounding the island. Shivering in my pj's I stepped out of the shop just in time for a crazy donkey to come running down the hill followed by garbage man wapping his stick on the ground. Oh Greece. Planned on one last swim but instead walked over to the castle ruins and sat with James waiting for the sun to rise through the storm and having great conversation. I sold my last book. Packed my shit- and onto the boat I went. It was a thoroughly depressing ride- I tried to sleep for most of it. Dig the high point: I'm rolling into Pireaus and my ipod is playing songs... Hey Jude, How can you mend a broken heart, then How it Ends. Kill me now.

So now I'm back in Athens, ready to shower and crash before the three planes which will deliver me home. Home home home. Hmm.

My bed in a bookshop

Something about being with Hanna and Amanda makes crazy things happen and time whir past at astronomical rates. We can traipse all over cities and towns and piles of dirt and have as much fun as most people have at disneyland. So we all finally made it to a tattoo shop in Athens and got inked. A fig, a ladybug, and an olive branch. Then we rode the metro like it was goin outa style, bounded onto a ship and woke up in Santorini.
When we all walked down into Atlantis books we literally couldn't keep it together. And I'm pretty sure we all did a group hug victory dance spin around in the back room when James wasn't looking. This place is the most incredible bookshop I have seen in my entire life.
Down the stairs and into the books and crevices there is a certain sanity and beautiful escape from tourist crazy streets. For the next five days I find myself living, cooking, and helping out in the bookshop. And did I mention sleeping on a pimped out bookshelf in a little hideout. Not as cool as MADA's bed which is literally behind a wall of books, but amazing, show stopping sleep.
The website has the full story so check it: www.atlantisbooks.org

Funny thing is that when I was in Oia last I almost went into this place but was too tired or some bullshit. But it just seems fitting, that I would save it for now. For my last week to be karmically blessed enough to end up here, now. James is running the shop, tired of staring down fourth graders in New Orleans.(For the time being at least) A friend of his is one of the founders and invited him down. Also Rich and Tony arrived the same day as us- a coupla british guys that would have you saying Hail to the Queen in no time. Blimey, sweet cheeks, luv. Regularly used and awesome every single time. Want a cupa? um yes please. And they both make the most delicious food you've ever eaten. And are genuinely awesome individuals. And although six people living in the bookshop makes things a little crowded, we try to find a balance. Everyone gets free time whenever they can grab it.

We have family dinners on the terrace nearly every night; greek salad,MEXICAN food, homemade veg curry, boatloads of delicious pasta, even more boatloads of wine.
When we can borrow a guitar James plays and sings and it is sickeningly beautiful. Amanda busts out her Joplin voice and Hanna sings like shes never sung before. Or whatever. But its amazing. And I am so happy. And I don't want to go home.
And I know I have to, I've reached the end of this traveling rope and I need to go home and earn me some threadz to spin another. But it still blows.

One night we traipse down to the sea and swim under the harvest moon with the island covered in fog. Amanda drunkenly falls off a buoy buck naked. Someone stubs their toe. We gettin crazy down there. During the day sometimes I can take long walks down crazy hot roads and steps and cliffs and stare at the sea. This blueness that knows me so well. I throw rocks and hit other rocks till my arms hurt. I think till my brain hurts. I love being in this place and being with these people. And ending here, on this note is a beautiful thing. But sometimes I think the gods are up there mocking me and putting awesome stuff in my lap then jerking it away when I want to grab and enjoy a while longer.
Everything has its time eh. Well my bookshop time, its golden.

Even farm girls get the blues

Farm life has come to a close. Had a lovely last week and watched as Amanda and then Hanna left and new wwoofers came in their place. Used my woodcut education and hand carved a sign for the farm, nursed a baby kittie back to life, did some watering, sea swimming, cooking, and hitchiking. Made gruel and sprinkled cornflakes on it, saw a PHAT snake in the egg nest, swam at Kouruta one last time, learned a little greek, enough to hitch at least. I will miss farm life. Weird and uncomfortable as it is, it has grown close to my heart. I'll miss the smell of dirt and onions and hot tomatoes. I'll miss the porch and pots of tea and doing laundry in the hot sun. It was weird to be there without Amanda and then without Hanna as they went onward.

I found myself in a rare place. All alone one evening, for the first time in like three months. I sat and ate some dinner, drank some tea and wrote. Wrote one of those life lists and listened to the transistor. It was beautiful. And short lived. I reminisced on things passed and knew I shouldn't. I am starting to get kinda depressed upon my return to America; jobs, schedules, cars, deadlines, stress, etc. And I am even more terrified that I will forget this glorious year of my life and revert back to the unhinged lunatic I once was and who is still buried deep deep in there. Making random appearances here and there but not living on the surface anymore. I don't want to be her anymore, I don't want America to do that to me. I will fight it. I will meditate on it and write books and traipse at home, in my own way. I remember that there were points- (mostly in India when I was shitting my brains out with rats and cockroaches crawling on me) that I felt ready to go home to comfort and couch and orange juice. But now I feel lost, listless and unexcited. I feel like my year of glorious life is over. I know I will travel more, I love travel more than I ever expected and I will see Africa, I will live in Spain and Japan. I will go to Austria. And New York City. And the South. And I will still hitchike- which RULES btw.
And I will need to make some money to do this, I will and do have to return. And I do miss my family and friends and Berger, but I'm not ready to settle down yet. And I don't think I should be.
So, I've got the blues. I'm also reading Even Cowgirls get the blues which is a hitchiking woman's bible, which is giving me a little hope about the U.S. Maybe I'll go learn to ride horses and work on a Ranch for a while. Why the hell not?
Also adding to the blues is the fact that Sean probably won't even be home when I get home. The one thing that I look forward to more than anything, the one thing that stops me from canceling my ticket and taking off to Liberia. He will probably still be in China. And its an awesome opportunity for him, and I'm the one who left for a year, but it just seems like the cherry on the shit mud pie got thrown out and now all i've got is a pile of mud on the table. With cornflakes sprinkled onto it.
I will go home though, in eight days. And I will face what comes.
Enough of this crappy debbie downer.

In other news I met up with Amanda and Hanna yesterday in Athens and they promply threw my blues out the subway car. Waiting for me with a sign at the metro, you'd think it'd been longer than a week we'd been apart. We wandered all over Athens in search of post offices which would mail parcels and tattoo shops. And drank some beers and ate some pita. And her glorious cousin put us up in the swank suburbs of athens. With HOT water, a mirror in the bathroom, cold delicious wine, and the comfiest bed I've slept in since Anna loaned me her bed in India. We sail for Santorini tonight and will head to a bookstore where Amanda has a job and all the dudes sleep in beds made out of bookshelves. Hanna and I might crash on the roof if there isn't any room and watch the full moon rise over Ia.
And I'll get my fig tattoo today. Screw the blues. I got my ladies and a Greek Island. I'm gonna live it up while I got it.

If you like stalkers, move to Amaliada

So Amanda is a pimp. Did I mention that? This girl has got carisma. And she speaks greek so needless to say she's popular with the Greek dudes. And the other day in the square a couple of young guys saw us drinking beers sitting under a statue of some Greek Orthodox priest and listening to our transistor and offered to buy us a round. Which we reluctantly allowed, usually we don't let weirdos buy us beers but whatevah. And they didn't finish their food so we took it home for the "cats" aka drunk snacks later. And they gave us a ride home and then left. And every day after that they have been calling Amanda like five times a day asking where she is, what she's doing. Blah Blah blah. And we were out this weekend having adventures and so ignored most of the calls. Sunday we came back home to Amaliada and bucket showered cause there was no water, sat around in towels and ate some bread and tea and jam and then got all dressed up to go to the little village of Krioneri for Panieri- the festival celebrating the Virgin Mary. Celebrating by roasting hella pigs on a spit and having crazy music and dancers and beer and peanuts galore.
So Landi aka snaggletooth called for the tenkabimillionth time and this time I answered and used what greek I know. Yes, no, and of course.
Ring ring.
Me- Ne (yes)
Snaggle- greek greek greek
Me- Ne Ne
Snaggle- greek greek Panieri tonight?
Me- OHI(NO!)
Snaggle-greek greek greek
Me- Endaxi (sure)
Snaggle-greek greekity greek greek
Me- Endaxi, Ciao

Then we get our shit and get ready to go. Snaggle calls again. I answer and say Ohi Ohi Ohi, Ne Ne Ne. And hang up. He calls AGAIN. We just answer, put it under the pillow and walk out the door.

Krioneri is just the next village over, in walking distance but we know there are tons of people going so we head down the driveway and out onto the road to hitch. We've walked for maybe three minutes and hear a car pull up and slow down, then stop at the driveway. OUR driveway. Music bumping.
Me- 'um, you guys- do you think that is crazy Landi?'
Them- 'ohi, nah, it can't be that is too FUCKING crazy.
Uh, i think they are playing boom boom clack. just like the other day on the ride home.
Nah.
um. i think we should hide.'
(all three run into the bushes and hide behind bean poles)

'Maybe its just the new wwoofers getting a ride home?'
Yeah that has to be it.
Yeah, it can't be them.
'Well let's run for it either way.'
(Cue running, screaming down the street)
Car revs up and starts down the street towards us.
Me- "THEY'RE COMING! THERE'S NO WHERE TO HIDE!!!, JUMP INTO THE BUSHES!!!"
(all three run and dive, except there are no bushes only rasin fields with a little white sheet that only shields me, and half of Amanda and Hanna is out in the open crouched in fetal position covering her head with her hands)
The car approaches, slows down, and stops directly in front of us.
We are all quietly screaming, crouched down on hands and knees in the dirt, wearing dresses.
Snaggle gets out of the car. Starts talking in greek to amanda.
Me and Hanna keep on hiding. Even though Hanna is in full sight, she's working the 'if i can't see them they can't see me' theory.
They talk a bit, Amanda makes up some shit about us waiting for the family and that we DON'T need a ride to Krioneria and blah and blah and Hanna and I still hide.
Finally they go and say they will see us there.
Yeah whatever psychos.

um. did we just jump and hide in the bushes from twenty year olds?
I think so.
We hitch to the festival, arrive before them, run past all the people to hide. but first get beers(we've got our priorities straight). But they find us anyways, hiding behind a van. So we escape AGAIN. Sit in full view and hang out with George's cousin and his friend Nic who sell us beers and give us beers. The Snaggle Stalker crew comes over TWICE more to try and hang out and finally get the hint to fuck off. We have a ball eating peanuts and tzaziki, dancing drunk, greek style in front of the whole village, and pouring beer on driver's licences.
At around 2am we leave. Amanda steals a handfull of peanuts and a loaf of bread, which we eat while bumping wu tang clan in Nic's car.
Also while heading to the beach to go clubbing that night Georges cousin pulls a two handed upper thigh touch whilst sitting between me and Hanna in the backseat.
"Hanna, don't you hate it when a Greek guy with intense eyebrows, also your farm bosses nephew touches your upper thigh?"
Ne.


Later Hanna and I determine that somehow my broken greek gave the stalkers the impression that they should come and pick us up... whoops.

Volume Two.
The new wwoofers made some Amaliadan friends as well who came onto the property monday morning and offered to take us all out dancing, to the beach, for coffee, whatever we wish. They said they were friends of Georges, blah blah blah. Hanna and I were a bit creeped out to see these dudes in the driveway midday but thought nothing of it.
The next night Hanna and I had a hilarious dinner hanging around with Field, a plastic toy I found on the beach and had borrowed a tv from jen to watch movies. So we're sitting there watching Hairspray and eating ceral and the other girls come into our room.
Ann Louise and Emmeline--"Um, did you guys see that weird green lazer pointer?"
Liz and Hanna--"Um, did you guys drink too much wine?"
"NO. seriously, look.."
We turn off the tv and look out to see a sniper style green lazer SCANNING the field in front of the strawbale house.
"BAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
We all hit the floor, then peer up to see if its still there.
War movie style this green alien lazer is scanning the area looking for movement. WE are all crouched down FREAKING OUT.
I can just imagine these guys there at the end of the driveway shouting "FRAPPE! WE'LL BUY YOU FRAPPE'S. WE TAKE YOU DANCING! WE ARE YOUR FRIENDS!" While tying together nets to catch us all and busting out military lazers? I don't think so.
We grab knives, cell phones to call the cops, my head torch, and Ann Louise grabs a metal pot?(to bash heads in I suppose), and prepare to defend our honor.
I can't help but laugh a few times, especially when Hanna says "what is that light near your face Liz, OH. its just the reflection from the kitchen knife Emmeline is holding. Of course."
I scan the field with my torch, we think we see them drive off. I shout "IF YOU CAN HEAR THIS. FUCK OFF!."
After a while we figure they got bored and left. To cruise the park or something. The girls hang out for a bit clutching kitchen utensils and we try to watch a movie.
Just another night in Amaliada.

Golden Days

Had the weekend off, so Hanna, Amanda and I decided to roll out to the big port city of Patras to try and get tattoos since it wasn't happening in Amaliada. After a fun week or so of blurry wine filled lunches, drinking beers in the square, getting rides to the beach and back, walking through pine forests to see movies that aren't playing. Swimming in the salty sea, lamp making, grass cutting, more tomatoes, baby kittie playing, bed bug murdering and candlelit dinners of cookies and beer and bread. The three of us are so different but are in perfect harmony when together. We can sit and drink tea and just laugh about stupid shit for hours and hours and never get tired of talking to each other. We are in sync in so many ways- probably because we all spend every waking(and non) moment together. So the weekend came and since the family was going out of town for the weekend they said we could as well. Friday afternoon we packed the essentials for a weekend off possibly sleeping on the beach and who knows what else.
Essential items: Bathing suit, transistor radio, journal, camera, colored pencils, one outfit.
Hanna also brought a phat Dostoyevsky which she didn't read, and Amanda brought soem olive branches.
It only took us four rides to get the 80 or so kilometers to Patras. Firstly Georges cousin, then a few awesome blonde babes, then a threesome with a broken leg guy driving like a maniac and a crazy old dude with a spiderweb tattoo on his arm and a nice lady. Truck stop soda break/bathroom sign stealage and then one more ride all the way to the main square in Patras. Free. Awesome. and done.
We sat in the square of Patras staring and the new elephant sculpture and the fountains and drank a celebratory beer on getting so far. Then spent the evening traipsing around with a harem of greek dudes trying to help us find an open tattoo shop. Of course to no avail, but what can do? life is life.
Trekked down past the port as night came over, down weird streets filled with weird smells and toothless old guys giving us directions. Ended up at the Hotel California of Patras. A big cartoon pig sign with HOSTEL written across pointed us inwards. A Miss Havisham style garden building with green shutters and a funny old man in glasses who for some reason wouldn't sell us one bed for three people. Ate some pizza, greek salad and beers and I passed out. Hanna and Amanda trekked some more into the night and ended up sitting on the balcony with Uruguayan Carneys talking about the Farm-ily which is a pun one of them came up with to describe us, and I am loving it!
The next day tattoos still no go so we decided to throw in the towel- go to a cafe shaded by grape vines and drink some cold greek coffee. And play tavla, aka backgammon, aka i finally learned and am now an addict.
Wandered up some cool old stairs to see the castle in Patras. First stumbled upon a theater and ran up and down the steps and admired the view of ancient greek ruins, old buildings, sea, islands, and the port. These girls love exploring as much as I do did I mention? And next we found ourselves in an abandoned building, walking up stairs to nowhere and grabbing souveniers; old rusty picture frame, newspaper caricature, chain, and diablo? Got busted jumping out of the window by some greek dude, who just looked at us like we were aliens from mars but just kept walking.

Next as luck would have it we were getting hungry and bought some homemade ice cream bars from a bakery. Then wandered down through the carnage of a farmers market, picking up street fruit and veg like bums while devouring our chocolate ice cream. Yeah we're the weirdest girls in town but we totally scored. Big ass bag of grapes, bell peppers, three apricots, tomatoes, more peppers, eggplant, oranges and carrots. Then we picked up some fresh olive loaf and had our weekends' worth in food for about the 2 euro that we paid for bread. Nothing like a little Greek dumpster/street diving to brighten up an already awesome saturday.
Took a bus and a ferry and ended up in Zakinthos. A pretty touristy island famous for a beach with a shipwreck on it. Which we didn't even get close to seeing. And none of us care.
We walked along attempting to hitch for almost an hour with no luck. Fussy tourists aren't so into picking up three babes who haven't showered in a few days. Amanda and I were ready to accept defeat and hail down the next cab. It was getting dark and all we needed was a little beach to hang our hats, if you will. Hanna, luckily suggested sticking it out a little longer and just as she said that a car pulled up and two very cute greek guys picked us up.
The driver(Spiros) kinda had this Turtle from Entourage thing going on and the other guy(Paniotis)had this greek inquisitive hot man thing going on. Hanna and I were discussing their cuteness and she asked what inquisitive meant. My reply: Hot with glasses.
So we told them our story, just a coupla farm girls heading out to the big city for a weekend of mayhem. Even funnier that we are carrying bags of produce(though we didn't tell them what bums we were that we picked all the fruit up off of the street.) And that yeah, we just want to find a beach to sleep on. We don't care where, just not super crazy or touristy. Amanda and Paniotis chat in Greek, Hanna and I prattle on in English, not thinking they know what we're saying. They drive us around this glorious island past farms and hills while the sun is setting and everything is bathed in this beautiful golden light. First we stop at this random cliffside field with a rock beach down below in a little cove. Beautiful we say but eh, kinda rough to sleep on. "If you don't like, we take you to a beach with sand, ella, here we go". And then I realize that we didn't have time to stop in the store and we have fruit but not cheese or beer. eh. problem. Then I suggest out loud that perhaps I can go up to someone's house and trade this bag of grapes for a bottle of wine? And Spiros busts out laughing. he totally speaks english. shit. oh welp. Then the say 'well if you girls like wine, both our parents make wine- we'll bring you some.' Um okay.
So here we are a few seconds later on a gloriously beautiful small beach, close but not too close to a taverna equipped with benches to sleep on! BAM!
We get ready to swim- the guys leave to get us some wine and bring towels. So we all run screaming and laughing into the warm sea. We picnic on street veggies washed in the sea until they come back with the wine. The we drink a little and again go running into the sea. And there I was swimming in the dark Mediterranean sea with the flickering taverna lights illuminating the clear water. I flicked my toes and legs mermaid style and laughed out loud. Laying on my back in the sea staring at the stars in this warm water in this amazing place with my amazing friends. I saw three shooting stars that night.
So we drank some more wine, the girls flirted with their new greek boyfriends, we danced to shakira on the transistor radio.
Sleeping on the beach is so romantic until you wake up at three a.m freezing to death and wrap every scrap of fabric around you in a coccoon to seal in the warmth. I heard Amanda all night long muttering to herself "Ssssooo ffuucckkinng freezzzing". haha.
Woke up to the sunrise. I can't remember the last time this happened. The sun wasn't there and then it was. And slowly but surely our bodies started to warm with the sun. We drank the leftover wine and laughed about our luck ending up in this place. My skirt was wrapped around my head for warmth, a towel mummy-ing my feet. Amanda's sweatshirt was inside out, they both had boyfriend towels for warmth. When it got warm enough I rolled off the bench 'butler but not the maid' style and swam in the crisp refreshing salty sea early in the morning. Hanna got orange juice and croissants, and we napped off our hangovers in the morning light.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to Amaliada

Time. Fucking. Flies.
It is now my third saturday in Amaliada and I have been enjoying everything so much I can't even stand it! Every night as I sit out on the porch, talkin shit with the girls by candlelight over a few beers I can't help but freak out that another day has passed. It is the FIFTEENTH of august! I have been traveling for ELEVEN months? Where the hell does the time go?
Every day is exceedingly more awesome than the next and a prime example of this is our free rides into town and to the beach every day.
Coupla painters finishing up work let us roll into Amaliada and give Amanda and Hanna cigarettes and of course offer to buy us all souvlaki, Mom and son duo who were super cute and practicing his english, pouty twenty-something dudes coming home from the beach too late and "EUUGH IM HUNGRY, ditch these girls, they aren't going to give us any" " Dude that one speaks greek, she knows what you're saying" "I DONT CARE. HUNGRY." Sweet smelling beautiful greek woman on her way to work at the grocery store, nice old guys chatting Amanda up about this and that, guy with two kids but crammed us in anyways and offered to buy us ice cream. The guy who pumped up the electronic music he himself made, and yes "unfortunately I'm engaged" but that doesn't mean I cant pass a joint around and give you all a ride right up to the beach and give you a free electronic candle(so useful too-at night on the patio-score!). Two cars bumpin the michael jackson, a twenty second ride just to get us closer to Amaliada from the beach. And of course my personal favorite. The guy who picked us up right in front of the farm after only waiting for maybe thirty seconds, immediately handed all three of us bunches of tiny, sweet purple grapes and cigarettes for those who wanted them, took us all the way to the beach closest to the outdoor movie theater(which we had wanted to go to that evening!) and told us he could give us a ride every day around this time and to go to this taverna on the beach and have some ouzo there cause thats where his wife works. AMAZING. The greek people are so kind and welcoming and treat you like family when you've been in their presence for ten seconds. I will always remember the amazing hospitality, welcoming nature, and just pure awesomeness of getting free rides to the beach and back. And I am totally going to pick up hitchers and do it myself when I get home.

So...this week we actually started crunching it hardcore with the farm work. We pulled onions, hoed some beds, picked some tomatoes, watered some trees, cut and laid out hundreds of tomatoes for sundry-ing, vaccumed, mopped, cleaned bed bug infested mattresses, sprayed sulfur, made more lamps, picked (and ate) figs, cut mad grass,etc.
Also I invested in a paddleball set and daily our practice is getting better and better, but we still suck wayyyy harder than every single greek person on the beach.
Also we went to the outdoor cinema again and saw the Hangover. Hilarious. And ate two boxes of chocolate cookies. And were given a ride home to the farm from Harolyn, an awesome lady originally from Seattle who lives up the street from Jen and who DROVE the car, said bad words, and her husband cooks the food. I much prefer this senario.
Ive also been running again. Needless to say no one could talk this much about food without seriously gaining it and boy have I. After five years of veganism this shock treatment of milk and cheese and sweets and everything forbidden continues to expand my waistline. And though I know I won't live or eat like this forever, I feel like a chubba lub who does the truffle shuffle nonstop. So I've been running. A few days I went around the farm, through the glorious lonely country roads past vineyards and cute little churches. But then I almost got attacked by dogs. And that was the end of that. So now I'm baywatching it out by jogging on the beach in the afternoons. Which is a wayy better situation. I dont worry about dogs, I get a "tan", I can jump in the sea whenever I get too hot and its sooo enjoyable. The sand and the sea... ahhhh. just LOVE IT.
Also the figs are ripe. Ripe ripe ripe. I've eaten so many fresh figs in the last week it would make any normal person explode. But since I've been in sugar training I'm doing aight.
I will either turn into a tomatoe, fig, or loaf of bread by the time I leave Greece. Three way tie. But they are truly delicious, and who knows when again in my life Ill get to have fresh sweet figs daily. Get it while you can I say.
Also a little Berger shout out. He's currenly in CHINA, for a little all paid working holiday and in three days we'll have been together for four and a half years. Bam. And He still puts up with all my bullshit. Props baybe. Happy Anniversary.
In other news today Hanna, Amanda and I woke up, hungover as shit from way too many Amstels, chocolate cookies, leftover pizza, crunchy biscuts, fresh figs, weird dancing and singing on our porch last night, etc. Sat there for almost an hour trying to get the strength to drink tea, then hoed the shit out of the potatoe field till the sweat poured down... Then we got a ride to the beach and spent the gloriously warm Greek day swimming in the salty sea, playing paddleball, eating greek salads, fresh hot fried potatoes, warm bread and tzaziki, and some beer- hair of the dog style.

Olive oil and the Sea

I walk down sketch streets in early morning Athens,take a train, miss a train, take a cab, hail down a bus from the autoban, switch to another bus and one more cab and bam! its that easy to get to Amaliada. The glorious godsend of a place where I am now wwoofing. And to think I almost gave up on getting here. I arrive just in time for siesta and happily take one amid an army of daddy long leg spiders. I feel bad encroaching on their territory but a girls gotta sleep eh. I move a few days later to share a room with Hanna, a fellow wwoofer from Austria. So that afternoon the family George, Jen and their two girls Ellie and Amalia, ages 5 and 3 are heading to the beach if I wanna come with. Um Hells yeah! So there I am swimming in the Mediterranean sea, soaking up the evening warmth from the sand and later on sipping on a cold beer and watching the hot tamale sunset go down over the sea. How the hell did I ever get so lucky? The next day is sunday and we go to the sea again. Playing with the girls, swinging on the tarzan rope in their house, helping make dinner. On monday Amanda arrives, a badass babe from NYC with a greek dad and some mad greek language skills that help us out soo much. Hanna, Amanda and I bond by hitchin in with Cristos, this dude the family knows who drives a black and red turbo racing car thing with red leather seats and a picture of jesus on the dash. He bumps the jams and swerves all over the country roads, then takes us to the beach to buy us stuff and hang out in his presence. Don't worry. He's married, this is just him having fun. Taking three chicks to the beach and standing behind them waving to his friends and saying who knows what in greek. This is where Amandas skills come in handy.
Working starts eventually, we pick some tomatoes and basil, clean the treehouse, prune some olive trees and haul some branches. But mostly we make and unmake lamps. It has been I think four seperate attempts to get it right to no avial. The wire has now become my ultimate nemesis but eh, we are at least in the shade.
So it goes- get up early to the rooster call, make some tea and greek coffee. Have yogurt, fresh baked bread and homemade apricot jam, maybe some fresh watermelon.Work until noon doing something or the other. Take a pre lunch siesta or go for a walk or read. Head up to the house and delight in a bevy of delicious food made by Jen. Greek salads big and bursting out of ceramic bowls. The tomatoes are warm from the sunlight and being freshly picked, the feta could soften anyones heart. The olive oil is light and fragrant and juicy all at once. Jen makes fresh bread with sunflower seeds, homemade apricot tarts with ice cream, freshly made pesto over pasta, mouth watering potatoe salad, fresh garbanzo beans with tomatoes and garlic. And we pair all these things with some cool wine that they make, the color of watermelon and the taste of sweet summer grapes and sometimes the barrel.
After lunch and much wine I usually sleep, reveling in the siesta life and then emerging around five or six to head out to the sea with the girls.
And now the sea. The glorious sea. Every time I run into it everything else disappears. The water is so warm and refreshing. The salt seeps into my hair and my skin and I float and stare at the sky. The sun glitters off it at sunset in strips of golden flakes. The pop pop of paddleball is abundant and constant. The greeks L.O.V.E. their paddleball. And they are good at it. Berger would soo love it here. Sun soaked greeks lay around under palm umbrellas and drink beer and iced coffee. The young men and women strut up and down the beach flaunting it while they've got it. And the older men and women sit and revel in their happiness. A full hairy belly and a big family playing all around them. The greeks soak up the summer, staying at the sea until the last bit of red sun has sunk below the sea and take one last swim in the warm water, warm still at eight in the evening.
Evenings are spent making a little food at our straw bale home, having tea, drawing, reading and chatting. I sit around while Hanna and Amanda roll cigarettes and the cats crawl all over everything and the cicadas hum and buzz like a cricket discoteque.
The full moon was a few days ago and since I've had some other interesting full moon trips during my woofing, we decided to do a little something special. Olive oil by the way is in abundance here, so abundant that you use it as a hair treatment. Seriously. We all gaterhed some drums they had around and a guitar and began to play a little music. Drinking wine we bought from an old greek lady who fills up 2 liter water bottles with the delicious rose wine. Candles melt down and we sing and play and Jen cleanses our karma with sage and sets out her crystal collection to add to the ambiance. Then Jen starts with the olive oil. A massage therapist in her past life she covers our hair and shoulders with the olive oil which had been marinating in rosemary for a few days. Our skin and hair absorbed the sweet oil and we went on playing and singing. Hanna sings beautifully and Amanda is also a drummer- like a serious one, with shows constantly in New York and she also sings amazingly and plays guitar. We were such shameless hippies, having our olive-oiled up greek full moon party.
Im having a great time, and I am so thankful to have ended up here with these girls at this place. To ride into the sea every day if we want. To eat delicious food and have interesting conversations and many language lessons. Time to draw, time to sleep, time to smell the sweet figs that are almost ripe.
I am also bonding with many creatures. The mamma cat just had babies and Ive been watching them from eyes closed stage to now playing with each other and meowing the babiest, cutest little meows ever. Roosters hobble around like old fisherman who've lost their way and just want to find their friend. Spiders, bees, hornets, wasps, flies, moths, beetles, millipedes or centipedes(whichever is the really creepy one), ants. You name it and these little crawlies are out for the summer. And I am soo sleeping in their territory. OH well.

Sponge it out

The past few weeks have FLOWN past me with little done but hanging out enjoying the company of family and friends, drinking beers and eating. Pictures were taken but they cant upload yet, so you'll have to picture it via my writing I suppose. It all began with my waiting in the swank air conditioned hotel lobby for my mom and her best friend Marianne; too excited to do anything else. Luckily I was serenaded by enormous groups of Spanish and American tourists floating in and out of the hotel rapidly conversing and organizing various trips. The finally arrived and it was SO amazingly wonderful to get so see my mom! We spent the afternoon laying poolside on the rooftop sippin on Mythos, chatting and waiting for MaKettle and Laurel to arrive, which they did in no time at all. And there I was, surrounded by my family, drinking cold beer sunning in Athens. Just about perfect. The next three days were spent touring around Greece literally. In a tour bus decked out with a tour guide named Mamma. Fully decked in purple every day, down to the headband and eye/lip liner. Resembling the mom/or grandma? in Triplets of Belleville and a troll from the Labrinth and your old ass drama teacher from highschool. She lectured us on Olympia and THE SITE and old fashioned greek birth control aka sea sponges and the Greek Root of just about everything. She huffed and puffed up various archeological ruins whilst having her mingons hold onto her umbrella and fan her and finally would throw in the towel when she got totally exhausted stating "If you need Mamma I'll be in the cafe drinking a nescafe frappe!" We saw the site of the first olypmics, temples to Apollo and Athena, old ass marble gods with missing penises and noses, godesses in draping robes, enormous horses and the very first shin guards, or whatever those were. Theaters where classics were performed, the sites of oracles and tombs of great leaders. The ancient history is thick with agitation towards the turks and romans but still very interesting when you get past, certain peoples biases. I enjoyed just trekking about with my family and spotting mom's day glo lime parison from afar. We ate LOADS of greek salads and drank even more Mythos and ate fresh cold watermelon when we could get it. We took long ass naps on the bus. Marianne and I raced across the Olympic fields. Some got shouted at in museums "NO POSING!" which is NOT allowed, in case you were wondering. Out of respect. After the three day madness we made it back to Athens and again retreated to the rooftop pool. After reuniting with Juli, Jan and Melinda we headed out early on the megafast ferry to Santorini, where I still am and will probably stay here till I'm dead its so beautiful. After a couple of puke and rallies we got there and bused up to our spot. Whitewashed villas on a clifside and ours was seriously a CAVE. Awesome. Laurel Juli and I rocked the smaller spot and moms and auties rocked the other. Jan made us all lovely glass necelaces and we sat around drinking wine and watching the sun go down over Santorini. It had a teeny tiny pool which splashed ALL over Juli when I jumped in, it was too small what can do? Santorini did I mention is gorgeous. Tiny kitties traipse on rooftops and old men set their chairs out to watch the foot traffic in the evenings. All the buildings are white with blue doors or window shades. Bulbous moody blue church tops stick out with Greek Orhtodox white crosses peeping out of them like candles on a fatty birthday cake. The cobblestone streets are tricky. Even in flats and when I see a babe in heels she always has her uber important accessory- the boyfriend to hold her up while she walks. Breakfast can be called for from bed and Christos, the hot older owner (aka Kettle's new boyfriend) will bring it out to the terrace where you can enjoy it. And when I called the morning after we went out I get this good morning from Cristos, then "You were very drunk last night, no?" Yes Cristos, and make that THREE toasties today. We went to the Perissa beach and lay in the shade drinking Sex on the Beach and slipping around in the Aegean sea on all the moss. The water is salty, blue and gloriously cool. Just perfect. I could lay on my back floating Sean style for hours, if I didn't fear waking up and being like 2 kilometers off shore. I read books and ate popsicles. And did the same thing the next day and the moms and auties came as well. I laughed till I cried watching various people get in and out of the slippery shores. I got, eh well not tan cause it doesn't really happen for me. But I watched Laurel and Juli get tan. Does that count? The blues and whites of this country are strong and solid, just like the old widows in all black wobbling steadily through the streets. I feel like it's an unspoken architectural dress code with only white and blue allowed. Otherwise everyone just thinks it looks good(which it does) and adds their flare via bougonvillas and red flower pots. I feel for the first time in a long time that it is time to just relax and read a book. And luckily I am so free and lucky to do just that.
The comfort and stability of being around family is so glorious. No need to do small talk or talk at all if you don't feel like it. They understand me, and they love me and don't care if we just sit around eating pizza on the deck instead of going out.
Many dinners and shots of mysterious greek liqueors and bottles of wine and conversations passed by far too quickly. And now my dear family has returned to America, to their jobs and routines and I am left missing them but oh so glad to have the precious time to spend with them. I am so grateful to have such an incredible family. To come and visit me and bring me a little of that down home love that is so needed when traveling for this long. More soon but I can't bear to be inside in this glorious weather any longer.

Oh Oh Athena

Oooh I am so not in Sweden anymore. I arrive in Greece. Its 35 degrees c here. Ten degrees hotter than the hottest it gets in Sweden. Theres smoking and craziness and women bigger than a size zero at every turn. The airport bus careens out of control on the way into Athens. The first guy I met got his wallet stolen right as he got out of the airport. I find my hostel, which is in a hmmm, interesting area filled with um, i'm pretty sure hookers, and African guys selling fake Louis Vuitton bags and garbage and groups of police standing around doing nothing. Oh the real world. I love it. The first meal I had was a delicious greek salad, a cold beer and some chips aka fries. The olive oil saturated the fresh tomatoes and the feta tasted so fresh I could cry. And I had another greek salad for lunch again today. I have a feeling greek salads are going to be like empanadas hmmm. At least its vegetables and not fried cheese pastries riight... The fashion here is none other than hilarious also. Phat assses jammed into tight jeans and spilling over the sides like pot pies. Big curly hair and long fake red nails. Mismatched patterns and NO white shirts with black stripes! Tacky purses and cluttery crazy jewelry. Boobies on display. Gold, Silver, Sequined and Rainbow colored strappy sandals. I wandered around Athens today in the heat smiling at the chaos of honking horns and traffic jams and angry cab drivers. There are ancient ruins in between shopping malls, huge marble towers overturned in the middle of the park and theres a kind of faded glory to the whole place. Athens might not be the calmest cleanest city ever, but for some reason this makes me even happier. Ive missed the mess and the sticky part of traveling. Sweating and getting lost and not being able to read the crazy greek writing. I got free breakfast at my hostel even. I mean it was toast and tang but it was free. And so what if I ate it and then went back to bed for another two hours. What do I have to prove anyways. I cant get the question mark or the apostraphe so it might be weird reading this. Lo siento. And tomorrow I will see my Mamma, Kettle, Marianne and Laurel! Let the debauchery begin and welcome to Greece! Oh and I had some Ouzo last night. Welcome drink at the hostel. EwZo is more like it. I like fennel and everything but not in a shotglass.

Culture of Keds

Sweden. A month here has flown by quicker than anything. And although I did spend as much or more money in one month here than three and a half in India I still loved this country. As Jen says, sometimes you have to acutally enjoy traveling. And when the hostel you're staying at has delicious cheese and tomato bagel sandwiches for breakfast you don't go for the cornflakes from the grocery store. The point of traveling isn't always to suffer and to penny pinch. Much better to enjoy something for a little while than to eat cornflakes for a year. Jen is far too wise. Sweden is a place that gave me black licorice, and swedish fish, and chocolate covered marshmallows, and more licorice, and sour gummi pops, and on and on. Thrift stores and buffet breakfast with jams and breads and really really good coffee. Clean beds and showers, even if some of those showers you have to walk down the stairs out the door and around the basketball court to locate. Cooking camping style at a hostel because it doesn't having a kitchen then running out of gas when the spagetti is half done.Ice bars and organic gardens and cool blue water. And tiny creepy black snakes in the cool water. Amazing people like Jonathan and Kate, and nice but a little odd people as well. Bright green grass being cut and hitting me in the face.And legs. And finding that same grass in my pockets days later. Expansive parks to jog and walk unbothered throughout. A whole country to walk unbothered throughout actually. Incredible art at every turn; fashion and sculpture and murals and inventions. Good looking people everywhere.
Girls in matching outfits. A whole new throw to the same same but different. And now I thought that this was something all teenagers go through, you know wanting to look like your friends. You're both wearing black and white, tshirts and shorts. But You have black shorts and a white top and white shoes with black socks. And SHE has white shorts and a black top and vice versa. Except it doesn't appear to be something people grow out of in Sweden. I guarantee that walking down the street anywhere in Sweden you will see at least half a dozen girls in this exact outfit: Dark skinny jeans. White keds. Loose fitting white long sleeved shirt with thin horizontal navy stripes. Oversized pearl earing studs. Straight white blonde hair. Black leather bomber jacket. I probably saw at least one hundred girls in this outfit while being in Sweden. Slight variations like acid wash instead of navy jeans, white chuck taylors instead of keds, black stripes instead of navy, but basically the same. And although yeah it looks good; it does look exactly the same. And although the girls are stunningly beautiful, if you're a Swedish guy, how can you tell which one is your girlfriend and which one is her best friend? It must be a little tricky. And for me, this is one thing that doesn't jive. At least not since the pink and leopard days of my youth with Sabrina and Tina. I feel like this is even a little sad. The majority conforming to not only one ideal of beauty, but one outfit? Bummer dude.

Although Sweden does have it's faults, it is still a happy, clean, stable, peaceful country. A country where a couple gets FIFTEEN months paid maternity leave. And the man has to take a MINIMUM of three months out of that fifteen to raise their child. This is why families travel so much in Sweden, because they have the time to be together and enjoy to it. Both of them. Not only mothers get to see and enjoy their child's youth, but the fathers as well. I can't help but think that this could really do wonders in America. If it wasn't just assumed that mothers are the only ones who want to be with their children when they are small. And the government supported this? Why not? This is also why I am constantly asking myself what day is it? Because all I see in Sweden is families and couples and groups of friends walking around in parks, sipping coffee and baked goods, having a tika at cafes, families strolling together. Is it saturday? Nope wednesday. And yes it is also summer, but I have yet to see stressed out execs rushing off to the office. Even at rush hour, people are chilled out, they are enjoying the sun and their loved ones.

And I'm jealous. Not just of the couples. Okay a little of the couples. I've reached the ten month mark of being away from Sean and it's definitely one last push to the finish line. Not an easy push, I am constantly missing him and wishing he was here to enjoy the ice cream and laugh at the hipsters. Not helped by the fact that Berg is in like every single business name or sign all over this whole country. I miss him, and it's his birthday today and I'm not there. And I see two teenagers making out on the metro and I want to slap in the mouth because they've kissed like forty times in five mintues! It's way worse than being single and hating couples. Because I know what I could have it's just NOT HERE! Arrg. Maybe that's why I took up running again, to take the ol mind off of the BergerFevah!

Anyways, I leave for Greece tomorrow and leave behind Scandanavia. And to all those haters who are always asking why Sweden? Why not? Sweden is a lovely, exciting place and I wanted to check out a country that had it's shit together and where people enjoy life. And I think they do there. And I learned some things about what that means as well. I say I think they do because it's hard to tell what anyone is feeling due to the fairly reserved nature of many swedes. And although they do pretty much have it set as far as lifestyle and vacation time and delicious coffee. I'm an American at heart and I still love the outgoing no bullshit nature of the great west. I like chatting up strangers and having a beer just to have one, not because I'm thirsty. I like a country where many different outfits are fashionable and many different styles are considered beautiful. At first I was convinced this country had it all, but when you're given everything maybe that's not best either. A little struggle only made you stronger I think, and that seems to be more the American way. And I realize now what a shameless american I am because I do enjoy a bit of a hardship here and there, you learn more. And at the end of the day I want to smile and say hello to strangers on the street. And for these reasons I don't think I'll be moving to Stockholm, maybe for the bike lanes, but not the lifestyle.

Prison Break

Ahh Sweden so lovely, so organized, so easy to travel. Then why may I ask am I sleeping on a couch in a former prison? Let's start from the beginning; Gotland has always appealed to me since I've been in Sweden. It's the biggest island home to loads of medieval churches and has a massive stone wall around the main village of Visby. Its recommended to rent a bike and check out the island on your own, with some beautiful rock formations scattered around peaceful beaches to seal the deal at sunset. Sounds great eh? So after Göteborg I headed there via a seven hour bus and a three hour ferry. And for some reason or other my normal organization, attention to detail and plan everything out personality failed me. I didn't dawn on me that I arrived at midnight, for some reason I thought I'd be arriving early in the morning. As if the ferry takes seven hours to get to the island and only three to return? Who knows but for some reason it just slipped through the cracks. The ferry was lovely by the way, massive titanic looking thing with reclining seats and I even got to watch a romcom on the ride there. So I arrive sleep deprived from bus riding all day at midnight in Visby. Hmm. A little earlier than I had planned. Like six hours. And I didn't have any hostel booked because both the numbers in my old lonely planet didn't go through and neither had online booking. So India style I figured I'd just show up and find something, like I always do. Oh no. Not in Sweden. If it's not in the plan you can just forget about it. That's how come everything goes so smoothly. Because everything is part of the plan.
Its cold and windy at the port and I'm totally disoriented because it's also acutally dark outside. So I trudge to the nearest hostel which is luckily very close to the Ferry Terminal. It just so happens to be housed in a former prison. Very Shawshank Redemption style looking, a big brick building on a hill surrounded by walls and curls of barbed wire. Cozy. And I figure if I can just get through the door I'm set, I'll sleep anywhere till morning. And of course check out is only from 10am until noon. But a nice girl smoking outside lets me in and I plop down on a couch in the main WARD. But I figure if I crash here someone is going to see me in the morning and be pissed. So I decide to check out the tv room, which is luckily empty. With couches and pillows and even a blanket. I set down my pack and settle in for the night, totally paranoid that at any minute someone is going to come in and say what the hell are you doing you homeless American weirdo! But I also figure if I can't check in, then probably no one working is even here so fuck it. I'm stayin. And so I watced some Curb and Entourage and had a horrible on and off night's sleep.

I wake at 5 then 6 then finally at 8 when a woman comes into the room. Shes a guest luckily and just checking the news, I find out she's American. Well Swedish- American and lives in Sweden for summer and New York the rest of the year. She and her husband chat me up and ask if I'm lost because no foreign tourists really come to Visby. It's like I'm in Shimla all over again. But they are very nice and say, well breakfast is in like five minutes, why don't you come? Eh, well since I didn't really stay in the hostel eh, I don't know thats kinda bad right? Oh come on she says, we'll just pretend you're our daughter. So I sneak in with them and enjoy some tea and toast and museli, and it's delicious. Thank goodness for the kindness of strangers. And when I try to check in at 10am they are full. So I have to leave. So I do, reluctantly, buuut. It's light out and I just got a free place to sleep and free brekkie! Boo ya! Bless the Travel gods!
I traipse all over the island looking for another hostel to no avail. No booking, no room, at least nothing even slightly affordable. And I'm sick of carrying my bag all around this place, I finally admit defeat. I go and change my ferry ticket to that night, lock up my bag at the terminal and enjoy the seven hours I have on the island. I went to the library, ate a picnic, stared at the ocean and clouds from the grass, and had some saffron-honey ice cream. Pretty good day. Things didn't exactly turn out as I had hoped, but I didn't sleep in the street, I got to see Visby, and I got some ice cream. Things could be worse.

Lisberg..... wait a minute Liz Berg...?

Göteborg is sometimes pronounced Gothanberg. Which just reminds me of Batman. A big, bustling, young person filled city with cobblestone streets and waterways flowing through the center and cafe after cafe jam packed with people just enjoying life. It's a tram city as well, kinda like Melbourne or San Francisco, except you never wait EVER and things run hella smoothly. Even if you say, now this is just an example, take the tram for thirty minutes in the wrong direction to BFE, you just hop off and grab the next one and easily arrive at your destination. For the first time I'm at a hostel in Sweden that really feels like a hostel as well. Well it feels like Mercer East so yeah it must be a hostel. Its still comfy and cozy if not the cleanest but oh well. And I made fetuccini and tea and sat around watching crappy tv and chatting with swiss, canadian and english travelers. I decided Göteborg would be the place I finally went to museums. So I became the shameless tourist that we all hide deep in our hearts. I bought a 'Göteborg Pass' and went to museum after museum for two days straight. Exhausting, but awesome. I also traveled unlimited on all the trams around the city and took an even more shameless boat tour around the city's canals.

I went to the Lisberg amusement park; Sweden's biggest amusement park fully loaded with candy and rides and delighted screams filtering down from every roller coaster. I wasn't really intent on being that weird foreign chick who goes on rides alone so I just bought a strawberry ice cream and wandered around staring at all the hilariousness. Wooden roller coasters and tilt a whirls and carosels with the swinging chairs and even some live music by local youngins which was totally cute. Until I look over and two MIMES ON STILTS are totally shakin it? What!It was extremely creepy. Mouths caked with dried ice cream and handfulls of cotton candy being shoveled in by every kid. Enormous toblerone and other swedish candy bars as big as a child being won by carnival style games. And of course the punk rock kids who try to look all tough but who are exhilirated and totally loving this crazy fun land. Reminded me of This American Life where they did a piece on the one day a year when all the goth kids in SoCal descend upon Disneyland. Totally legit I say. I also went to the Universeum which was probably awesome but I was just too exhausted to care about any of it. And the Museum of Cultural History where there was a badass exhibit on Indian girls who box, and a massive bollywood exhibit which made me miss India more than anything and I acutally felt a little like crying. But good museum. I also tackled the Museum of Decorative Arts and Design, The Museum of Art, The Natural History Museum and then I was spent. And went jogging in the cool evening air only to get eh, about a dozen mosquito bites. So now I am looking pretty awesome I must say, one arm covered in hideous scars, the other in mosquito bites, a sunburned nose and a horrible Jim Carrey from Dumb and Dumber hairstyle. America's Next Top Model, please look no further.

Wwoof wwoof

Kilsmo, the town where I spent the last two weeks wwoofing is so small that I tell the bus driver to let me off at 'the shop' because there is only one in town. Its about an hour away from Örebro, a great little city where I spent the weekends wandering and eating chocolates and writing postcards. Fiola, the woman of the wwoof if you will is originally from Ireland, but lives now in Norway in Sweden. It wasn't exactly a farm, it is an old station house with a massive field behind it and Fiola moved there a year ago and needs help reclaiming it. Im pretty tired of being on the internet and might write more later but I think Ill just say what I did for the past two weeks. I cut the grass, painted the house, planted carrots, spinach and brussel sprouts. I buried the compost I trimmed trees, I cut away fields and fields of rubbish, I got attacked by nettles, I had elevensies. I mowed the lawn some more, I dug holes, I planted potatoes and onions, I dug garden beds, I painted more of the house, I went running, I made friends, I meditated, I watched Monty Python, I ate lasagna. I swam in a lake, I ran long empty roads, I listened to Michael Jackson, I did yoga, I painted flowers all over a bedroom, I ate candy, I dug out dead bushes, I made fire, I sang out loud, I drank cider, I read books, I got a tan? well a little bit. I got spiritual healing, I ate porridge, I watered the plants, and I laughed till I cried. I rode a bicycle and lay on the grass in my swimsuit. I ate chocolate and danced a crazy dance. I watched movies and mourned the King of Pop. I found strength in myself and began to get my bodily strength back as well. I went on long lonely runs through the backroads of this small Swedish village, I felt my tired, overweight body strain under the exercise but it felt good. Running came back again once I got to Sweden, much needed too because traveling is sometimes very unhealthy and it helps me a great deal to sweat it up sometimes. And each day I could feel it getting easier and my muscles adapting to the new routine. I felt like Forest Gump or my mom just running and running and running. Some hilarious Swedish hilbilly on a motorcycle pulled over one day and started chatting me up in Swedish. Finally I had to break the news that I didn't understand and went on my way. Anyways... And I got to meditate twice daily again, something that although the hostels are lovely here, doesn't really accomodate. Fiola practices another meditation, which I tried out for a week but it just isn't for me. Mantras and dancing and reading and all that crap I don't really like and mostly it just felt like a chore, so I kindly told her I's just stick to what I like. I also rolled out the ol yoga mat every other day and got some of that in as well.

But the greatest thing that came out of this wwoofing was the painting. Fiola wanted me to paint massive lilies on her wall. And at first I didn't want to in fear of not finishing and screwing it up and it not turning out good then she's stuck with crap on her walls. But after three days of nonstop painting, (with tea breaks that is)I sat on the floor, in my paint covered clothes, utterly exhausted and I had a realization; I am an artist. Some might say, uh duh Liz, you studied art and you've been drawing your whole life. But...I have always harbored this underlying insecurity within myself about my abilities as an artist. I almost dont even want to tell people I am an artist in fear that I wont live up to the expectation that this implies. And my whole life any outer recognition of anything I did artistically was moot because I didnt believe it. I didnt think I could be an artist unless I was the best, most successful, brilliant artist around. And I couldn't deal with the rejection of anything I had created, so I stalled. For years and years, even though I made stuff, and had shows and sold a few things even I always had this feeling that someday someone would bust me and find out that I had no talent and was just a total phony. I commited the worst of ills against myself, I didn't believe in my own art. And so of course most things didn't work out the way I hoped because if I don't have faith in it, how are others going to see my work? Exactly. Now I'm not saying that this wall mural was the Sistine Chapel or anything, but it might as well have been in my eyes because it gave me faith. Not that painting flowers is going to change the world, but it did change mine, even just a little, and I think that is progress. I sat there on the floor in this house in Sweden smiling to myself, completely filled with happiness and joy and not an ounce of criticism. Because I knew, finally that it was true. If I wasn't an artist, I could not have done what I was looking at. I am an artist. It's as simple as that. And this realization brightened up my face and the room and my future. And now I walk with a little more spring in my step and I'll never doubt myself again on this front. No matter how crappy what I create is, I'm owning it and I am going to be an artist. And any criticism that comes after can't be even twice as harsh as I have been on myself like eh, my whole life. So fuck it,Ive come this far haven't I? What do I have to lose?

A Midsummer Night´s Dream

Malmö here I come! Four hours of whizzing past lush green pastures and cute farm houses and NO penises or mountains of depressing garbage along the train tracks. I sat on the bench at the train station with my backpack WIDE open and didn´t worry one minute about scoundrels. Cleaner than ever, and comfortable chairs and magazines and food cars with beer and wine! ooh yeah I could get used to train rides like this. I was sitting in the quiet area? This exists? I even had to ask someone, Are there assigned seats? She looked at me like I was an alien. Okay. I get it. Or. gan. ized.
So, I headed down to the south of Sweden cause I heard it was beautiful,(too true) and two friends Lovisa and Freja that I met at Sadhana live down in Skäne.I arrived on the perfect midsummer´s day. The longest day of the year in Sweden. Sunny and chilly and windy and hailing? Yeah apparently that´s normal. I trekked through the ghost town of Malmö on midsummer through the plazas filled with amazing sculptures and statues. It was strange for things to be so empty. Everyone flees to the countryside to celebrate midsummer and so the town reminded me of walking through UVillage on a sunday morning before anything opened. Everything was still there, there was just no movement. The city was still. It could have been weird but it was actually quite lovely, none of the hustle and bustle of the tons of shops, I could gaze into all the closed store fronts and wander and wander until I got to my hostel. My hostels in Sweden just keep on getting better and better by the way. This one was kind of a walk, but I had a four bedroom dorm all to myself decorated of course head to toe in Ikea, and the beds ohhhh the beds. I want to write poetry on the blissfulness of the sleep on the hostel beds in Sweden. Its something magical. And this time around I decided to go for the breakfast. In all the hostels in Sweden you have a delicious breakfast buffet which you can buy for around 7bucks. You also have to pay to rent linens at the hostels here, but since I have my own towel, pillowcase and sleepsheet I figured the money I save on that can now go to delicious breakfast! And when I first arrived I just wanted to shop for my own shit but since the whole town was closed I just rolled with the hostel brekkie. Ohhh good toasted bread with oats and nuts in it, covered in warm melting butter and rasberry jam that tastes like pie. Thin savory slices of cheese, tangy apple juice, fresh melon. Make your own museli with rasins and crunchiness and the best of all is the strong, real coffee that I havent had in ages, none of this nescafe ho ha that they have in India.
After indulging in a long night´s sleep and a long, lingering breakfast I set out to traipse. I hadn´t heard back from my friends and didn´t want to head all the way to their town and not see them so in the end I just decided to explore Malmö on my own. Apparently Malmö is Sweden´s first fair trade city, but all the shops were closed so I didn´t even get to ask anyone how you make a whole city fair trade, etc. But the coffee I had was fair trade and it was delicious so I guess I got a little taste? of it. I found myself walking through the banks of this lovely park. The whole place was like a setting for a Hans Christian Andersen Fairy Tale. Snow White and Goldilocks and the Little Mermaid had to be just around the bend. Geese with bright orange beaks taking over the water banks and paddling back and forth in the tow of the river. Flowers small and white that smell like the inklings of springtime in Reno and make me miss home terribly. I find a quiet dock and sit in the sunlight and write and draw for an hour, until the weather turns seattle style and starts raining for a bit. It is so quiet I could hear the creaking of the wood under the flow of the water, a distant dog barking, geese honking, I could hear the wind rustling through the tall river grass. I laughed out loud to myself that I was really in this place. Then I turn the bend, and whats that? An old fashioned windmill? Is Sweden serious? Does it try to look like a postcard all the time or is it just a coincidence? Funny thing is I found a postcard later of this exact spot.

I made it all the way to the ocean and stared out at the bridge that takes you from Malmö to Copenhagen. Everybody wave at Denmark! The water was such a deep dark blue and the wind blew furiously splashing it up cold against the rocks. A good day for kites as some people were finding out. I walked around the waterfront and checked out all the amazingly cute apartments with bright crayon colors and impecible design, I saw the Turning Torso Malmö´s most famous building which is actually pretty cool. I was walking along the oceanside and all of a sudden movie style out of nowhere romantic music began playing and getting louder and louder till finally this woman was belting ballads where is that coming from? I looked all around me. There was no one. I finally climbed over the hill where it seemed sound was coming from to see these speakers in the grass just playing music. But no one was around. WHAT. Its nice, but who is this music for? Anyways...I made it home after trekking completely around the city, exhausted and made myself some spagetti.

I had this nice plan of just chillin for the evening, writing some postcards, going to bed early to catch my morning bus back to Stockholm. The I was in the TV room and meet Mai, an american girl from where? Of course Seattle. And her friend Susanna who is Swedish-American and has also lived in Seattle for like the last fourteen years. What a small world. So we chat about the two countries and healthcare and Swedish etiquette, etc. They invite me out with them that night. And of course I go. I´ve been wandering by myself all day long and could use some girl time. Especially Seattle girl time- boo ya. So we get all dressed up, luckily I bought some cheap flats in India and can finally rock one of the dresses I got there and we go out for dinner. At the light out hour of 8pm. I had one the most delicious Swedish plank of a meal. And I mean that straight up. It was called the vegetarian plank. About a foot and a half of eggplant and veggies baked under vast layers of delicious cheese. Sided with mashed potatoes squeezed out frosting style to look pretty then baked, with some crazily decadent Swedish sauce. And a roasted tomato, and freshly just slightly steamed bright green broccoli and asparagus. OH WOW. I havent eaten this good in a long ol time. And we shared a bottle of white wine. Granted the meal cost about as much as one night of accomodation for me, but sometimes you just have to enjoy a good meal, and company, and delicious wine. These girls are so much fun and we sat around chatting while Mai got hit on by every guy in sight, and then went dancing at the Cuba Cafe. Dancing hmm, more like watching this Edward James Olmos look alike with a profound mullet shake it like Shakira in his skin tight all white bellbottoms outfit. Quite fun though to drink strawberry mojitos and get to dance in public and all while it isnt quite dark out. And did I mention that this spot was in the middle of a park in Malmö- everything just HAS to be cute here doesnt it?
Anyways, I had a lovely time in only two days and got to be alone, be with friends, and be by the ocean. Pretty Pretty good.
Im back in Stockholm heading to wwoof for two weeks, so check you then!