So. Spain, round two. We're in Málaga. Just had a quick dinner at 100 Montaditos. Lesley approved, which means she will be allowed to live. We arrived after a couple visits to Gibraltar (where, it seems, all adorable men have been hidden away) from La Línea, the Spanish town that borders Gibraltar. For the first 45 minutes of this bus ride, I was seated next to a Spanish man who decided that I needed a tutorial and proceeded to educate me on the difference between g and j, and then drill my pronunciation of Algeciras, Gibraltar, Goya, and Argentina. When I mentioned our intention to visit the Picasso museum, his eyes went from sleepy boredom to...something else and he asked if I'd ever been to the Prado. When I replied in the affimative (and in fact had a postcard from there in my backpack to show him), we spent the rest of his time on the bus discussing our favourite painters and paintings in Madrid. I enjoyed it, but it was exhausting. My Spanish is for directions and restaurants only.

I doubt I'll have a chance to post again before returning home, so thanks for following. See you all soon (-er than if I just stayed here in Spain).

We're going to Tangier in a few hours and are both sad to be doing so. Chefchaouen has provided us with hiking, henna, and a hotel run by the sweetest couple in the world. She makes the strawberry jam and butter that we have for breakfast every morning. Both are delicious. He reserved our bus tickets for us. We just have to pick them up before boarding. The tiles are colourful, the tapestries warm red, and something about ascending the staircase into cool air begs us to stay and relax and be comfortable for longer. Of course we can't. The next few days are our route back to England and then to Canada where school awaits. No more afternoons spent reading in the shaded, cool hotel room (finished the House of Mirth, Just So Stories, Changing Planes, The Woods, High Fidelity, Rob Roy, The Kindness of Strangers). People-listening can be just as satisfying as people-watching.

Chefchaouen is a town in the Rif Mountains whose medina looks to be covered in blue frosting. It is delightfully cool at night. I love it. Lesley loves it. We may not come home.

It happened. I bought a leather bag this morning. It was more than I thought I'd spend but a lot less than I would have paid in Canada. I bought it from one of the tanneries after a guide showed us around the centuries-old tanning house and explained the dying process to us. Red dye is made from poppies. It's all brutal work and smells awful because they use pigeon crap as a softener. I was really glad to have the sprig of mint they provided, even though I tried not to use it too often because I didn't want to be a wimp.

Yesterday, we arrived in Fez (via totally air conditioned train - we were spoiled) and caught a cab to our hotel. We somehow picked up a guide in the form of a guy no older than 18. He offered to show us around a bit later and, despite the many warnings about unofficial guides, we figured this kid was fine. He couldn't expect very much money from us and going with the flow seemed a good idea. We left a couple hours later, when the sun was getting weaker and were casually led by Hassan and his brother, whose name I have no idea how to spell, into the maze that is the medina in Fez. All of the streets look the same and yet they managed to lead us to a number of mosques, the old Jewish Quarter (the mellah), a bakery, and then up a hill to what Hassan called "the terrace of the town." We sat up there for a while, partly because the 360° view was phenominal (we could see black smoke rising from the potteries, and the walls of the medina) and partly because a Fassi hip-hop band was filming a music video. When we finally left our spot, Hassan led us through the old French ramparts around a few corners and up a flight of stairs to their home. They served us tea, which was slowly sipped as Hassan listened to music on his phone and we watched his three-year-old sister sleep on the couch next to him. Next, we were taken into a Berber weaving house. We bought tapestries. I really hadn't planned on it. But then there was a green stripey one and I was done for.

There's more to our first night, but it'll have to wait because my internet time is up and I'm hungry.

It's morning in Casablanca and I can't sleep. We're going to wander around the market for a bit and then take the train to Fez. It sounds like we haven't spent enough time in the place where the best last line of a movie ever is spoken, but it's a grimy town and I really want to see the medina in Fez. We both have plans to buy leather bags near the tanneries there. Unfortunately, Casablanca, being coastal, has a great breeze during the day, which hit us when we stepped off the sweltering train from Marrakesh yesterday. Neither of us particularly wants to leave the "cool" and get on another train, especially one that will be travelling for four and a half hours to a place probably as hot as Marrakesh (I'm terrified to check the weather forecast). But it's Fez and it must be done. Besides, after Fez, we just head north into mountains or port towns, which will hopefully be more comfortable.

Last night, we went to a restaurant that was listed in Lonely Planet as a Quick Eat. They specialize in seafood platters. We ordered a portion for one and a stewed eggplant (supposedly an appetizer) and finished neither. The dipping sauces were the key: one tomato, olive and coriander, the other hot sauce with lime. We had planned it to be a small snack before a somewhat classier meal but it definitely finished us for the night. A similar thing happened in Marrakesh the night before. In the Djemaa-el-Fna, the main square, grill stalls are set up in the evening with tables, and a hundred restaurants are created. We walked through the smoke, castanets, dance circles, and henna, and sat down at a place where there were a lot of people eating and no one trying too hard to get us to sit. The couscous and beef on skewers that we ordered came with the bread that accompanies all Moroccan meals (to be used instead of utensils) and the tomato olive sauce that makes good food even better. It was intensely filling (at least in part because it was so hot outside) and we had a nightcap of ice cold orange juice. And through all this, we barely spoke to one another because there was just so much to take in.

Two weeks ago, I received a message from my friend Lesley. It read, "How do you feel about extending your trip and coming to Morocco with me?" I went through the motions of weighing pros and cons, but I knew before I logged off my e-mail account that I would somehow be going to Marrakesh. Never mind that it's the hottest time of year to be in Morocco and I don't care for heat. Disregard the fact that I'd already been out of Canada for two months and want to see my family and friends so much (really). Forget that I'm supposed to be moving to Montreal and starting grad school in less than a month. Clearly, if someone asks you to go to Morocco and it's feasible, you don't have a choice. In Paris, it seemed like it wouldn't happen. I called Air Canada Reservations in France to change my return flight and it was a massive hassle that made me think Morocco would be impossible. The next day, however, a long distance call to the Air Canada line in Canada took care of the ticket change and the trip was a go.

And now, about two hours into the flight that should have been returning me to Canada (Alyssa's on it), I'm sitting next to Lesley in an internet cafe in Marrakesh. It's very hot (although not as blazing as Cordoba), we're exhausted because our flight left London at 6 a.m. and we got very little sleep, and we're disoriented because we're unaccustomed to this place and to one another. Our hotel has a tiled courtyard terrace. In the main square, freshly squeezed orange juice costs about 50 cents (Canadian), there are dried fruit and nuts for sale, snake charmers actually exist (!) and there's a heady mix of smells that I can't completely identify. You can buy anything and everything. It's terrifying and overwhelming and probably the perfect introduction to Morocco. We took a little time this afternoon to set a tentative itinerary. Our next stops will be Casablanca and Fez. Afterwards, we'll head to a town in the north called Chefchaouen and hopefully do some hiking. From there, we'll go to Tangier and make our way through Gilbraltar to Malaga, where we'll catch a flight back to London.

Tourists in France are apparently also fans of getting their photos taken in front of famous paintings. You pay to get into the Musée d'Orsay. If you're already standing in front of Starry Night, you might as well turn around and look at it.

My legs hurt. A couple hours in Père Lachaise, a couple trying to buy dresses (failed - let's not discuss), and then a free evening in the Louvre means a lot of walking in one day. Seeing the sun set through the glass of I. M. Pei's pyramid and then walking out with a view straight up to the Arc de Triomphe must be one of the best last nights in Paris ever.

In other news, I'm returning to Canada a bit later than planned. Am instead going to Morocco for a week and a half.

we have been very busy since our last post. in order to manage the somewhat overwhelming collection of stuff we wanted to do while we were here, we both went through our guidebooks and made lists of the things we wanted to do, and we have been ticking things off quite briskly. so far, we have visited Notre Dame (twice), the Pompidou Centre (just me), the Jewish Museum (just Kat), Victor Hugo's house on Place des Vosges, the Eiffel Tower, the Cimetière du Montparnasse, the Pantheon, the Sorbonne, l'Institut du Monde Arabe, Kilomètre Zéro, Versailles, the Musée Picasso, and the Place de la Bastille. we have wandered through the Quartier Latin, the Marais, and Montparnasse; Kat has jogged through St. Germain. we also climbed the Arc de Triomphe (50 m, 284 steps) and watched the sun set over Paris.

we are generally pretty pleased with ourselves about all of this. even more so because today, we managed to make the trip to Versailles and visit the Musée Picasso paying only €2.95 each for transit. we got to Versailles quite early, and got into the line for the ticket office. as we stood there, however, we realized that a) it was free to visit the gardens, and b) neither of us felt a strong need to see the inside of the palace. cue us leaving the line and walking through the garden gates. the gardens at Versailles are stunning, and we wandered around them for several hours, stopping to eat cake outside of the Domaine de Marie Antoinette (the cake was purchased in Paris before we left in the morning. stop laughing at us), and to picnic by the giant cross-shaped lake.

the only slight hiccough in our morning occurred when Kat fell asleep by the lake. yesterday, she got stung by a wasp. I suggested taking an antihistamine right away, since that is what we do at our cottage, but Kat declined, saying that she could handle it. this morning, however, she woke up with her arm throbbing, and between the train station at Versailles and the Château itself, we stopped at a pharmacy to get her some pills. what she failed to remember, despite having taken a very intense pharmacology class, is that antihistamines make you drowsy. we got about a quarter of the way around the lake before we had to stop so she could nap on a bench. a proud moment.

after we got back to Paris, we attempted to pay for our tickets to the Musée Picasso, only to receive strange looks and then free tickets from the girl at the counter. it is possible that she may have thought that we were EU citizens, but neither of us was inclined to correct her if that was the case, so we accepted our free entry happily. by which I mean, we walked away quickly and tried not to give ourselves away by looking too pleased with ourselves. and so we got to see a whole lot of Picasso for free.

random things: France has Mars Bar and Malteser ice cream bars. we are thrilled about this discovery, and a little hurt that no one saw fit to mention them when they were telling us about this country. also, yesterday Kat accidentally ran into the garden of the Musée Rodin on her jog and had to be chased out by a burly security guard.

sickass: a word used to describe very few things on our trip. it means awesome, approaching legendary. first, it was used in reference to the Charles Bridge in Prague. second, the Berlin Hauptbahnhof (do not judge until you have seen this train station. seriously, it is sickass). after today, we have a third: the spot from which we watched the final stage of the Tour de France. to give a general idea of the setting, the final stage of the Tour involves a ride into Paris, and culminates in 8 laps up and down the Champs-Élysées from the Place de la Concorde to the Arc de Triomphe and back. we were right across from Claridges, just down the street from Louis Vuitton, and had a clear view of the oncoming riders. also, we were next to a very sweet French couple, whom Kat befriended and who gave us lots of helpful advice about how to get to Versailles. it was so, so awesome. my camera died of exhaustion from taking so many pictures. by which I mean, I hadn't charged the battery recently enough. it bravely survived through 7.5 laps before it gave up the ghost. Kat and I (and, I imagine, our photography equipment) are tired from exertion and too much sun. a quiet night is in order.

as you might have guessed from all of my landmark-dropping, we are now in Paris. after a truly lovely 3 days in Bordeaux, we arrived in Paris veeeery early yesterday morning (OK, 10:30. but we left Bordeaux at 6:59!), whereupon we ditched our bags at our hotel and took a very nerdy daytrip to see the cathedral at Chartres. then, of course, the Tour took all day today. all good fun. tomorrow, our Parisian sightseeing begins in earnest. we are, needless to day, ridiculously excited.

ps. we can see the Eiffel Tower from the window in our hotel room.

Surefire way to make me sad: put cassoulet on your lunch menu and then inform me when I order it that you don't serve it.

Appropriate method of dealing with my cassoulet-related depression: ignore me as I stare off into space and listen to my iPod.

How to cheer me up in twenty seconds or less: place me on a couch with lunch in front of a TV showing a crazy mountain stage of the Tour de France. Air conditioning optional (but preferred).

Back in France now. It is difficult to sustain grouchiness when you try to type "work" and it comes out "zork."

Salamanca isn't hot. Cardigans were worn last night and Alyssa was cold anyway. We're going to see the university and cathedral today. We're under strict instructions from a friend who lived here two years ago to go out and drink. A lot. This is hampered by the fact that I'm recovering from food poisoning. I think I had some off seafood quiche three mornings ago. We went to a tapas bar that night in Seville and after a beer I suddenly began to feel very dizzy and blurry and then fainted. I have an absurdly low alcohol tolerance, but I've never reacted that poorly to a single beer. I only remember being placed in a chair and Alyssa's face peering up at me while cold water streamed down my chest. All of the waiters were very helpful. They put cold towels on me and had all sorts of recommendations for how to make me feel better. Sit. Stand. Drink more sangria. A little whisky. This bread. The hospital. Alyssa got me back to the hotel and into bed and the next morning I felt better (which means I beat her to the top of the Giralda. The ramps are not steep. They were built so that people could ride up on horseback).

The morning after, arriving in Córdoba, I felt much worse, but improved steadily throughout the day. For dinner, we went to a restaurant recommended by the Michelin guide. We ordered all of the tapas (six items - two dips, each with cooked egg and a lot of garlic; croquettes; fried aubergine and honey; cod fritters; and lettuce dressed in garlic and vinegar) and a portion of Iberian ham in truffle sauce. It was perfect.

I wouldn't mention the food poisoning if it were something to be at all concerned about. Have already notified my mother. And, quite possibly, there will be some alcohol consumption tonight. We only have two more nights in Spain and Alyssa still needs to taste sangria with cava.

how to visit the cathedral in Seville:
head straight to la Giralda, the belltower that used to be a minaret. begin walking up the ramps immediately, without really giving thought to the project you have undertaken. reach the 16th landing a little tired; think to yourself, "uh, just how high is this thing, exactly?". walk up 18 more ramps before you see the stairs to the top. stay on the platform for a very long time, taking pictures of the city (over the railings), and the bells (above your head). jump a little when the bells ring out the quarter hour. leave when a really annoying tour group shows up.

the view from the top of la Giralda is beautiful. on our way down from the top of the minaret, we noted some sort of rally taking place in an adjacent plaza. it turns out that we managed to be up there during the nearby public appearance of a soccer (or fútbol, as the locals would have it) player for the Seville team. we got to hear lots of cheering, and many rousing renditions some sort of Seville fight song (I know this because the chorus involved the lines, "Seviiiiiilla, Seviiiiiilla." I'm clever like that).

after the cathedral, we made an attempt to wander the streets of Seville and soak up some atmosphere, but were defeated by the heat, and retreated to FNAC (like Chapters, but with electronics thrown into the mix. it has air-conditioning and seating. we love it).

oddly enough, while it is very hot here, we are actually finding it cooler than Madrid. yesterday evening, after we'd settled into our hostel, we took a walk by the river, and it was actually a comfortable temperature! shocking, I know. also, on that walk we discovered a group of men playing Kat's new favourite sport. we don't know what it's called, but it appears to work like water polo, except with kayaks.

ps. a lot of buildings in downtown Seville have swimming pools on their roofs. the water looks very, very blue in the sunlight. also, the cathedral has a garden of orange trees.

Best night ever. I think it would be too difficult to explain in sentences.

1. Went to the opera. (I love opera.)
a) It was The Marriage of Figaro. (I'm among many who feel that this is a master of all trades opera. Lots of different combos, lots of hilarity, webs of deceit, and a harpsichord!)
b) It starred Mariusz Kwiecien as Count Almaviva. Mariusz (first name basis with opera stars is just how it is) was Enrico in the production of Lucia di Lammermoor that was at the Met a few months ago. I watched the HD transmission in Halifax. He was stunning. And not just because of the hair.
c) It was at the Teatro Real, which is a fantastic opera house, one of the best in the world, ranked with La Scala, the Met, and Vienna's State Opera House, despite being smaller than all of them.
d) We had seats in the second row. Not of the balcony. Of the orchestra. The conductor was eleven feet away, at most. I heard his footsteps when he entered.
e) The seats were €30.20. In total. Last minute student prices are insane. (Marked down from €151.90 each)
f) The opera was unbelievably good. Mariusz and the cast were first class, as were the costumes (I want the page's jacket) and the set.
g) The. Set. Rocked. In the fourth act, in the garden, there was a fountain with flowing water and a full moon that rose. I was kind of speechless for about 20 minutes after.

2. After the opera, we had dinner in a market that gets converted to numerous tapas bars at night.
a) toasts with i. smoked salmon and dill aioli, ii. pickled white anchovy, iii. some sort of rice and tuna concoction, iv. marinated salt cod
b) fritters of i. cod and cheese and ii. potato and herb
c) raw oysters with lemon (Alyssa: "so, in principle, it's a big mussel")
d) sangria that came with a dish of black olives
e) ice cream. in a mini cone. mascarpone con higos (I looked it up today. higos = figs)

Keeping in mind that this followed a day that included a visit to an Annie Leibovitz exhibition, which was free (we loved her photo of the Queen). And brunch. We really love brunch. Actually, we skipped going to church for brunch. And for a light pre-opera dinner, we ate a place called 100 Montaditos, which serves 100 different kinds of small sandwiches. It was so good, we returned today. My favourite was a mousse pate. Alyssa made a face.

By the by, Calle Ave Maria is full of cheap Indian and Thai restaurants and internet cafes.

so in order to tell the story about my last morning in Barcelona, I have to communicate some background information. as many of you already know, my birthday was at the very beginning of our trip. before I left, my sister gave me a letter (actually, she gave me a letter to give to Kat that contained a letter to give to me). enclosed in this letter was a cut-out photo of Gwyneth's face taped to a wooden skewer, and the instruction to take pictures of it in cool places, specifically the Tour. at each Tour stage we have seen, I have taken out this contraption (which shall henceforth be known as "Gwyneth-on-a-stick") and taken pictures with it. however, due to the excessive speed of the riders and the slowness of my camera shutter, I have thus far been unable to get a clear picture of Gwyneth's face with a cyclist.

flash forward to the final morning in Barcelona: I had ventured off to where the Tour started alone (after Kat declared resoundingly that she wanted nothing more to do with the Tour, if not forever, at least until the final stage in Paris), and positioned myself somewhere behind the starting arch in the hopes of catching pictures of the cyclists as they left their team buses. so I'm standing there with my hand stuck through a gap in the barriers, holding Gwyneth-on-a-stick and taking her picture with any cyclist who comes by (and a few tour buses when I got bored), when this man with a camera and a microphone comes up to me and asks me if I speak French. once I reply in the affirmative ("juste un peu, et très mal"), he asks me what exactly it is that I am doing. I explain ("my sister loves the Tour. perhaps more than she loves me"), in my only moderately broken French.

before I know it, he has borrowed my camera and my sister's head on a skewer, and has run off into the thick of the riders and is taking pictures of them. I watch rather anxiously, as it has suddenly occurred to me that giving your camera to random strangers to hold is one of those things you are not supposed to do when travelling. meanwhile, all of this activity has apparently attracted the attention of a Spanish journalist, who comes up to me and starts asking me questions (in French, because she appears to be under the impression that I actually speak this language. she is mostly wrong). I end up doing an interview for the nice French man first, because he has to leave when the riders do ("bonne chance, Alyssa! au revoir!"), and then the nice Spanish woman (the former in French, the latter in English).

the Spanish reporter told me at the end of the interview that my sister will be famous in Spain. I'm not sure I believe her, but I must admit I am intrigued. unfortunately, I was so flustered that I didn't ask which networks this footage might be on. so if anyone feels like scouring Spanish and French human interest pieces about the Tour for clips of me holding a skewer, please do so, and send me the link.

but anyway, that is the story of how my sister and I may end up on French and/or Spanish TV.

I remembered today how much I love Bosch. The Prado is packed with amazing paintings. And it is air conditioned, as is the Reina Sofia, which we entered free. Did you know that some people go into the room with Picasso's Guernica, stand in front of the painting, have their photo taken with it, and then leave without ever having looked at the work itself? It's baffling.

In case the Prado didn't give it away, we're in Madrid, having arrived from Barcelona yesterday. I'd say we had two very different experiences of that city. My disappointment in Gaudi after La Sagrada Familia skewed my mood, although a group of Belgians slowly put me on track to appreciating his work by taking me to see various Gaudi-inspired mosaics in and around the Gothic Quarter. (I had refused to go to Parc Güell with Alyssa after the church, so she went alone and I headed back downtown to find my lens cap.) We went to the finish line of the Tour de France's Stage 6, in the pouring rain and rowdy crowds, and I wondered what the hell I'd done with my afternoon. I like watching the Tour. I shouldn't do so in crap weather when I can barely see. Needless to say, I wasn't keen to head back to the crowds for the next day's departure, so I came up with a different activity for myself, one which I'm sure (I'm positive) made Alyssa CRAZY. I went to Parc Güell. And it was great. There were trails to climb and see the city (including the water!) and the design that I couldn't deal with in a religious building made total sense in a natural setting. Also, the Tour followed the main street near Parc Güell so I got to see them fly by. Literally. Okay, not literally. But close enough. It didn't even take 20 seconds for the entire pack of riders to pass me by. Totally awesome.

Alyssa has her own story about her last morning in Barcelona. I'm not allowed to talk about it, but it does involve the fact that her sister is possibly more awesome than watching the peloton go by. That's the teaser. It's late. We're going back to the hostel to sleep.

I was crazy about La Sagrada Familia. From the front and the inside. I just couldn't deal with the back of it. It was just too overloaded with stuff. STUFF! Growing and bulging. It drove me a bit nuts because the concept was so interesting and the plans and sketches lead you to believe something incredible would come out of it. But I think it just looks a mess.

I have issues keeping my lens cap with my camera. Today, I forgot it in a restaurant, and when I returned to get it, the waiter brought it to me with a pitcher of sangria. With cava. And that is the story of how I drank three persons' worth of sangria by myself.

so due to the time of our train to Barcelona/some inaccurate information from a roadie for L'Equipe, we only ended up seeing around 10 minutes of the team time trial yesterday in Montpellier (ie. we saw 2 teams ride out. note that this was after waiting for 4 hours). unfortunately, we also have very little photographic evidence of having seen any cycling at all, because when the teams depart, they go very, very fast. we were within 100 m of the starting arch, and they were past us seconds after starting. it was ridiculously cool - Kat and I were both blown away by how quickly the cyclists reached their top speeds. we have pictures of several Caisse d'Epargne- and Katusha-coloured blurs, but the only ones we have of actual people on bikes are from their warm-up rides.

swag count from Montpellier (related sponsors in brackets): white bucket hats (Skoda), reflective snap bracelets (Festina), sausage samples (Cochonou), and a packet of laundry soap (sponsor uncertain). there was a whole lot more that we didn't get; people get very grabby when they're waiting, and sometimes it's best to pick your battles. we did get promotional newspapers with a list of the riders organized by team and number, which was handy. sadly, we did not get any of the umbrella hats that another sponsor was distributing. bummer.

and then we caught a train to Barcelona, which would have been quite nice if it weren't for the crying children, the mysterious police presence at the borders, and the seats in front of us that weren't attached properly and kept swinging towards us at an ominous angle. this morning we visited Gaudi's Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família, which I loved but Kat was not so crazy about. tomorrow we will watch the Tour arrive at the Estadi Olímpic - finally we will get to see how something turns out! apparently the stage that started in Marseille ended quite dramatically, but we had no idea until we were waiting for it to start in Montpellier and some friendly Australians recapped it for us. yesterday's stage was also very exciting (a tie for first! it's madness!), but that we only know from checking the internet, so we are very excited to see the end of tomorrow's stage. ¡hasta luego! (so I'm really excited about all of the fancy punctuation on this keyboard. so what? it's just so much easier to use than the French ones ...)

today, we watched the Grand Depart of Stage 3 of the Tour de France, ate crêpes with nutella, and then visited the Château d'If. this is pretty much the dream.

we figured out last night that the Tour was going to start around 1:00, and had originally planned to wander around the city in the morning and head to the Tour area around noon. pretty much as soon as we left our hotel, we realized that that was a stupid idea. we were staying right by the Vieux Port (where the Depart was happening), and the area was flooded with Tour paraphernalia and personel. we followed the bright yellow markers along the port, looking at the merchandise on sale and checking out the swag (all of the Tour sponsors give out stuff free to the people in the crowds. Kat got free coffee from a guy carrying a coffee dispenser ON HIS BACK, and we both got free Bouygues Telecom hats), and suddenly it was 10:30 and we had prime viewing spots that we were on no account leaving. we promptly re-applied sunscreen and settled in for the duration. the heat was pretty intense - a family from Hawaii was standing next to us, and even they thought it was hot - but we persevered. the Depart was so exciting, and happened very fast. first there was 1 rider coasting over to line up, then 2, then suddenly there were 180, and everyone wanted to photograph all of them. I got some good shots of George Hincapie, but Kat wins the prize today for a photo of someone we think might be Lance Armstrong.

afterwards, we took our intensely sunned bodies on a quest for food and drink (whereupon we found crêpes but no giant bottles of water, sadly), and then set off to fulfill our very dorky fantasy of visiting a famed literary landmark on the same day as seeing the Tour. the ferry to the Île d'If leaves right from the Vieux Port, and affords the opportunity for some nice views of the harbour (more photos. oh so many photos today). we were like children arriving at a birthday party when we got there, and we were not disappointed. certain parts of the Château are, admittedly, a bit much: a few of the cells have TVs playing clips from various adaptations of The Count of Monte Cristo, and most of the historical information is intensely Dumas-themed (which is really very interesting, it just detracts from the mood a bit). in the audio-visual-component-free areas, however, the imagination is free to run wild. we climbed to the very top on a windy stone staircse, and then ran along the sides of the fort looking for not-too-rocky places where one could hypothetically jump/fall/be thrown in and not die.

we took the ferry back, sunburnt and happy, and since then have just been wandering (ie. looking for shady spots). despite all of the negative reports we had received ("you're going to Marseille? ew, why? don't stay too long - just do whatever you need to do and get out!"), we have actually quite enjoyed the city. people have been very friendly here - we find ourselves chatting while buying postcards and paying for takeout orders, and there are both a ferris wheel AND a carousel here. no city with those two things can be bad.

right now we are in an internet café (accents are so easy here. it's just everything else that is hard), waiting until it is time to go to the station to catch our train to Montpellier. we had originally picked Montpellier as a destination because it is the transfer point between Marseille and Barcelona, our next stop. today, we realized that we must be either idiots or geniuses, because the Tour has its team time trial there tomorrow. our train leaves for Barcelona at 3ish, but we should be able to catch some of it before we go. life is good. we leave Marseille in an hour, proudly wearing the marks of our devotion to the Tour (I think I got a burn on my scalp, despite wearing my free hat), with more adventures ahead.

bonjour from Nice! we are here for an hour between trains en route to Marseille. Kat is very happy to be somewhere she can speak the language (I am too; but not quite as radiantly as Kat is). we were dismayed to discover, however, that French keyboards are VERY different from North American ones. like, more so than Czech keyboards. that was very unexpected. it is a difficult adjustment to make. to illustrate, our names on this keyboard, typed as we would normally, are Qlyssq ?qckenwie and Kqthijqh Ng. that, by the way, is my long way of saying that this will be a very short post, because it is taking me a very long time to type.

so we are only in France for a couple of days right now: we are going to Marseille to see some of the Tour de France in person, and then heading to Barcelona (where we will also catch some of the Tour). as many of you may already know, the start of the Tour de France (which was yesterday, for those of you not aware) marks the beginning of a thrilling few weeks for my family. I'm pretty excited to be able to see some of the Tour in person, although it feels very weird not be getting up early every morning to watch with my parents. we watched some of the first day in our hotel last night, and I know I don't speak the language, but I think that the Italian commentators lack the charm of Paul, Phil, and Bobke. perhaps the French and Spanish will be better? regardless, I'm totally psyched to see Lance Armstrong in person tomorrow. stay tuned.

ps. don't worry, Jess (and anyone else who might be concerned): I recovered from my jellyfish sting very quickly. sadly, it's not the first one I've had in my life, so I more or less knew what to expect. my leg muscles hurt for much longer than my stung foot did. my body was seriously unimpressed with my decision to hike, and expressed its displeasure accordingly.

Milan is smoking hot. So hot that neither of us particularly wants to move. There are sales in all of the clothing shops so it's just packed with people everywhere. I'm far too Canadian for all of this. I want a tree to shade me while I quietly read.

We'd thought of going to see The Last Supper but it requires reservation and today was all booked up already. So we're hiding out in an internet cafe and hoping that it'll be less intensely hot when we venture back out. I'm not banking on it.

I visited a friend in Montreal in May who insisted that I go to Cinque Terre when in Italy. It was all gorgeous seaside scenery and piles of hiking. Perfect for me. Less perfect for Alyssa. But, because she's a good sport, she came along anyway. We arrived and I took off for a trail. I'm not entirely sure what she got up to, but I know foccacia was involved. The second day, Alyssa actually went hiking! I mean, I can't totally verify, as I wasn't there (we took different trails), but she definitely got a tan. Maybe a burn. And then we jumped into the sea and she got stung by a jellyfish, which perhaps indicates that she should just stay the hell away from nature. Jellyfish are so rare there. While she rested and read on the beach (in a shaded strip), I played water polo with a group of Italians, and they were all fascinated by the idea that a jellyfish was in our presence. They dove and searched for it and eventually captured it with a net. It was purple and slimy. Kind of beautiful. I feel bad that it had to die. But it had to die. It totally freaked us out.

Tomorrow, we take a series of trains to Marseille to watch the Tour. So it's probably best that we lay low today. I expect Marseille to be insane. And I expect that we will be insane in Marseille.

We're in an expensive internet cafe in Florence (I've heard this is fairly par) and I seem to have been given more time than I paid for, so I'll use it to brag about having been to both the Uffizi and the cupola of the Duomo in the past 24 hours. Judge as you will, but I never realized that Botticelli's Birth of Venus and Primavera were at the Uffizi, so when I walked into the Botticelli room, I didn't notice them. I walked from one painting to the next and suddenly realized that the fourth one I saw was v

My internet luck ran out, I guess. To continue:

I'd seen the fourth painting dozens of times before, but in books and on computer screens. My first year tutor was so right. Brush strokes and little swirls of colour and texture become so much more apparent and important in person. Just fabulous.

Less glamorous is the climb to the top of the Duomo. I was still half dressed in my pyjamas and after the first set of stairs, switched on my iPod so I could have something else to think about. We reached the cupola sweaty and stiff but it was as worth it as everyone says. It was cloudy, which meant that we could stay in the shade, so we had a while to cool off and seriously enjoy the view. I picked out buildings to live in. Anything with turrets or surrounded by trees that could yield olives.

There's a menu that lists more than eight different kinds of gnocchi so that's where we'll have dinner tonight. And then we're going to a concert at the Bargello, which, incidentally, is the site of a production of Macbeth next month. Fun activity: discussing how to stage Macbeth in that space and how it would be The Coolest Thing Ever. There's a well in the centre of the courtyard. We agreed that the witches should make their first entrance by climbing out of it.

The other amazing thing that happened today: we saw Michelangelo's David. As I walked away, I heard a guy say, "It's just like so much perfect detail. And it's fucking big!" He got it. Incidentally, the Accademia is presenting an exhibition of the photography of Robert Mapplethorpe in and around various Renaissance works, including those of Michelangelo, who was Mapplethorpe's favourite. It is highly unexpected that such an old institution would curate a display of work by a gay American whose work was often controversial (photos of erect penises and the like). I thought it was gutsy. And I spotted a photo of an orchid that I wished I could purchase for my mother but it was unavailable. Alas.

It just occurred to me that we have neglected to mention something rather important. We went to Venice. We spent a night there in between Hamburg and Rome. After dinner, I thought it would be a good idea to "get St. Mark's Square out of the way" but when we arrived, I realized that was utterly silly. We would definitely have to return. Just massively beautiful. And flooded! With gross Venetian water. I waded into it anyway.

To continue (from the incredibly hot Naples):

In the middle of the Piazza, there was some dry ground, but I couldn't resist getting my feet wet, even though I knew I'd basically need antibiotics afterward. Towards the basilica, the water hit my calf (for others, the ankle), and everyone was splashing around trying to move from one corner to another or just playing like children (of which there were so many).

The next day, we visited the Jewish Ghetto in Canareggio, where the Hamantaschen were called "orechiette di Hamann," the Ponte di Rialto (which completely stopped us in our tracks), and so many shops that sold marbled paper and handmade leather-bound notebooks. We bought an Italian phrasebook and can now get ourselves through a restaurant without sounding like complete tourists.

Venice was magic. Especially that night in the Piazza. Napoleon was right all along.

today is our last day in Rome. we ended up staying a day longer than we had originally planned, so we had to change accomodation yesterday. we spent last night in a hotel that had the loveliest old Italian man working the front desk. we showed up around 10 yesterday morning (waaaay before our check-in time) hoping that we might be able to leave our bags there for the day. he very apologetically informed us that the room he had intended for us still had people in it, but he had another room available, and suddenly, we were checked in before noon. it was kind of awesome. also, he pronounces my last name "Mackensia." Kat is delighted, because for some reason he has significantly less trouble with her last name than mine (although he thinks her first name is Katousha).

yesterday:

St. Peter's: we decided that we wanted not to get sunburns more than we wanted not to look like fools, so we were the tourists who carried umbrellas in the line (note: our umbrellas are matching shades of bright yellow). the building itself is kind of mind-boggling (as all of you who have seen it know already). we opted not to climb to the top of the dome (or cupola, as the guard whom Kat asked for directions disdainfully informed us), as it was kind of expensive, and had other stuff we wanted to do. which brings us to ...

the Hiroshige exhibit: so. cool. one of the museums (musea, if you want to be pretentious) in Rome is showing prints from the University of Hawaii's HUGE collection of Japanese artwork. the exhibit is really well-designed - walking through it was an incredibly calming experience (especially considering the heat and business of the city outside). I had not heard very much about Hiroshige before, and was completely enchanted ("blown away" didn't seem appropriate, somehow). they had a really fascinating little alcove where they demonstrated the process of woodblock printing, where they had separate prints of the black lines and each separate colour, showing step-by-step how they were layered to create the final print. they also had a number of stations throughout the exhibit where you could stamp a small travel passport of sorts with different Japanese-style stamps. I got VERY excited about this. the pamphlet that goes with the exhibit describes this as an activity to excite interest in the younger attendees. my response when Kat told me this? "whatever, we're young."

we had originally planned to go to a Da Vinci exhibit afterwards, but ended up deciding it was too expensive. instead, we went to the area near the Circus Maximus (which now just looks like a big field) to visit La Bocca della Verità, which is featured in the movie Roman Holiday. it was absurdly busy, but I was still very pleased. afterwards, we walked across the river into the Trastavere area, which Kat was under the impression was "very Roman." that turned out to be an apt description. it is really the only area in this city we've visited that seems like people could actually live there. it is as picturesque as the rest of the city, but significantly less touristy. we spent a while sitting around a fountain in a piazza watching kids play soccer and families taking walks while eating gelato. after eating dinner (pasta for me, tripe for Kat), we meandered back to our hostel, walking through many of the major Roman landmarks on our way. they remain buzzing with activity, even at night. all that really changes is that instead of selling purses, many of the vendors wandering the streets are selling these light up spinning disc things (I bought one for my brother for his birthday). truly a lovely end to our stay in Rome. next stop: Naples.

Yesterday morning, I used the phrase "When in Rome..." and then realized that it was not a figure of speech. Because we were in Rome. We did a number on the checklist of recommendations: Colosseum, Palatine Hill, Trevi Fountain, Spanish Steps, Pantheon, Piazza Navona, Campo dei Fiori, Jewish Ghetto, Teatro di Marcello. And today, we hit the Sistine Chapel. Twice.

We'd been warned of massive but ultimately worthwhile lines at the Vatican, so we decided to wake up early (alarm set for 7:45) and head over, make a run to the Sistine Chapel, go through the museum backwards, and then do St. Peter's last. It was mostly successful. We did gun it to the Chapel, and neither of us was sure we were there until seeing Adam and God (Alyssa) and identifying the popes (me). It wasn't too full, we could stand and stare, slowly rotating; we sat down and just craned our necks for a while. We spent an hour in there and I forgot for a while where in the world we were, other than in that space. After a slow move through the whole museum, we ended up back at the Sistine Chapel, which, funny enough, was exactly where we did not want to be. It was ludicrously crowded, loud, and full of assbags taking flash photos. That's right. Assbags. It's an historic, religious space. It explicitly says that photography is not allowed. If you're going to stand and point your crappy little Panasonic at the ceiling, I'm annoyed with you. A. You're not Annie Liebowitz. Get over it. Your photo of one of the greatest works of art in the history of the Western world is going to suck. B. You're flaunting Vatican rules. For some reason, I'm not okay with that. C. Flashes are bad for old paintings. Who doesn't know this? D. If you're going to take a photo, at least be awesomely creative about it, like the guy who set his timer and then put his camera on the floor facing up. On our second visit to the Chapel, I may have pushed through it intentionally bumping into anyone taking a photo.

The line to St. Peter's Basilica went more than half the circumference of the square (I realize that is a contradiction in geometric terms, but that's Rome's fault), so we opted to go see the Catacombs instead. Totally worth it. Great tour. I wished I could wander off and explore on my own, but I had a feeling Alyssa wouldn't be too pleased at having to search for me in an underground maze of tombs. And, we had to walk along the Appian Way to get there. So we were walking along the old road to Rome.

We're going to the Basilica tomorrow. There's an exhibit of Hiroshige paintings at one of the museums that I'd like to see. We may search for the drain cover that Audrey Hepburn puts her hand into in Roman Holiday (I know Alyssa wants to do this. And I do love Roman Holiday).

Re: who is most likely to bring a rat onto a train. It's just a gut feeling. Sometimes, a perfectly dapper man can seem like he might have an odd attachment to his little pet rat. Or it's some punk with greasy hair, torn clothing, and a pervasive stench.

we are now in Hamburg, having left Berlin yesterday afternoon, and will be leaving for Venice (via Munich and possibly Innsbruck) in 2 hours. because it would be virtually impossible to fully recap our past few days, I thought all y'all might enjoy some anecdotes from our time in Berlin (after which Kat will recap Hamburg).

1. Zitch Dog.
as we have mentioned previously, we met up with our friend Katherine in Prague. Katherine had recently been in Berlin, and proposed a game to us for while we were there. She had noted an unusually high percentage of pregnant women during her stay, and suggested that we count how many we saw. because Kat and I don't like to play games that can't be won, we decided to modify it see who could spot the highest number. in true How I Met Your Mother fashion, the phrase we chose for when we saw a pregnant woman was "Zitch Dog" (to avoid shouting and pointing, which could become awkward for all involved). what we learned while playing this game is that Kat and I are perhaps too competitive to play this form of Zitch Dog and do anything else at the same time, as our obsessive need to find the most pregnant women the fastest kind of inhibited our social interaction. we decided to cap the game at 15 (Kat won, despite a respectable last-minute surge by me), and all was well.

2. the incident that shall be known as "The Rat on the Subway" (note: not appropriate for the squeamish)
the same day as the above, Kat and I were sitting on an S-Bahn train, minding our own business, when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a rat. I am aware that seeing rats on public transit is not actually that rare an occurrence, although the German system is clean enough that I imagine it would be rather rare. this rat, however, was someone's pet. a girl with pink hair was sitting on the train, holding a small black and white rat in. her. lap. Kat and I were flabbergasted. and also possibly a little horrified. when I noticed it, I gave what must have been the quietest shriek there has ever been (I did not want to exhibit bad manners, you see, even when faced with a rat on the subway. nor did I want to excite the rat). we spent the entire rest of our ride in states of extreme anxiety (and trying not to stare). this anxiety was heightened when she PLACED THE RAT IN HER HOOD. as Kat asked, "how on earth would the poor man sitting back to back with her feel if he turned around right now?"

addendum: now you might think that this would be a once-in-a-lifetime (or at least once-in-a-weekend) occurrence. au contraire, my friends. I saw another one when we arrived in Hamburg. at least this one had a cage, although when I saw him, he was not in it.

Right. We're in Hamburg, which has a distinctly different flavour than Berlin's. There's more water, being a port town, and when you see the word "Hamburger," food is not necessarily available. However, I think Alyssa misses Berlin because she has brought our Berlin games here. She still calls out Zitch Dog at the sight of any pregnant woman, even though I already won that game. And she thinks that we should categorize people according to the likelihood that they would bring a rat onto a train. For the record, the latter game is amazing and she is rightly proud of herself for conceiving of it.

The reason we're here is that my grandmother (or close enough) is from Hamburg. We found her family's old storefront this morning, which was quite a relief because it was in a neighbourhood that was not where we stayed last night. In other words, it was not surrounded by seedy clubs and strip joints ("Palaces"). Kids, maybe avoid the Reeperbahn.

hello from Berlin! aside from enjoying yet more ethnic food (Vietnamese noodles ... mmm), we spent most of yesterday (our first full day here) seeing the standard tourist sights: Unter-der-Linden, Alexanderplatz, the Reichstag, the Brandenberg Gate, etc. we had planned to take a bus that would have driven us past most of the major sights, but due to some sort of protest, there was a detour. we assumed that we were experiencing a repeat of what happened in Vienna, where we unknowingly arrived just in time for a major holiday: we had, after all, walked past a 17 Juni Strasse, and was it not the 17th of June? when we got to a major square near Alexanderplatz, we were even more sure. there were scraps of newspaper and flyers everywhere; clearly, something big had gone down. we were obviously in Berlin at a time of great national import, and had no idea what was going on. I began mentally waxing poetic about the energy and revolutionary spirit of this city.

Kat asked someone about it later: June 17 was the date of some sort of workers' strike. the protestors, however, apparently had no idea that the dayhad any historic significance, and were protesting something to do with housing problems. way to go, Berlin.

of the major Berlin museums, we went to the Pergamnon and the Jewish Museum. the former has some truly staggering artifacts from a demolished Greek town (from which the museum takes its name). they have assembled the front part of the town's largest temple in the main hall of the museum. it is extremely impressive. the Jewish Museum, designed by Daniel Liebeskind (Kat: "wow, it looks a lot like the ROM"), is really fascinating inside. in addition to the more tradition museum stuff (artifacts, informative posters, etc.), they have a lot of interactive exhibits, including photo albums and some home movies - interesting and thoughtful. the building itself is really cool as well, although we didn't get to explore it as much as we would have liked, because the museum was closing.

and now we're off to more sightseeing. more Berlin-themed updates later.

There was no free internet in Prague and it was slow besides, which accounts for the lack of good posting. We were safe and sound, even at 3 a.m. in a random small Czech town. At the time, we were returning to Prague after a day-trip to Cesky Krumlov, a preserved Medieval/Renaissance town with a castle that is visible from everywhere and a surprisingly good gallery dedicated to Egon Schiele.

Schiele's mother was from Krumlov and he ended up moving there with some artist friends. The town was unimpressed with their bohemian lifestyle and habit of having young teenage girls pose nude and basically ran them out of town after a couple years. So it's funny that Krumlov now seeks to have any kind of memorial to this artist, never mind one that is as thoughtful and beautifully designed as this one. It's housed in an old brewery and also displays work from contemporary artists, including one who is younger than we are by a good six months.

We discovered a huge market that included a warehouse of produce stalls near our hostel yesterday. It was a good end to our stay in Prague as we bought strawberries, cherry tomatoes (like candy), bread, salami, and really good fried noodles for a picnic under some large mulberry trees.

Berlin got off to a good start because of our train in. In Dresden, a tall German man sat down beside us, and told us his wife would be boarding at the next stop and we chatted for a bit before returning to our various activities - postcard and journal writing, staring out the window. When she appeared, she was not the leggy, blonde model I'd been expecting (for some reason) but a really sweet Scottish woman who, after a conversation in German with her husband, told us that he'd been pleasantly surprised that we spoke in such an intelligent, educated way, as opposed to so many of the Americans he'd met. We took it as a compliment because they were a lovely, friendly couple, the kind that you want to emulate should you find yourself in a relationship. She spoke German with rolled r's and totally knew where Alyssa's going to school next year and was properly impressed.

Also, Berlin's pretty fantastic. We had Indian food for dinner. AND SPÄTZLE.

It's our last night in Prague and I suppose we have a lot to tell about our stay in the Czech Republic and not even close to enough time to say it all. We may have misunderstood the difference between the Czech words for departure and arrival, stranding ourselves in Ceske Budejovice for seven hours as a result. But we did get to see a castle. And its restored Baroque theatre. And the Egon Schiele art centre that can be seen from said castle. We dipped our feet in a river that was fed by the Vltava.

Today has been Kat filled. As in our friend from school, not myself in the third person (this actually did get a little confusing today). We've seen Prague's major sights - a bridge, another castle, and a fantastic clock - as well as its Jewish quarter.

It's Alyssa's second birthday dinner tonight. She's wearing a dress.

On a bus towards town this morning, there was an overwhelming sight before us. An elderly lady climbed on board and was unable to sit in the convenient place next to the door because it was occupied by a large, messy man who was too preoccupied by some hand-held electronic device to vacate his seat, as numerous signs indicated he should do. Even when the bus jerked forward so that the lady nearly fell on him, he didn't look up. He got off the bus at the same stop as said lady and as he stood, he exposed a whole lot of ass crack to all the passengers (sorry parents, but this is the only way to express this). Ordinarily, this type of occurrence shouldn't be publicized. No one ever intends to flash 30 strangers (I hope). However, if you do not give up your seat for a frail old lady with a cane, I assert my right to mock you on my blog.

In other news, we visited Schönbrunn, the Hapsburgs' summer palace. These people definitely misspent public funds for this design and construction. It's a marvel. We bought food from the Naschmarkt and picnicked in a number of locations (our passtime of choice). We discovered that the day after standing still for two hours is not one in which you wish to walk anywhere at all. And I got strudel in my hair.

we stepped out of a U-bahn station into central Vienna today to the sound of bells from Stephansdom. the cathedral itself is under construction of some variety, so it's covered in scaffolding and hung with tarps illustrated to look like the building underneath, but that didn't really matter at that moment.

things we learned today, in no particular order:

1. Corpus Christi is a national holiday in Austria, so many businesses open late or do not open at all. also, today is Corpus Christi.
2. Viennese public transit operates on an honour system for payment.
3. no matter how randomly we think we are wandering, we will somehow always end up back at the opera house.
4. it is very difficult to make it through the entirety of Wagner's Götterdämerung with standing-room tickets. it is in fact something of an accomplishment to make it to the end of the first act.

It's not entirely legitimate to consume three scoops of ice cream just because you stood for two hours in a sweaty mass of people at the Staatsoper. It just happens sometimes, perhaps as a reward for so enjoying a city even as it rains on you. We went to the "touristy" Leopold Museum. Rudolf Leopold's favourite artist is/was Egon Schiele, who was a student of Klimt. Actually, the ink sketch of Klimt's portrait that is maybe the most well-known was drawn by Schiele. He died in 1918 of the Spanish flu at the age of 28 and somehow managed to be rather prolific. He painted a lot of nudes, many of which are posed in revealing ways, making their expression more poignant. My favourites, however, were the paintings of houses and streets. They all involve laundry of some sort. For some reason, this makes me believe in Schiele's vision of the world. Now that we're still wired on sugar, more stargazing is needed.

(I think we'll stop mentioning who wrote what. Alyssa doesn't capitalize the beginnings of sentences - some English B.A. tradition, no doubt. I do.)

K: I've discovered that the hour that comes in between 4 (the time by which I'd expected to see Alyssa in a foreign country in which neither of us has a cell phone) and 5 (when I actually saw Alyssa, thanks to transport issues in London - way to go world city) is incredibly long. It's hot in the Vienna metro. And full of stress as I contemplated what I could possibly tell Alyssa's parents in the event that I did not manage to meet up with their daughter. The wait's done though. She's got her head out the window at her hostel, and is perhaps deciding what matters more to her at the moment - that she can see stars and a good view of the city or that she's cold.

A: so I don't know if any of you have heard, but there is currently a strike going on in London that is resulting in diminished service on the tube. apparently, when the tube doesn't work properly, London is essentially broken, which can lead to entire flight crews on small Irish airlines being unable to get to work on time, and thus to my flight to Vienna being over an hour late. once I finally arrived, we headed straight to the hostel (which, incidentally, has a beautiful view of the Vienna skyline), ditched our stuff, and immediately left again. we spent the evening walking around the far western edge of Vienna, occasionally snacking, and just wandering wherever we saw something cool. the deceptive thing about Vienna at sunset is that you will be walking down the street, glimpse a beautiful building catching the sun just around a corner, and convince yourself that it is a site of some historical importance. once you turn the corner, you will realize that it is a grocery store. we managed to find the university campus, which is quite beautiful. we will both obviously be applying for research grants to study there. will SSHRC accept "because it's really pretty" on our proposals, do you think?

time for a picnic. with a chocolate bar. and, more to the point, lots of stars.

meanwhile, in England, I am back in London (writing from an internet cafe across from the only quiet entrance to Victoria Station), after a lovely and relaxing stay with Yoli. tonight and tomorrow I will be staying in a hotel in Westminster. pros: really convenient location, super cheap, and they bumped me up to a double even though I only paid for a single. cons: rooms lack toilets, showers, and the ability to make external phone calls. I am slowly being eased into hostel living. tonight, after checking into my hotel, I took myself to an Indian restaurant for dinner, acting on the principle that it would be wrong for me to be in England without eating any Indian food. at the end of my meal, when the waiter came to give me my cheque, he also presented me with a single rose wrapped in cellophane. I don't know if I was looking particularly sad, or if the gesture was based on the assumption that a girl eating alone must be in need of cheering up, but either way, it was very nice. the rose is barely open and doesn't really have a smell, but I don't care. plan for tomorrow: lunch with Jess, shopping for a few things for the rest of my trip, and then Oliver! starring Rowan Atkinson as Fagan. how excited am I? answer: so excited! - A

Today is June 8th, which would have been my grandfather's 79th birthday. I think he would be most amused by my surprising (to me) discovery that there is a noticeable Chinese population here and possibly pleased that I managed to have a very nice conversation in Mandarin without breaking a sweat as I ordered Chinese food. In Hungary. Tonight, I'm going to see a musical. The hostel is fortuitously located right next to a large theatre, which is showing József és a szines, otherwise known as Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat. In Hungarian. My nine-year-old self demands that I attend.

It's pissing rain in Budapest and I couldn't care less. The hostel, which was a little tricky to find, was well worth the search. It is sort of an old European, James Bond-esque (there's an inner courtyard that would have served well for surveillance and leaping stunts) place that is, hilariously, furnished entirely by Ikea. The street it's on is a long one with theatres that show Contact (directed by Susan Stroman who choreographed the new Producers) and a Hungarian Spring Awakening. All the buildings are old and elegant. There will be so much to explore. And it looks like good food will be cheap and easy to find. I'm glad to be here for a few nights. Darcy can rest easy that his recommendation was a good one.

Kat here. (On a related note, in addition to Cecilia, the Pittsburgh Penguins are also breaking my heart and shaking my confidence daily.)

Yesterday, I ignored the advice of TLC and hiked to many waterfalls. Plitvice has water that comes in so many colours. For someone with a camera, a biology degree (even if it is a B.A.), and a healthy love of being outdoors, it is a dream. This being said, my legs feel like jello today. I hiked a self-guided mix of the two longest trails, which are supposed to take 4-6 and 6-8 hours respectively, but those times must be for people who see the park as a touristy place to saunter, because I was done well within five. And I have 81 photos. Lesley, who highly recommended the park to me, will be pleased.

There's a train to Budapest in an hour. I think I'll be on it.

hi all, Alyssa here. I am currently in Stratford, comfortably seated on Yoli's living room couch. after a period of unusually good weather, England has returned to normal, and it has been raining pretty much since I got here. as I have spent the majority of the last day and a half in transit, I don't have anything particularly exciting to report yet, but I wanted to write my first post/to make sure I knew how to work this blog thing. I left Toronto for London yesterday, spent last night in a hotel of the sort that little old ladies living on fixed incomes move into in Agatha Christie novels when they can no longer afford to keep their own establishment, had breakfast with Jess at a pub in Primrose Hill this morning, and then caught a train to Stratford. Tonight: potentially going to a movie, and then Game 5 of the Stanley Cup final. fun times. more (read: actual) adventures to come! - A

It's my first morning in Zagreb, Croatia. In about 15 minutes, I'm leaving to catch a bus to Plitvice (pronounced Plit-VIT-sa) Lakes National Park. The Aussie from the train to Sofia is coming with. We had dinner with a couple guys from the hostel last night, one of whom just hiked in the park a couple days ago and had a number of reccomendations about with paths to take and how to proceed upon arrival. I'm bringing the big camera. Six hour hike!

It's morning in Belgrade and I stepped off a train almost three hours ago. The hostel manager picked me up at the station (free service!) and brought me to my home for a day, basically an apartment that has a bedroom loaded with bunk beds. Even if I weren't the only one staying here tonight, I don't think it would be uncomfortably crowded at all. I've showered and put my clothes in the wash so I'll type until I need to hang them up, after which I'll get out of here and explore this city (birthplace of one Novak Djokovic).

Yesterday, the train stopped for nine hours in Sofia, Bulgaria. I spent the afternoon on a self-guided walking tour with a Brazilian (who looks like a Russian hockey player), an Australian, and an older Swedish gentleman, all of whom I met on or en route to the train. We got a little lost at times, at one point needing to ask a large congregation of smoking teenaged girls, a businessman just returned from work, a man in a tweed jacket, and then a very kind woman for directions to a cathedral. The latter ultimately walked us to our destination and told us that she was defending her doctoral thesis the next day and was just out for a long walk to relax.

As regards Istanbul, I suppose I can say a little more about it now. I arrived in the afternoon and took public transit to my hostel, walking past the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia on my way. I had intended to save the Hagia Sophia for last, actually, to see it with Chris, but I could not keep myself away and the line was very short. This might be the point at which I'd advise anyone going to Istanbul that you really should try to leave this site for your last. It sets too high a standard for sightseeing in general. If I weren't meeting Alyssa in Vienna, I might just go home now.

On the second day, we really packed in as much as we could. We visited Topkapi Palace. Incidentally, Chris had a bit of a surprise for me when he arrived: he'd learned Turkish, well enough to pass as a local as long as he didn't talk too much. As a game, he decided to see if he could get us into Topkapi as Turkish nationals who had lost our museum cards as a result of our wallets being stolen. The combination of his seeming a little daft and my submissive silence somehow worked and we were waved through security without paying a cent. I still wanted some sort of souvenir, so I just grabbed one of the random tickets lying on the counter - no one needs it after entry.

We went to the Grand Bazaar next and totally won the haggling game. I've had a lot of practice, after many summers with my grandmother in China, and Chris had the local language. Our attack was in two steps. First, I would go and bring the price for whatever was being sold down to half. I would be reaching for my money when Chris would swoop in and demand to know how much money I was wasting on said object. In disgust, he would tell the vendor in Turkish that he would never allow me to spend that kind of money on anything. Then he would pay whatever price the vendor told him would be acceptable - usually a third less. I got the scarf I wanted for about 6 Turkish Lira, down from 30.

I've become a total pro at wrapping that scarf around my head and shoulders. At final count, we saw five mosques, all of which are lined with lovely blue and white tiles of various designs, have an oddly familiar smell of something floral and feet, and are tremendously cool within. This last was pretty important in hot, humid Istanbul. We actually went to the Blue Mosque twice because it was so comfortable to sit inside.

Train travel from Istanbul has been eventful. As previously mentioned, I met three men, with whom I toured Sofia. In my cabin were two Polish girls returning to Warsaw from Istanbul. Marta and Magdalena spoke enough English to communicate to me that they would sleep in the bunks opposite me, they would close the window after smoking, and that they would drink a lot of beer before going to sleep. I loved them immediately. We were invited by two very tall, handsome men to play cards with them, which we did until 3 a.m. waiting for the border because no one wanted to be woken up to go through immigration. Unfortunately, crossing the Turkish-Bulgarian border is apparently a long process because after leaving Turkey, I went to sleep only to be periodically woken up for passport, ticket, and visa checks until 6:30. At least they stamped in both countries.

On the second leg, from Sofia to Belgrade, Marta informed me that she and Magda had boarded the train without tickets. The conductor seemed willing to allow this for 20 euros but then told them to move their luggage to his cabin. Then, it would seem things went poorly because Marta returned to tell me that they were buying tickets because the conductor was "a disgusting man." I didn't see either girl (both are at least four years older than I am but look 19) until disembarking this morning. At the border, my Brazilian walking friend, Lucas, was deported back to Sofia because he didn't have a visa to enter Serbia. It wasn't entirely distressing because we knew he'd be fine - hostels in Sofia are cheap and he knew how to get to one of them very easily - but I felt uneasy because I hadn't ever checked if I needed a visa for Serbia either. It could just as easily have been me getting booted from the train. However, my passport was returned to me, so I locked my cabin, of which I was suddenly the sole inhabitant, drew all the curtains, and slept until we arrived in Belgrade.

It's now 10:30 a.m. I'm going to get dressed, get some local currency, and then explore a bit. Also, Alyssa flies to London tomorrow, so there may soon be posts written by someone other than me.

My visit to Istanbul is winding down. I am not yet at the point in backpacking (having really only started three days ago) at which I'm okay with hanging out in a random city. I need to be seeing and doing things to make the trip worthwhile. Therefore, it is imperative that I leave soon or risk never sleeping or relaxing again.

The highlight of the day occurred in Kadıköy, which is on the Asian side of Istanbul. First of all, I was in Asia for two hours wandering various markets and shops. Second, I broke the zipper on my money belt on Monday (was somewhat distressed about it) so I've been searching fruitlessly for a replacement. In Kadıköy, a bag vendor repaired the zipper free of charge. He gave us tea while we waited and would not accept payment of any kind.

I haven't been eating properly. It's too hot to have much of an appetite. Chris, my Istanbul travel partner, has been eating as though food will soon disappear. Every time I stopped to take a photo (fairly frequent), he would buy a snack. He has consumed so much corn, I figure he will sprout. He noticed late yesterday that I hadn't eaten anything of substance since morning. We are definitely walking too much in too high a heat to make this a manageable existence. However, I've been drinking litres of water at a time and thus have not keeled over. My arms and face are incredibly dark. I look quite odd stepping out of the shower.

I will have time to really think and write about Istanbul in the next couple days so I'll update about the sites then. Tomorrow, I'll wake up in Bulgaria.

I've seen more than I can really describe well right now. Instead, lists:

A very nerdy game:

I went into a Turkish language bookstore and found the "Tiyatro" section. Shakespeare was prominent with translated titles. So here they are and see if you can identify. I'd say that a couple are gimmes, but I haven't included any with names
1. Size Nasıl Geliyorsa
2. Bir Yaz Gecesi Rüyası
3. Yok Yere Yaygara
4. Huysuz Kız
5. Yanlışlıklar Komedyası
6. Yeter Ki Sonu İyi Bitsin
7. Onikinci Gece
8. Kuru Gürültü
9. Windsor'ın Şen Kadınları
10. Venedik Taciri

Where I went today:

Topkapı Palace
Blue Mosque
Grand Bazaar
Underground Cisterns
Taksim Square and surrounding area
Galata Bridge

What's wrong with this keyboard:

' = shıft+2
i = where ; would be
ı = where i would be
ç = where the comma would be
, = left of the i
" = right of the 1
and so much more

Hence, no more typing

I'm in Istanbul and I want to wrıte an entry but this keyboard is so damn difficult and Turkish. I slept when I got to Heathrow on a long couch. I discovered that Boots sells anti-depressants or some sort of mood-altering herbal. I mailed a bunch of postcards (and this tıme, remembered to write different things for each). On the flight, I mostly slept, but my seat buddy was an American college girl on her way to an organic farm in the south of Turkey and she was a lot more nervous than I was. Maybe I had gotten all of my anxiety out the night before. We ended up taking the Metro together and I tried to be as Canadıanly helpful as possible.

As for Istanbul itself, I may be too tired for it right now. It is a mash of ethnicities and languages that I don't quite recognize. I went to the Hagia Sophia (around the corner from my hostel) and dissolved into a puddle of tears the moment I entered. It is grand, ornate, imposing, stunning - even now, I can't find the adjectives. I can only say that remembering that building causes a lump to form in my throat immediately. I'm going to get dinner and wait for my friend.

Point of note: the Heathrow Express from Paddington Station does not run 24/7. The first train departs at 5:10 a.m. and then stops a bit before midnight. Anyway, I now have some time to kill before catching that train.

My last night in Stratford with Yoli was punctuated by a thunderous crash of books. During a scene change in the RSC's production of The Winter's Tale, bookcases tip and empty their contents onto the stage. It's a spectacular sight and if anyone is planning to see it, then I've just completely ruined the moment for you. While knowing that the books will fall and actually seeing it happen are two very different things, the element of surprise cannot be denied. It was a thoroughly enjoyable production, full of choices that I questioned at times, but ultimately a lot of fun to watch.

We went out for afternoon tea, which was very filling. British dairy is on my good list right now. Clotted cream on the tea cake. Whipped cream in the Eton mess (broken up meringues mixed with cream and strawberries). Good yogurt.

In a few hours, I fly to Istanbul. This has yet to sink in. It is a city with incredible history, religious, imperial, commercial. It has come up in my education only obliquely, usually by another name. I know that there are mosques and palaces to see. There is a large body of water that seems to provide some kind of orientation. I know it's one of the largest, busiest, hyper cities in the world. I just don't know quite what to expect, except that I will be overwhelmed. I'm excited to get to the centre of things and just take a very deep breath. I'm waiting for the moment when I realize where I am.

We ended up in a rowboat on the Avon river. The oars didn't fasten to the pivots, making it awkward and difficult to row with purpose. That being said, we're now significantly more tan and had a very good time watching the swans and trying, more or less successfully, to avoid collisions. At the end, we got an attendant to take a photo. Note that Yoli's leg is aglow. Sunblock. We used it. 

At the moment, rugelach is baking, and Yoli is working on an oven face tan. Meaning she's sitting in front of the oven, watching the pastry turn golden brown and puffy. It smells like Jewish heaven.

Yoli has allowed this week to revolve around food. It has been a good week. I tried a salad with chicken livers, which was definitely tasty. There was a biscuit at some point with jam. Last night was roast chicken and potatoes followed by tiramisu. The British could reestablish world dominance by harnessing the power of double cream. It makes tiramisu easy and silky. And today, it's Shavuot, which celebrates the receiving of the Torah. Coincidentally, Yoli has matzo ball soup and rugelach on the menu. I think I'm going to try to finagle a quiche out of the deal as well. 

In our defense (if it's necessary), we've had a lot of exercise. We've walked a lot (without quite hiking) and this morning, we went to the gym. Yoli did a step class and I jumped in the pool. There were a lot of young children with their parents and I was befriended by a little boy who decided that we could dive together. 

We're now showered and dressed and therefore going out for coffee. 

This merry-go-round horse was in the Museum of Childhood in Edinburgh. That place is a bit like my fantasy world under lock and key. I've never been one for video or computer games, I played Rock Band (it may have been Guitar Hero - I don't know the difference) for the first time last month, and I have yet to touch a Wii. If, however, you place me in the vicinity of a train set, top, blocks, or a playground, I can be entertained for hours, as I was in this museum. One of the problems that arises from the combination of traveling alone and disliking posed photos is that there aren't many photos of me on excursion. Even with other people, I tend to be the one holding the camera. This, I thought, was a fine solution. I want this horse. Also, it appears I hold my zoom lens like a cup of tea. 

The aforementioned posed photo in Trafalgar Square. Lord Nelson's Column immediately behind us and down Whitehall/Parliament Street over my right shoulder, Big Ben. Despite it being the sunniest, warmest day (Katherine on the right is wearing two sweaters layered - she regretted this), we're in shadow. I find this amusing.

There is such a thing as too much caffeine. Three lattes and two diet cokes constitutes an excess. I went to bed at 1 a.m. and was still very awake at 4. I finished three crossword puzzles and read the entire Rick Steves Istanbul. It was a pity since it was my first night at Yoli's in Stratford-upon-Avon and it had been a long day. 

We spent it in London. I had a plan to meet Yoli (my former roommate) and Matt at the British Museum at 1:30 (I imagine that if I lived in London, I would arrange to meet everyone at the BM). I like surprises and had arranged for a couple other school friends to see Yoli at the museum. She knew that Jess was in London, but was completely unaware of Katherine. We all ended up having a picnic in a sunny park and then having a quick peak at the National Gallery. I've never liked taking posed touristy photos, but the rarity of having us all in London meant that I insisted on a photo in Trafalgar Square. 

The bus back to Stratford was not quite comfortable. We were stuck in traffic, the air conditioning was spotty and there was an unfortunate bathroom smell permeating...everything. However, Yoli and Matt had just purchased a Travel Scrabble, so we were entertained. 

Today, I met Barry the Butcher, in downtown Stratford, which consists of a couple main streets. We bought lamb shanks and sausages, the former of which we slowly braised in wine, tomatoes, and anchovies and then ate with couscous and broccoli for dinner. We're currently attempting to make molten chocolate cakes that are actually molten. The first batch was really soft cake but didn't have any gooey centre. In the midst of all the food, we've taken a couple walks, first to Anne Hathaway's cottage and the second across the river to play mini-golf. We didn't get to play though. It turns out this course requires people to bring their own clubs and balls. Odd, no? And we took part in a movie quiz that focused quite a lot on the X-Files, the television show. This, we agree, is not a legitimate category for a MOVIE quiz. British trivia nights are entertaining and I got to meet some of Matt and Yoli's schoolmates. (By the by, the emcee was much more sober than Smithy)

I'll post photos tomorrow.

I feel too at home. This is more of a statement of fact than a complaint. Backpacking is how I try to get away from familiarity and easy comfort but being in Edinburgh has foiled those plans. Castles are supposed to intimidate and impose on you, but here they make me feel safe and oriented. The showers are piping hot, the beds are soft, and everyone has gone out of their way to welcome me. My life is so hard...

Whit took me to an Indian buffet for lunch - it was fantastic. The butter chicken was smokier and sweeter than what I usually have at home, the dhal was creamy and reeked of cumin (ideal), and the saffron rice had so much saffron. I was impressed. The other excellent food of the day: battered Mars Bar. I'd intended to have one last night, but ended up on another adventure walk instead. This evening, Whit's friend Linda and I split a Mars and a Snickers. We agree that the Mars is a thousand times better, even though the Snickers is very good. Mars just gets creamy and soft as the marshmallow melts. It works really well with the crispy coating.

When I woke up this morning, I decided to read the Lonely Planet Edinburgh that was in my room. It described a walking tour through the New Town that would end in Stockbridge. While Stockbridge has no meaning to me other than being the origin of the turnpike in a James Taylor song, I knew the walk would be pleasant, so I copied the directions into my notebook and stuffed it in my back pocket. 40 minutes later, I no longer knew where I was going. The next street on my list was nowhere in sight and I was staring up the business end of an unfriendly incline. I really don't know why I thought that I could accurately read, write and brush my teeth at the same time, but I was very wrong. However, this is Edinburgh, so even when you're lost, you're still in the midst of old and ornate buildings whose worn edges can't help but capture you. You're also frequently just steps from a whisky shop. I enjoyed a tasting. I couldn't distinguish between anything, but by that point, I was really thirsty and was hoping that I'd get a glass of water to clear the palate. I entered the cheesemonger's shop next door and was plied with baguette and various cheeses, some of which made me want to gag, but one of which - a sweet and nutty triple cream brie - proved too good to have only one piece of. Despite this, I left quickly. The store smelled like feet. I returned to the hostel after almost four hours on my feet and in the sun and fewer than six hours of sleep. This is not a ratio I'd ordinarily recommend, but it was perfect for today.

Whitney's working another overnight shift so I'm staying up and keeping her company but a lot of people are up with her right now (just returned from a pub) so I get to come check my e-mail and update.

I took a free walking tour of Edinburgh this morning. In Spanish. It began at 11, which is when I woke up. This was apparently just a bit too late for the English tour, but I figured I could get along with the Spanish one. Not quite. I always knew where we were and could get the idea of what the guide was telling us about various statues and buildings, but I didn't find her as amusing as the Spaniards did. And Spanish Spanish is irritatingly different from what I became used to in Peru. However, there was an English couple who had no clue what was being said but just wanted to be told what to photograph. At the chamber of commerce, we all had to back up so a car could pass by. In the backseat was an older couple wearing mayoral or parliamentary medallions. They pulled up at the central door and when the lady got out of the car, she came over to us and apologized for having forced us to move for the car. The English couple and I said, "Oh, that's just fine," but I don't think the Spaniards understood what she had said because they all responded with "Hello!"

I went to three small museums today, in which I played with round dice, rode a rocking horse, and saw Robert Louis Stevenson's copy of Montaigne's Complete Works in French. Whitney took me to a great coffee shop where we sipped lattes and played Battleship. Her friend Chris took me on a bit of a hike up a mountain and didn't laugh too much when I wouldn't step near the edge of the path.

The day's highlight may have been my 1 p.m. meal. It wasn't lunch, because I'd missed breakfast. Baked potatoes are a big thing here. They cover them with random things - chicken salad, cheese, prawn and pasta... It all sounded kind of gross, which may be why I had to try the lunch special: meatballs. The man behind the counter put a massive pat of butter on the potatoes and then covered them with spicy meatballs. It is actually an amazing combination. I'll definitely make it when I get home.

In other news, it's a rugby weekend. The Heineken Cup is on (I don't know what this is) and this weekend is a French holiday so the hostel is full of French men who are all keen to get drunk but to remain perfectly polite and respectful in the process.

Whitney wants to take me to the Brass Monkey tomorrow. This, I've been told, is a "delectable" pub that has a mattress-filled room.

I'm in Edinburgh! It's stunning to step off a train and out of a station and see buildings that are simultaneously older and more elegant than you ever imagined and yet exactly as you thought they would be. There was a moment of knowing right where I was and realizing that this atmosphere and aesthetic are what everyone tries to replicate when they open a pub. I'm surrounded by the original.

I'm visiting Whitney, who has been living here since January. It's remarkable that she has made this place her home. She's living in a hostel where she works and while it's not a perfect situation -the kitchen and privacy are lacking - it is full of people who have become her family. She's working the overnight shift tonight and is currently in bed gearing up for it. I took a walk to buy some milk (take that, Alyssa. That was before I read your comment) and continued up the street about 20 minutes when it started drizzling. I ran back to the hostel to grab my camera - the combination of clouds and this architecture were too tempting, but when I got back outside, it was completely pouring, so I was forced to retreat and dry off the camera. Now, I'm watching Independence Day with the hostel pals.

During the walk, I saw a Hotel Ibis, which brought back a lot of memories. My parents, brother and I took a Christmas trip to London when I was ten. It was my first time in London and I loved the noise and lights and the feeling that everything was happening all at once everywhere. Also, my parents had both been to London before and directed us through the Tube, which I found fascinating, delicious steak (at the height of Mad Cow), awesome Chinese food (my father's demand), and a tour of the big sights. However, on New Year's Eve, we stayed at a Hotel Ibis. All I remember about it is that we could only get two twin beds, which we pushed together. I fell asleep before midnight and woke up in the morning in the crack and unable to move. I vaguely remember that the air conditioning was incapacitated and we were generally grouchy when we went to breakfast but we also had a really good laugh about it. The Hotel Ibis is my reminder that sometimes, travel sucks, but there's always a story (usually a funny one), a sense of survival that you earn, and a good point of reference from which to appreciate all the other great things that happen.

I picked up a tiny baby and it was love at first site. We have bonded over our mutual love of dancing, milk, and napping. As he sleeps, and the house is quiet, I thought it was a good opportunity to let everyone know I have arrived safely and this city is alternately pouring and grey. However, I have a rainjacket and waterproof shoes so all should be well.

The flight was amazing. Ordinarily, I wouldn't bother to mention it, but I was moved up to first class for reasons I don't particularly understand. Those pods are as ethereally comfortable as the commercials lead you to believe. I have no idea whether or not the flight was bumpy because I was fast asleep for the entire time that I was allowed to recline.

I could also share my itinerary, which is fairly loose. My aunt very kindly typed it up for me a couple weeks ago, but it's been modified since and will probably continue to change.
London 20 May 09 Travel into Scotland, Oxford, Stratford-Upon-Avon
Fly from London to Istanbul 31 May 09
Train to Thessaloniki 03 Jun 09
Zagreb/Dubrovnik 6 Jun 09
Budapest 9 Jun 09
Vienna 11 Jun 09 meet Alyssa (I actually don't remember if this is the day... But I know we're supposed to meet at the train station in the afternoon. Maybe.)

After Vienna, everything will be more organized, because Alyssa will actually be involved in the planning.

Today is May 18th, which is the day I (Kat) fly to Heathrow. Alyssa's not coming until June 5th so I'll be updating this all alone until she joins in. As I have yet to depart, I have no news, but I expect to notify everyone of my arrival later tomorrow.

Fun fact: I have packed one absolutely essential item, and I'm not referring to underwear. I found a deck of Obama Presidential playing cards. Its jokers are Bush and McCain.