Jess does da ‘Roon

Galway, Ireland

Charmed, I’m sure.

We took a delightful bus ride from Dublin to Galway (we’d been informed by an Irishman that Dublin had nothing to offer and that we should head for Galway instead), still enraptured by the comfort of padded seats where you each get your OWN seat and no one accosts you through windows with bags of water and roasted snails.  We giggled over sheep chasing each other across the surprisingly flat landscape dotted with adorable pubs and “off-licences” (sidenote: they call bars in Cameroon off licenses, and I never realized that it had probably come from the UK).

Currently I’m sitting across the room from a pony-tailed Irishman singing along to his guitar playing.  His Russian wife tells me that she’s surprised at how all the Irish people she meets are talented in some way, singing, dancing, music instruments, poetry, artists.  Galway is a magnet for musical artists, the streets reverberate with drums, saxophones, and guitars.  It’s laced with quaint lochs, canals, and rivers.  This morning we took a long stroll along the seaside, basking with the other 70,000 residents in the rare sunshine breaking up some of the clouds.

I can’t seem to restrain myself from being charmed by fantastic phrases like “potato jackets”/potato skins, “jumpers”/sweatshirts, and being called “love” by the 25 year old scruffy bartender.  Why, oh why, have Americans lost all the glories of the English language’s accents? (sidenote: today in Ireland’s answer to the Dollar Store – the 2 Euro store – I met 5 lovely older Texan ladies buying light up “Ladies On Tour” sashes for their pubbing tonight… I knew them by their drawl, we bonded over saying yall and aint)

In yet another joy of couchsurfing, we were introduced to the phenomenon of the Silent Disco.  Or the Headphone Disco.  Kim and I having been out of the loop for so long, we’re amazed at nearly everything. But this is just plain The Future.  You go to the club. You put on a pair of wireless headphones with a switch.  You tune into one of the 2 DJs.  The club is quiet, except the sound of lots of energetic moving people and singing along.  For those like me who love to dance for the sake of movement, this is pure brilliance.  Everyone loosens up because you somehow are in your own world with this delicate bubble of personal space.  Even nervous white boys, gangly Irish kids, break loose.  Everyone sings along, sometimes to 2 different songs at one time.  And if you want to have a conversation, it’s not nearly as difficult as the loud rucus of a normal club. And kudos to the DJs, they played an amazingly diverse set with songs such as…

• “Anyone Else But You” from Juno
• “Walk Like an Egyptian” The Bangles
• “Hey Ya” Outkast
• “Jolene” Dolly Parton
• “Fire in the Disco” Electric 6
• “Fight for Your Right to Party” Beastie Boys
• “Paint it Black” Rolling Stones

For those of us without portable music players… this was ecstasy.  And no one dances all up on someone else, because you don’t even know if they’re listening to the same song as you.  Well done, technology, well done.

We’ve managed to get some of the pictures up from the trips – Kim’s pictures (click on the right albums of the European trip). More will be arriving.

Excuse the inordinate number of pictures with just me and Kim making strange faces with something that we deem important in the background.  When it’s just the 2 of you, this becomes high quality entertainment. Also excuse my ridiculously bad hair.

Along the way, we’ve met a few people who had some doubts about couchsurfing  .(See the site for how it works.. it’s not too complicated) I wanted to throw out an unsolicited shout-out to this crazy idea.

We have had an amazing variety of experiences in the short time we’ve been tripping through Europe. I regret that I never put my couch in Buea up on the site.  A few highlights with couchsurfing hosts…

Italy
-We met swingers. Italian swingers.
-We luxuriated in a jacuzzi
-We had a host go with us to the piercing salon
-We exchanged homecooked meals (I really want that recipe for the lentil soup)
-We went to a local favorite bar that played “Mr. Boombastic” with cheap drinks (go to Italy and you’ll see how sweeet this is)
-We saw the local makeout spot that overlooked all of the valley (but, no we didn’t make out)

Germany
-We enjoyed a weekly large multi-course group dinner
-We discovered a Nepalese restaurant
-We stayed in a beautiful, high-ceilinged, hardwood flat a short stroll through the playground in the snow

Turkey
-We went out to an amazing array of side alley bars and clubs
-We learned about a vast variety of Turkish dishes 
-We stayed in a 4 star hotel on the gorgeous coast, where the general manager took us out on the town (and made us try Raki – anis flavored liquor): .

The Golden Age Hotel

In general, we got linked into an international community and saw things that we never would have found on our own.  Thank you to all of our hosts and their kindness for making this trip uniquely unforgettable

Istanbul

Bougie: Aspiring to be a higher class than one is
We apparently got above our raisin’ (this is a Southernism, for those folks who don’t know) in Italy and Germany but were quickly dashed back to a rougher style of life in Turkey.  A refreshing return to elements of Cameroon, we were darting for our lives to avoid being killed by the insane drivers here (Our couchsurfing host described it like a popular game here called “Zombie” where drivers purposely try to hit zombies in the street), fearing food poisoning, and battling with aggressive men (I do give them props for offering me free tea and using lines like “Will you come sit with me darling?” and “Angel, you look thirsty” to get me to patron their business establishments).

After tourist-friendly cities like Rome and Berlin, where so many people speak English and the public transport is stupidly easy, Istanbul took a little adjustment.  The city has easy to navigate landmarks with huge minarets (although Kim and I fought about whether to call them turrets (sidenote: I had to google how to spell this word, and it’s horribly close to Tourette’s syndrome) or minarets) and the Golden Horn (can we name something this graceful in NC please?), the Bosphorus, and the Maramara Sea. And apparently the Golden Horn ain’t what it used to be.  In the 190s, the author Yasar Kemal vividly described it as…

“A filthy sewer filled with empty cans and rubbish and horse carcasses, dead dogs, and gulls, and wild boars and thousands of cats, stinking… A viscid, turbid mass, opaque, teeming with maggots”

Which reminds me to mention that there are an INORDINATE amount of cats, mostly in heat, roaming about the city.  This is a bit charming to us after having not seen many cats in Cameroon (they were eaten pretty quickly).  But the Turks don’t seem to… notice them very much.  And the street dogs are MASSIVELY huge. So imagine the streets laced with cats courting each other and large beast dogs curled up or rolling in the grass.

I  came to Turkey and would NOT leave without seeing some dancing.  Bollocks to the fact that it’s off-season and there’s hardly any belly dancing or whirling dervish shows happening, I will find them! So I searched out Sultana’s… I’m not sure if I can accurately describe the experience.  It was a pricey $75 but I was ready for the belly dancing and traditional dance show with multi-course dinner.  So I put on my fanciest T-shirt and sweater combo and stepped out for a night on the town.
We slowed upon reaching the sign, which was placed proudly on top of “Regina Revue: Crazy Horse Nightclub” with a picture of 2 naked women silhouetted.  But we had reservations, so we pressed on and descended down 2 flights of red-carpeted stairs to where the magic would happen… Only we were 30 minutes early. So Kim and I settled in our reserved table, front and center, in an empty showroom.  They politely asked us where we were from, and then used the information against us by placing a tacky flag on our table (which was to our advantage when everyone was seated and we could look around and make stereotypes about the groups of people).  Dinner was a step up from food served on planes, but not too big of a step.  The curtain was raised accompanied by a hokey announcement of “Tonight we are in the Harem, the most sacred ..blah blah… The Sultana was the mother of the Harem, the mother of us all.”  Imagine if adults needed Chuck E Cheese, and maybe they do.. maybe they do.  The first belly dancer came out in a stunning ensemble of pink bra and sash with lots of beads [sidenote: I was intimately acquainted with the belly dancing costumage after perusing the Grand Bazaar for hours and driving the "market dudes" bonkers with my stalling in front of their display of sequins and beads.  I coveted, sinfully, the "professional" costumes which were heavy bra and sash sets covered in bead fringe and huge rhinestones].  I could barely disguise my knee slapping and snickering as she came out with a C-section scar and a belly tattoo with a blonde wig over her dark brown hair.  But,  I was put in my place as she laid down her skills… Her name may have been Delia, but that might just be my fantasizing it.  She threw in back bends and splits while poppin’ her hips (and I’m no stranger to the belly dancing game, I’ll tell ya. I bought the little book that comes with cymbals and tried to clack them together like a horse)  The subsequent 2 dancers didn’t come close to her tackiness, but neither her skills. There were some more ridiculous touristy “traditional” dances by a group of dancers, who all had distinct personalities.  There was the skinny blonde who HATES her job and then the blonde guy who must’ve gotten really high before the show because he was LOVING kicking up his little black boots.  At one point they called up volunteers from the audience and Kim made us both go up to be the new… slave girls or something… I don’t know but Kim pretended to pour water on the “chosen one” and I did a little 60’s go-go number by fanning my hands over her to make her look special.  Ridiculous.  But we got to curtsy in front of everyone and get special Evil Eye necklaces.

In a less attractive but more naked affair, Kim and I sought out a Turkish bath.  Part of the appeal/oddity of the low-tourist season is that everywhere is empty.  This particular Hamam was… completely empty.  So Kim and I sat in a huge marble room hundreds of years old, and poured hot water on our naked bodies. This is strange since part of the appeal of these type of experiences is feeling connected to all these foreign women in a relaxing atmosphere.  A large Turkish woman in tiny black briefs came and told us to lay on the marble slab in the center of the room so she could loofah-glove us down.  We’d heard that her rubbing could be slightly painful and this was just pretty nice, so we felt pretty tough and awesome.  Until she came back in for round 2 with soap and a spongy thing.  She pounded and broke muscles all over me.  I was recovering in the corner when she came back in and gave Kim and delightful little head massage and shampoo.  I plunked myself down between her legs for her to do the same to me, but she… artfully disguised her confusion at my dreads by sort of mussing it about a bit and then half-rinsing the soap out of my head.  We could only tolerate about 5 minutes in the sauna after having poured so much hot water all over ourselves.  We left feeling supple and refreshed though.

Berlin
(I know someone’s made this pun before, possibly frequently, but it’s too simple to resist)

After flitting about Italy for a bit, thinking it was a bit cold (especially before our bags arrived and we were left only wearing what we’d taken on the plane), we arrived in Berlin and got schooled.  The entire week that we were there, it snowed and snow-stormed sometimes.  But that’s nothing compared to the 3rd week of January, they kept telling us.  What a strange date to take note of.  Are Germans are constantly saying “Agh! 2 and a half weeks in, better get ready in a few days for the REALLY cold period!” …and furthermore, North Carolinians can we make up something like this so that I can look forward to dreading it? OR, better yet, can North Carolinians make up a fake date that it the weather gets horribly severe (I’m thinking like a really intense fake hurricane week) to tell visitors so we sound like we keep and monitor really efficient weather reports?  The Australians apparently have this “inside joke” that they always tell foreigners about the “Drop Bear”, a bear that drops down and attacks only foreigners.  I’m not sure how true this is, but if it is, kudos Australians because that is a really widespread inside joke.

Anyway…
We put Berlin on our itinerary after hearing so many people talk about how artsy, inexpensive, and fascinating the city is.  We spent the first day wandering around, dazzled by the snow and learning how to move around in it (I would get distracted by some sparkling lights and fall smack on my bootay in the middle of a busy sidewalk).  But, unlike all the touristy places we’d been in Italy, Berlin is MONSTROUSLY huge.  And you can’t just stroll about in the snow and find things to entertain you.  So day 2, we created more of a plan – apparently German cities cause you to behave more like a German, precision! We went on a walking tour of the city which was profound, for 4 hours we tromped about with our Irish guide (with a “gift of the gab”).  He explained to us all the different layers that are going on in the cities architecture and monuments.  Apparently Berlin has a unique way of building back after buildings are damaged (by the extensive bombings) – they choose to sometimes recreate what was there before, sometimes the Communists took over and built something hideously practical, or sometimes they just throw in a bunch of different architecture from various periods.  The monuments in Berlin, and we didn’t get to see nearly  half of them, are beautifully done.  I find that a lot of monuments in America are sometimes missing something, they don’t touch on my personal emotions about what they commemorate.  But Berlin, unfortunately, has had to get good at expressing feelings about events.  For the Memorial to the  Murdered Jews of Europe, it’s not really explained and you’re walking through these huge slabs of concrete that gradually grow to be much taller than you and the snow whistles through them… it’s intense.  The Memorial has been debated since currently there are several separate memorials for different groups that were persecuted during the Holocaust (which is a term not officially used by Germans, it seems) since some say that everyone should be memoralized who suffered during that period.
The Memorial for Victims of War and Tyranny has been renamed numerous times, and is also contested since it doesn’t differentiate between the victims and the perpetrators, and it’s within the former guardhouse of the Prussians.  I was impressed by this particular memorial because it’s open to the elements and in a huge concrete building with a hole directly above the statue, the light, the rain, the snow, all come in to create a distinct mood.

We went to a funky contemporary art gallery with weird German things going on.  Our favorite was a huge room with WAY oversized lamp and couches where you could climb up and feel miniature while watching these trippy art films, wiggling your feet high above the ground.

On a completely separate and lighter note, and I don’t want to belabor this point too much, but… I’m extremely disappointed that none of my friends and family felt the need to tell me about Avatar.  One night we went and bought crazy expensive movie tickets (My God! Is this the state of the modern world? It’s a far cry from our $2 Chinese DVD collections with over 20 films on the streets of Cameroon) and 3-D glasses to watch this fantastic film.  I don’t know if we were starved for action and romance, but …we were like gerbils on crack the entire time, so wound up.

Summary of our Berlin experience:

• Germans: WAY too into techno. Drop it. Really. And turn down your headphones! Halfway across the metro is too far for me to hear your thumping rave.
• Berlin: Brownie points for your AWESOME street art, and condoning it! Germany and Ireland are the only countries in Europe that Americans can get “Artist Visas” for one year.  This should be more encouraged.
• Young Europeans: Quit making out everywhere.  Period.
• Apparently German food isn’t really easy to find in Berlin, we kept asking everyone what we should eat in Berlin and they would say, “Oh there’s this great little Thai place” or “The Turkish kebaps are amazing!”… we may have missed out, I don’t know
• Kim and I were often taken for Germans, or at least German speakers – apparently we fit in with Berlin because we have such “different styles”… I’m not sure exactly what this means, but in contrast to Italy, thanks for accepting us!