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?