It seems like only yesterday that I was in Budapest Hungary, receiving a rose shaped box with a lovely pair of thong underwear stuffed inside, (complete with the gigantic set of lips right near the you know what) from a guy I had met at a bar a few days earlier. If that doesn’t scream romance, I don’t know what does! What I failed to mention was it actually was supposed to be an apology for his rather stalker-like behavior a few days before (on Valentines Day) when I told him that I was working and couldn’t go out with him.

After accusing me of lying, hanging up, repeatedly calling back, (denying it) and then trying to guilt-trip me by telling me he had spent all day cooking for me ( I hadn’t even agreed to go out with him) I eventually shut my phone off and wrote him off as another psycho. My friend (who had been with me the night we met) ran into him again, which was when he had her bring the “rose’ back to my work and told her to have me call me him.) Classy!!  After a few more texts and phone calls in the weeks following, he eventually realized his attempts were futile and finally gave up.

As I think about the holiday, I can’t help but think of all the other interesting encounters I’ve had on my travels so far making me realize that when it comes to love, you can say that cupid hasn’t always had my best interest in mind. Let’s just take my good friend “Romeo” for example.

I think Romeo got a little confused and ended up at the wrong balcony.

In Sicily on the eve of my 30^th birthday, I decided to be a little adventurous and accepted a ride on the back of the moped back to my hotel. It was a friend of some people we were hanging out with earlier that night, and I made it very clear that he was only dropping me off near my hotel, he was NOT invited up. After a short ride (and him giving me a chance to drive for a moment) I had him stop about a block away from the hotel insisting that I would walk the rest of the way. After a little persistence, he finally let me go and I came back to my room thinking nothing more of it.

The next morning while I was upstairs in the bathroom (my friends and I had rented a two-story suite to splurge for my big day) I heard a scream coming from downstairs. “Everything okay?” I asked, heading down to investigate. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, my friend was standing with her sharp heel in one hand, ready to assault a guy who was standing in the windowsill of our 3^rd story hotel room. (Yep, you guessed it, the same guy who had dropped me off the night before.) “Romeo” had decided to scale 3 stories up the side of our hotel to wish me a “Happy Birthday.” How he knew our hotel or even our room I will never know, but after picking up the phone to call the hotel security, he quickly walked himself out the door, never to be seen or heard from again.

As if I didn’t learn my lesson from the first Italian, in Malta I met my second stalker up by the gardens. After talking for a while he seemed nice enough, so we agreed to continue the conversation over dinner. We headed out to a restaurant (he ordered clam spaghetti for me, my least favorite) and as the night wore on, I realized it wasn’t really a “love connection.” I didn’t give him my phone number, but probably through the course of conversation let out more information then I probably should have.

A few days later while I was helping the boys scrub down the boat (which was on the other side of the island and the opposite pier) one of the deck hands came up to tell me that there was a guy waiting out on the dock for me (and had been waiting there for a few hours.) He had found out where the boat was and was waiting outside the security gate! (Luckily they wouldn’t let him through.) Not wanting to be a prisoner on my own boat and having plans later that night back in town, I hid in the back of our drivers car (armed with a can of mace our chef gave me) and got myself back to the other side of the island passing by him unnoticed. Eventually I  had to face the music when I ran into him in town. I told him my “boyfriend” and I gotten back together and I couldn’t speak to him anymore. He took it surprisingly well so fortunately I didn’t have to use the mace, but he handed me his email in case I ever changed my mind. He’s still waiting.

Of course let’s not forget the array of male anatomy I’ve been subjected to (not by my choice.) From the cab driver in Cairo who I first thought was making a hand gesture asking if I was married (until I looked down to see he had fully exposed himself, and was really asking me something quite different,) or the guy sitting across from me on a train in France (who was a little startled when I woke up and caught him playing his own ”fiddle,”) to the old guy at the thermal baths in Hungary who decided it was much more fun to do his business in the public showers with the curtains wide open. But the weirdest was waking up on a bus-ride on my way to Barcelona to a guy stroking my bare feet. Yes, my feet! I didn’t dare fall asleep on another train or bus ride again, ever! I’ve certainly met my fair share of frogs out in the world, and there was no way I was kissing any of them to find out if they were really prince charming.

The locks in Verona, a tradion for a couples in love

But for every dozen bad eggs, there always comes a few good ones, so for my last story I will leave you with the image of a lovely couple I met in Verona, just underneath the real Juliet’s balcony. Although we didn’t speak the same language, I was able to gather through hand gestures and pantomime that they were there for their 1 year anniversary, and were placing a lock on the fence to “lock their love.” They asked me to take their photo, and then I snuck one on my own camera to remind me of what real love should look like. So where-ever they are in the world today, (as well as the pyschos, stalkers, flashers, and the few decent guys I did manage to meet out there in the world,) here’s to hoping cupid will stop by and bring the love that everyone deserves.

The happy couple "locking their love" in Verona

ACCOMMODATIONS

1. I’ve  been blessed to keep meeting people and making connections all over the world and the more I travel the easier it becomes. I’ve stayed in touch, and ended up staying  with people from back home now living overseas, as well as people I’ve met on the road. Do you have  distant relatives somewhere in the world who might be excited to finally meet you? I found relatives in Poland, who although were poor as church mice, opened their home and their fridge to me and my dad (I’m not kidding, despite our protests they wouldn’t stop trying to feed us!) Make sure to have something to give in return (even something that you may have picked up traveling) to thank them for their generosity. Remember to always be grateful, and never have any expectations. Be open to the experience!

2.  How can a perfectly good stranger let you into their house and not ask for anything in return? Well ask Ori Bengal, a professional “couchsurfer” who has been traveling around for free by staying on strangers couches. Couchsurfing is a growing online community based on trust and donations, and I’ve met some great people from it. When I was in Holland I had my wallet stolen on the way to a couchsurfing event. I ended up staying for a week in Belgium (just over the border) with some fellow couchsurfers I met at the party while I was getting my banking details and life sorted out again. If you aren’t comfortable with a perfect stranger, the events are a great way to meet people first so you aren’t going into the situation blind, and you also get a much more cultural experience hanging out with some of the locals. Also a great way to find a free interpreter if you are in a country where you don’t speak the local language (you might learn a few words in the process.)

3. Work for your stay. Hostels, farms, and even some language immersion programs will allow you to work for a few days in exchange for free accommodation. Some cleaning or labor might be involved (or even just conversing with locals to help them become fluent in the language) but it is a great way to cut down on costs.

4. Maybe another scary concept for those thinking about trust issues, but if you own a home, a “home exchange” gives you the luxury of traveling to another location and have a home away from home. Make sure you have a good insurance policy that would cover damage or theft while you are away if someone else is occupying your home, and be sensible about leaving valuables and making yourself an easy target. Just with couchsurfing, there are online profiles where you can get to know the person in advance, and decide if they would be a compatible exchange for you. It gives you the luxury of being in a comfortable location (maybe on the beach, on a lake or in a ski chalet) without having to worry about timeshare ownership or exchange fees. If you own multiple properties and would be renting them out anyways, why not set aside a week or so of vacant time for someone to use, where you could exchange for another place for free? There are quite a few websites out there if you want to try it out for free or with very little investment, check out www.geenee.com or www.exchangeaway.com for starters.

AIRFARE

5. Become a frequent flyer mile junkie! If you have good credit, start building up those miles. Many credit cards offer bonuses when signing up which could already be enough to pay for a domestic ticket, without even using the card. If you travel a lot for work already, see if your company will allow you to book it yourself and be reimbursed. You may also be eligible for free upgrades because of your loyalty status with the airline. For a review of some of the best cards out there, the bonuses, and the associated fees check out  www.creditcards.org/airline. To talk to other “junkies” check out a few forums online such as www.pointsguy.com

TOURS

6. Of course there are many wonderful tours that you can book in advance, and to be able to afford doing even more, why not consider doing a FREE walking tour? It will help you get familiar with the lay out of the city, introduce you to other travelers, and if you haven’t planned anything in an advance, give you an idea of what you really want to spend more time exploring. The largest and most well know is Sandemans offering tip based tours in 14 countries around Europe, but there are smaller less developed companies out there if you look. You pay in tips, based on the value of what you feel they gave you on the tour.  Also, through the couchsurfing website, you can connect with people who just want to be a resource in their home town, offering to meet for coffee and show you around to all their favorite places. Some tour companies such as Kontiki have a “layaway” program, allowing you to book a tour, and then earn credit towards free tours by referring your friends.

MUSEUMS & ATTRACTIONS

My free tour inside the Colusseum in Rome

7. Lucky for me, the weekend I was in Rome happened to be “free museum weekend” allowing me to not only go to the Coliseum for free, but also through the Vatican museum (which happens to be the last Sunday of every month.) Check in your guidebooks for locations that offer free or half price admission on certain days of the week.  Most churches and synagoges are free (with paid guided tours around the circumfrince. ) A great website for traveling in the  U.S. is http://free-attractions.com/ For international travel, you may want to look in the community section on craigslist under events, or even on angloinfo.com. There is also a great article from Lonely Planet’s Website, “The World’s Finest freebies, suggesting the Staten Island Ferry in New York, as well as the Louvre museum in Paris. You can read the full article here.

TRANSPORTATION

8. The days of sitting on the road with your thumb outstretched are long over. Try cyber-riding instead. Several websites (along the same premise as the others before) allow you to set up a profile and find people who are driving to the locations you plan to go. Think of it like proactive hitch-hiking, only hopefully you are smart enough to at least have all the persons details (such as phone, email, etc) and to choose the right people to ride with. Some are ridesharing where you would contribute to the cost of fuel with a few people, and some will offer the ride for free. Use your best judgement and give yourself enough time that you can be comfortable with the person you are riding with (although you never really know for sure.)  Here are a few websites to check out depending on where you are going:

www.carpoolworld.com (24 countries in U.S/Europe)

www.hitchhikers.org (Europe)

www.digihitch.com (worldwide forum)

www.catchalift.com (Australila, Canada, New Zealand, U.K.

www.needaride.com.au (Australia/New Zealand)

www.craigslist.com (Rideshares for U.S., Europe, Asia, Africa, Canada, U.K, Aus.

RANDOM STUFF

9. Do you have some items you need for the trip, but don’t have (or want to spend the money to buy?) Consider signing up for www.listia.com, a free community where you list things you don’t want, earn credit, and then use that credit to exchange and bid for things that other people are giving away. You get immediate credit when you sign up to start shopping, and the more stuff you list, the more you can get in return. From electronics (such as cameras) to gift cards, even FOOD can be traded on this site. Craigslist also has a free section listed where you might be able to pick up a few useful things for your travels.

10. Well it’s not exactly free, but www.livingsocial.com has steep discounts on restaurants, spas, theaters, bars, and pretty much any other service you can think of while (you’re at home as well as on the road.) Planning before you go could save you 50% or more on some of these services, and the best part is their referral program. If you want the service for FREE simple buy first, and send the same deal to 3 friends. If they buy, you get yours for free!!!

So yes my friends, traveling without a lot of money is possible. I won’t say that you don’t need any, but there’s definitely possibililties if you are willing to think outside the box and use a little creativity.

The top of the mountain of Bachledova Dolina

When I first saw the sign on the hostel corkboard in Poland, I didn’t think it was possible myself. A day pass, plus accommodations and equipment rental for less than 35 Euros? Had I died and gone to heaven? I can’t even get a single day pass here in the states for less than 50 dollars a day, (which is about the equivilant, not including accommodation, rentals, or anything else.) So as any avid snowboarder would be in search of cheap powder, I hopped on a bus to the boarder of Poland and Slovakia and headed to the small village of Zdiar, high in the Tatra mountain range.

Once I crossed the boarder from Poland, I began to take in the stunning mountain views on my short bus ride to the small village. With several ski resorts that service the area and a host of summer activities once the

The "Ginger Monkey" Hostel I stay at

snow has melted such as rafting, horse back riding and paragliding, I started to feel right at home to the Rocky mountains I am used to back in Utah. I checked into my hostel, a traditional Slovic timber house right in the center of the village (which had dorm rooms as well as private rooms starting at 12 euros per night) and cozied up with a hot cup of tea as they began to arrange my equipment rental for my stay (for 5 euros a day, offering a cheaper rate for longer term rentals.) They also geared me up with some snow pants and gloves for a nominal price to make sure I was prepared for the elements.)

The village had a few options for dining from a great pizza joint, to more traditional Slovic cuisine starting at about 5euros, and when it came to drinking, shots started at about 1 euro for a shot. (There were also a few grocery stores in town if you wanted to buy and make your own food back in the lodge.)

The next day (with mother nature’s cooperation) we headed up to the freshly powdered slopes right outside the village and I purchased my day pass (which ranges from 12-17 Euros a day depending on the resort.) There is a more challenging and bigger resort within about a 15 minute drive from the village, which has a great bar/disco for a late night out. The conditions when I went in December were amazing, with a dumping of early winter snow, but some resorts even have snowmaking capabilities allowing you to ski late into the season even if mother nature (or global warming) doesn’t cooperate.

The front entry to our hostel after a day on the mountain

So recapping on price, 10-15 euros a night for accommodations (which there are many pensions in the village that can accommodate the single traveler as well as a family or group traveling together.)  5 euros a day for equipment rental, 15 euro for a day pass, and 5 euros for a decent meal. Not bad for a snow-boarder on a budget. I ended up staying in the quaint village for over a week, taking a break from the snow to head down to the warm thermal baths of Aqua City in the nearby city of Poprad, a water park complete with adult water slides and a cozy swim up bar all built on a gigantic thermal pool (and a great place for a cheap massage as well.)

For those on not as tight of a budget, packages can be purchased for hotels and spas located right in the resorts, and the nearby boarder town of Zakopane in Poland has additional ski resorts as well.

The High Tatras can be reached easily by train and a short busride, either from Krakow Poland through the resort town of Zakopane (3hrs) or coming from the south,  Bratislava or Budapest (6hrs), taking a bus from Poprad to the boarder town of Lysa Polana. Be sure to check bus times and train schedules as times vary throughout the season.

When a local woman I met on the ferry insisted that her father drive me to my hostel after we arrived, it reconfirmed the warm Irish hospitality, but I was unprepared for the shockingly cold weather. Granted it was January and I know the weather there is unpredictable,  but a snow-jacket and boots? Where were all these green rolling hills full of four-leaf clovers? (They were there, just covered in a haze of cold, wet, white stuff.)

Clear weather right before the storm at the bridge

Despite the bad weather, I decided to make the most of my trip, so I did a short tour through Belfast the next morning and then headed up to the North of Ireland to find the Carricks Rope Bridge, and the Giants Causeway. It was a rather small group of us (myself, another American guy there on business, and a husband and wife with two grumpy teenagers from England.) The driver pointed out all of the haunted castles and hotels as we made our way along the coastline, (which the stories seemed quite suiting for the gray weather and the less than cheery disposition of the teenagers riding with us.)

Finally, we made it to our first stop near Ballintoy. The suspension bridge connects a cliff to a neighboring island and was originally built for fishermen to get to the island.  Obviously for safety reasons, they close it down to tourists  if there are icy conditions but luckily to that point the weather had cooperated with us. And then as soon as we got out of the car, a flurry of snow and sleet began pelting down on us. “You’re lucky” the driver said in his lovely Irish accent. “If it had been snowing like this earlier, they would have already shut it down.”

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 Yes, how lucky we were!  About to cross a narrow foot bridge over sharp jagged cliffs with snow pelting in our faces. One slip and we could have fallen to the icy waters below and I’m sure become another character in one of his creepy ghosts stories, (mostly of souls who had lost their lives by falling off those very cliffs.)  Where was that damn Leprechaun when I needed him?  Aren’t they supposed to grant you a wish or something? Eventually I decided that as long as they were going to let me on it, it must be safe enough (rain, snow or shine.) After making my way cautiously over the rickety bridge to the island and back, the snow immediately stopped (of course!) We made our way to the Giants Causeway, stopped for a hot whiskey at the Bushman’s distillery, and then we all went our separate ways again.

I decided to keep heading south, thinking maybe I would find some warmer weather. I joined up with another tour  for the next few days in Dublin, which took me through Killarney, over the Dingle Peninsula, up on the west side to Glasgow, and stopping at the Cliffs of Mohr. Another opportunity for a dramatic vista shot and the possibility of falling off a sheer cliff and being swept out to sea.

And of course mother nature decided to work her magic again. Fog as thick as molasses had rolled in that morning and hadn’t managed to burn off yet. We decided to head into the visitors center to wait it out. After about an hour, we came back out to find that the visibility had become even worse.  Me and a friend  decided to head out anyway, thinking maybe with a combination of my positive attitude, and her determination to see the cliffs, we might be able to lift it. As the afternoon grew later and the fog thicker, we finally accepted that all we were going to see was the “Fog of Mohr” (and I still hadn’t seen that damn Leprechaun.) We went back into the visitors center and I  bought a postcard so at least I knew what they could have looked like.

What the cliffs of Mohr would have looked like

As unpredictable as the weather can be in Ireland, isn’t life sort of the some way? We never know when obstacles and challenges are going to be thrown at us, nor do we get to wait around for the “weather” to improve.  We have to take what we can get, keep moving forward and hope that maybe the sun will shine tomorrow.

Fast forward to today, far away from Ireland, but somehow my body clock seems to  still be on the same time zone. This is the second all-nighter I have had in a 2 nights because I can’t seem to get my thoughts to slow down long enough for my fingers to even type. Hell, I think I even forgot to eat today, (which I finally remembered to do around 4 a.m. this morning.) Multiple projects and books being written, (with plenty more forming in my head.) What I can’t understand is why I couldn’t seem to formulate any of these thoughts into ink before Ireland? Then I remembered my visit to the Blarney castle while I was in Cork, and kissing that slimey wet stone.  The legend says that when you kiss the stone. “you will be struck with eternal eloquence  and never be at a loss for words.”  I didn’t catch mono or a cold as everyone warned me (because of the millions of people who kiss that very same stone,) but was it possible I had caught the “gift of the gab?”

I’m not sure about the eloquence part, but I definitely haven’t been at a loss for words, and things seem to be flowing more smoothly now than they ever were before. If that’s what I gained on my visit through Ireland, despite the chilly weather and the disappointments, that is far better than any picture I could have ever taken, leprechaun I could have caught, or lucky 4-leaf clover.

Learn more about Ireland here.

(That photo above is the Sunset from our back porch in Eden Utah)

Well it’s finally happened. That exciting roller coaster of travel that I have been on has come to a brief pause and those “post travel blues” I was warned about are slowly to starting to creep in. The crystal blue waters of the Red Sea, the stunning red sands of the Sahara, the uneven cobblestone roads of Europe now seem but a distant memory as I face the all too familiar mountains of Utah. It’s funny how you always seem to want what you don’t have. When I was away, I longed for a place that I could call “home,” and now surrounded by the family and friends that make up my “home,” I am beginning to feel like a caged bird, my wings eager to fly again.

And then a familiar quote came to mind. “Life is not about the destination but about the journey.” The journey is something

 I am still on, regardless of what country I am in. My “journey” was not only the goal to reach thirty countries ( I am currently at 24) but to pursue my dream as a writer and to continue to inspire people to pursue their own passions, whatever that might be. A friend of mine posed an interesting question on Facebook which was, ”I wonder if people in Monaco (my last temporary home) are as interested about Utah as people in Utah are about Monaco (or anywhere else for that matter?) Hmmm…I wonder?

I thought about the new friends that I have made all over the world and I realized that I still had adventures to share. As familiar and boring as Utah feels to me, it is still new and exciting to someone else. There are places to explore right here in my own backyard that in all my ten years of living here, I seemed to take for granted. It gave me the challenge to be a “tourist” right where I am. To be curious, more aware, to go down unexplored roads, and to look at things in a fresh new light.

High in the mountain tops of Eden, the untouched snowflakes sparkled in the morning sunlight like a million diamonds. I took a breath of crisp winter air as I looked down on the valley below, covered in a blanket of clouds that cascaded over the mountains. A tiny set of tracks led the way to a warm place where a furry family nestled together. I thought of the love that filled the condo where my own family was waiting, enjoying the short getaway with me. I have seen a lot of amazing vistas over the past 18 months, but this one was right up there with them. Instead of being thousands of miles away, I was 30 minutes from my home for the moment (which more and more I am realizing IS where the heart is.) An afternoon snowboarding in the fresh powder with my siblings and then a drive to Salt Lake to visit the world-famous Christmas lights at Temple Square rounded off my “staycation” in Utah.

When I really stopped to think about it, I was so grateful in that moment to have the best of both worlds. Hopefully that will appease this little travel bug of mine until I am back on the road again. For those of you who have never had the chance to get away, or maybe are starting to feel a bit of that “caged bird” feeling yourself, no matter what your financial situation or where you are in the world, adventure can be found right in your own backyard. All you have to do is go find it!

The beauty of Temple Square at Christmas time

We continued through the photos and instead of sending her to bed with visions of sugar plums filling her head, she thought about gas chambers, piles of eyeglasses and shoes collected from prisoners, crematoriums, and the fear that this could one day happen here. If it had been a “Freddy Krueger” movie, I could have just turned on a nightlight and told her it was all pretend.  But the cycle of history I relearned as I made my way through the rise and fall of the Roman empire, the beginning and end of WWII as well as the conflicts in the middle East and Egypt  had me wondering. Could our own country be heading down the same destructive path?

I remember watching the inaugural ball, and for some reason the song “Be Prepared” from Disney’s “The Lion King” just wouldn’t get out of my head. Was it the music? The lighting? The clueless hyenas following along with Scars’ maniacal plan? The familiar choice in words used to convey his message? I can think of a few orators in history who weren’t half as influential as our current president, and the outcome wasn’t very favorable. Everyone was so excited for the “change” that Obama promised our country, and indeed changes are definitely taking place. Freedoms that our founding fathers (and our troops) have fought so hard to create and defend are slowly being taken from us for the sake of protecting us from “terrorists.” Anti-gun laws as well as our freedom of speech have been in jeopardy for a few years now, and most shocking was the “indefinite detention bill” (otherwise known as the National Defense Authorization act) which was just recently passed by congress.

For those unaware of what this means, when this bill is signed into law, the president has the authority (via the military) to arrest and detain without trial, any American (yes I said AMERICAN) accused of having “supported al-Qaeda, the Taliban, or associated forces.” What exactly determines if someone is a supposed terrorist?  And what about our constitutional rights? I thought of my travels again, and the “Enabling Act” passed in Germany during Hitler’s rise to power. Another act to ”remedy the distress of the people,” which completely deviated from the constitution. And what happened after that? Well  soon the people were no longer allowed to defend themselves, (our right to bare arms) books were banned and burned (the gradual control over the internet and radio happening now) and before they knew it, millions of people were detained and had no way to stop it.

After 9/11, I wanted just as much as anyone else to feel “safe” in my country, but at what cost? As Benjamin Franklin once said, “If we restrict liberty to obtain security, we will lose them both.” Maybe I wouldn’t be so concerned if I hadn’t been stopped and questioned on my visit to the World Trade Center Memorial last month on my way home. The tall, caucasian blond. Yep, she has terrorist written all over her face. (All because my passport looked “suspicious” because of where I traveled to.) And what if I had come through after this bill had passed? With no voice or power to defend myself, could that same questioning land me in a F.E.M.A. camp somewhere  if they didn’t like my answer, meeting a similar fate to my great-grandmother in Poland?

I have tried to stay away from conspiracy theories, but the turn of events is beginning to look too familiar and if we don’t wake up soon, it’s going to be too late. I AM proud to be an American, but I am not proud of our government. I love this beautiful land and the opportunities and freedoms that we have enjoyed here for so many years.  But like my 13-year-old niece, I am afraid of  what the future holds. If we don’t start becoming more aware of what’s happening, then who knows where this country is headed. As Thomas Jefferson once said, “Educate and inform the whole mass of the people. They are the only sure reliance for the preservation of our liberty.” I suppose all I can do (besides use the platform of speech that I still have) is to count the blessings and freedoms that still remain, and in the words of Lee Greenwood, stand up next you and defend her still today. God (yes, I did just say that) bless the U.S.A!

The festival is celebrated by Muslims around the world to commemorate and remember the trials of the prophet Abraham by slaughtering a sheep (or goat ) to show their obedience to the faith as Abraham did. Alright, so a few fluffy sheep would be sacrificed the first day, but how many billions of turkeys are killed each year for Thanksgiving? Does the news broadcast images around the globe of their heads being chopped off? No, instead we pick up a nicely frozen packaged bird at the supermarket without even thinking twice, and immediately begin thinking about all the deals we will get the next day on ”black friday.” And for those who may not eat meat, how many pine trees are chopped down each Christmas just to toss out on the curb a few days later (with no religious purpose associated to either holiday?) It was for these reasons that I decided it might be beneficial to stay around for the “festivities.”

Goat heads and brains in the food stalls of Marrakech

As the start to the festival approached, you could sense the anticipation and excitement much like those last few shopping days before Christmas. Wives bustling around the markets collecting ingredients to begin preparing for the big feast, husbands and sons selecting the finest sheep to bring home to their families and the somewhat comical methods of getting the sheep home. I watched as they  crammed sheep and goats into car trunks and back seats, stowed them in luggage compartments on local buses, and even tied them to the roofs of cars (a little reminiscent of our Christmas tree tradition.) Throughout the markets you could hear the grinding of steel on wet-stone as knives were sharpened to prepare for the big day.

One of the many sheep markets before the festival on the way to Casablanca

I quickly realized after trying to leave the small village I was in just how big the holiday was. The stations and roads were full of people trying to get home to celebrate the occasion with their loved ones, making it very difficult for a “tourist” to get anywhere. The people were incredibly nice, with no agenda but to extend a warm welcome into their country. When I reached my final destination of Casablanca, I was fortunate to be invited by not one, but two families who invited me into their homes for the feast. I decided to divide my time between both, spending the earlier part of the day with an old shopkeeper Abdel, and the afternoon and evening with my younger “brother” Yassin (who had taken the time the evening before to introduce me to his family and the sheep they would be killing and eating the next day.)

The morning of the festival I walked outside to meet Abdel at a coffee shop and was greeted with the smell of BBQ and smoke in the air. As we walked through the much less crowded streets, I began to fully take in the carnage around me. Makeshift bonfires set up and down the streets illuminated the horns of sheep heads that had been tossed in the fires (young boys poking at the remnants still inside.) Donkeys and horses pulled trailers with mountains of slightly blood stained skins as housewives began mopping the red water out into the streets. Abdel looked up at me a few times and softly chuckled at my horrified face as I watched the gutters literally run with blood.

From an outsiders perspective, I could understand how the scene could be misinterpreted. It felt more like a scene from “Friday the 13th” than a holiday that was full of love and gratitude. With all the images we get through the media of Jihad and terrorism, some could even  associate the  scenes from that morning as training for some infidel group. While I certainly didn’t enjoy viewing the carnage with my virgin eyes, I did think for a moment that if I had ever stepped foot in a slaughter-house here in the states I would think twice about that next bbq I had. And putting the  blood and carnage aside, my eyes were also open to the love and kindness of the Muslim faith that the media chooses NOT to focus on.

The meaning of the holiday is to show the sacrifices that are sometimes required to stay on the right path. There are some families who even borrow money to buy their sheep, and much of the meat is given away to those even less fortunate. It didn’t seem like a single thing went to waste that day (except the bits of sheep stomach and other unknown body parts offered to me, yet discretely wrapped in tissue and hidden in my purse when I could no longer stand the taste.)

It has been interesting returning back to the states since the festivities. So many warnings were given to avoid the “muslim terrorists” while I was traveling through areas such as Israel and Palestine as well as Egypt and Morocco. But when you really begin to understand and look at the religion and it’s teachings, it is just as opposed to terrorism as anyone else. Sometimes I think it is so easy to take things out of context and distort the meaning of something instead of gaining a full perspective for yourself (and it is something believers of a faith do as well.) Are there “bad” muslims out there? Yes, just as there are “bad” christians, catholics, and many other religions. (Hello, do we not remember David Koresh or the countless catholic priests guilty of child molesting?)  I’m not justifying the acts of terrorism that do occur, I am just saying that if we could all be a little more open to our differences and make an attempt to understand each other’s beliefs rather than letting the media and others dictate those beliefs for us, maybe this world would be a happier place.

New friends I met in the markets in Casablanca

As we were walking through the town perusing the shops for the perfect souvenir to remember the day by, my dad in frustration leaned over and loudly whispered, “All of these shops just have the same cheap crap.” A shopkeeper, hearing my dads comment and rather quick on his toes stopped us in front of his store and said, “Well come in here my friend. We have the BEST crap!” Laughing at the fact that he had not only understood us but decided to make a joke about it, we couldn’t resist and stopped inside, emerging a few minutes later with our“crap.”

One of the many markets in Italy

I often think about that day as I’m exploring a new city. From the markets of Jerusalem to the cobbled streets in Europe, shopkeepers stand outside enticing you with their own knickknacks, knock-offs, and whatever cheap souvenir that will help you remember the city by. From the “I love” (whatever city you’re in) t-shirts, purses, towels, and underwear, to the one of a kind handmade specialty (that the next 5 stores in a row seem to have magically gotten a copy of) it does seem to give you more of that commercial Disneyland feeling, than the “cultural” experience that one should hope to get by traveling. It isn’t enough that I have already shelled out my hard-earned money in getting there, I am then expected to throw out even more for some useless trinket that would eventually end up in a garage sale.

A beautiful selection of Italian belts…We'll give you good price!!

Now don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with being a “tourist.” My camera strap seems to be permanently fixed around my wrist, snapping pictures of cathedrals, monuments, and postcard perfect landscapes as I make my way around the world sharing my adventures with those who can’t come along on the journey with me. And while there isn’t much room in my suitcase to load up on souvenirs, I am guilty of picking up the occasional handbag or scarf (which normally gets sent home as a gift anyway.) But after a few weeks in Italy hitting the essential points of interest on my way through the country, I decided to take a breath of non-tourist air and get away from the crowds for a while.

My first stop was to a town on the west coast called Ostia Antica, which is near an old Roman port abandoned around the 5^th century due to barbarian invasions and an outbreak of malaria. There were no tour buses parked outside or vendors waiting to haggle me. Just me, a few students and potential archeologists there to study and learn about a civilization that had been there so many years before. Not as dramatic as a volcano erupting and killing all its inhabitants as the nearby city of Pompeii, but it had just as much mystery and so many more quiet corners to stop and reflect about what life could have really been like.

The remains of a Roman bath in the city of Ostia Antica

From there I continued south towards the Amalfi coast, stopping at a hostel a fellow traveler recommended to me. It was a small town that doesn’t even show up in my guidebook, but when I arrived I knew it was just the right place. As I walked through the narrow streets I didn’t see a single postcard or cheesy t-shirt in sight. Just the everyday life in the south of Italy. Fish markets, produce stands,teenagers making out on a bench, mopeds whizzing by, the occasional old man sitting on the corner with a beer, and best of all the sound of kids laughing and playing in the alleys nearby. A normal town, a normal place, and the chance to finally feel immersed in a culture (which I think we forget to do so often when we are rushing around to see all the sights.)

And now as I am sitting in Pompeii (being this close I couldn’t miss it, even if it is a little touristy) I am happy to say that I have found a nice blend of both. A hostel just outside of the main tourist area and full of Italian hospitality (and the delicious fresh tomatoes and limonchello that I have come to love about southern Italy.) This morning was a catholic mass which brought swarms of people into the city consuming me into the crowd as they recited their prayers in front of the cathedral which I found out has a ”Black Madonna” inside. They celebrate the occasion every first Sunday of October since it appeared over 100 years ago. I had no idea what was said (besides the frequent “amen”) but the Italian was music to my ears. Another culture, another language, and an impression that will last much longer in my mind than any figurine ever would on my shelf or even photograph taken for that matter. A small taste of a real place in the south of Italy.

The crowds dispersing as the mass ends in the town of Pompeii

I come from a family where art (in some form) runs through our blood. With Italy being where many of the great artists such as Michelangelo and Leonardo come from,

The small town of Vinci (a short day trip from Florence) Where I visited the home of Leonardo

I had to come admire the chiseled body (not to mention all the amazing architecture) while I was here. When I was in Belgium me and my dad came across the original “Madonna and Child” and if David was anywhere near as beautiful, I knew I would have to suck up being a “tourist” and probably stand in line for hours to see him. So after a late sleep-in and a lovely machiato overlooking the beautiful city, I headed out on my quest.

The first thing I discovered is that David is actually all over Florence in some shape or form. Between the tourist shops full of postcards, figurines, and mugs, (some a bit more classy than others in displaying the male anatomy) you really don’t have to look hard to find him. Besides the original which is
located in the Galleria dell’Accademia, there are two other full size replicas in the city. A bronze statue in the plaza Michelangelo overlooking the city below,

Enjoying the sunset with David up at Plaza Michelangelo

and another in Piazza della Republica (where the original was first kept.) I managed to stumble upon both quite easily and while some people would have gotten their fix and probably moved on to other sites, it actually made me want to see the original even more.

So after wandering around the city aimlessly, I stumbled into a long queue just outside the Cattedrale di Santa Maria. The dome of the church was quite impressive from the outside, and even though I knew I wasn’t in the right place, I was curious enough to have a look inside. Luckily the line moved quickly and I found myself inside the cathedral, looking up at the most beautiful fresco I had seen to that point in Europe

Vasari's "Heaven & Hell" Fresco inside the Duomo

(I hadn’t yet made it to the Sistine chapel.) As I was admiring the view from the tower I heard thunder in the distance. A storm on the horizon? Perfect! Rain always has a way of dispersing crowds. Maybe I wouldn’t have to wait in line after all.

I made my way down the steep stairs to the plaza below, dodging the gypsies running around selling overpriced umbrellas.  I took out my shitty tourist map to try to orient myself with the city just as the sky opened up. Not a slight drizzle, but a proper late summer afternoon thunderstorm. I found shelter under the canopy of a cafe and sat down for a cappuccino, then a glass of wine, and then another, but no luck. I was stuck for a few hours, getting wet even sitting under the shelter of the canopy. Another gypsy came by begging me to buy an umbrella, which at that point I decided might be a good idea. I reached for my purse but the waiter came over and chased her away. (I guess it’s as illegal for me to buy as it is for them to sell, and yes we are talking about umbrellas here.) Having only an hour before the museum closed and the museum being closed the following day, I decided to brave the storm. The waiter came back with my check as well as a small gift for me (a free umbrella.) I love the kindness of strangers when you’re traveling.

My new umbrella, braving the storm in Florence

There he was in all his naked glory, the light coming in from the domed ceiling above giving him an angelic glow. I was in love. He really was much more impressive than what I could have imagined. From the dimples in his elbows to the veins on his hand, the incredible detail created by a man just a few years younger than me had me doing laps around the exhibit, noticing more each time I went around. The definition in the muscles of his back, the cuticle on his fingernails and toenails. Somehow I seemed to miss all that as I was snapping pictures of the other two imposters. Maybe because I couldn’t take a photo of the real one, I was forced to soak in every last chiseled detail, (the artistic version of stopping to smell the roses.)

I found a seat in the corner in the last few moments before the museum closed and stopped to think about the man who stood before me. A symbol of courage and freedom for the people of Florence, but in that moment (before his victory) was a boy about to face his giant. Stuck in that space and time after a decision is made, but before the confidence and faith comes in knowing that victory will come. I thought of myself and the giants (big and small) I have faced on my journey so far. I know undoubtedly there will be many more not only on my travels, but throughout life. I can only hope to face and defeat them as my dear friend David did, and who knows? Maybe someday they’ll carve a sculpture out of me… I guess a girl can dream.

A t-shirt I found in a museum giftshop (they had the translation next to it.)

 Jewels of Italy

Now I’m not expecting you to feel sorry for me as I sit here sipping on a macchiato admiring the beautiful city of Florence, but as with any “job” there a pros and cons and some sacrifices you make to get to do something that you really enjoy.

A while back, an old neighbor and gradeschool friend posted on my Facebook wanting to know why he was never told that “endless vacation” was a list of possible career options. I told him he had the wrong guidance counselor! In reality, I did as well. I was told the same song and dance that I had to go to college, get a degree, so I could get a J.O.B. (which I found out later really means “just over broke” or “just out begging.”) After trying to go about the “normal” approach, I decided it wasn’t quite working for me, which was when  I  packed my bags, left my car on the side of the road (literally-they put a boot on it a few hours before I was supposed to catch my flight) and headed straight towards my first job in the Mediterranean working on a private yacht. It still wasn’t my “dream” job, but at least it was giving me a great big bridge to it, which was and is to this day, to travel the world and get paid for it.

To be honest,  being a “Travel-preneur” (which is what I’ve officially decided to call myself now) can consist of anything that you’re little creative mind can come up with. Yes there are careers and “jobs” working overseas. Teaching English, working in a hostel (which I did experince for a few months last winter,) busking on the streets, working on farms, or even working on yachts. Whatever you are willing and able to do, it’s amazing how the universe seems to open those doors for you while you are traveling, regardless of how much money you have in your bank account. I wasn’t looking for work in the hostel, but had I not taken the opportunity I wouldn’t have made the connection that got me this last yacht job working in Monaco, (which sort of fell into my lap as well.) I say, as long as you are happy doing any of those things, keep doing it! Do ALL of those things if that’s what allows you to see the world (which most people sadly will never have the opportunity to do.)

The definition of an entrepreneur is someone who is creative, willing to take action, someone who is innovative, a risk taker, and finances enterprises. If your goal is to endlessly travel, or at least to be able to do it for a few years of your life, then make THAT your enterprise. If you don’t enjoy the thought of cleaning up after messy backpackers or picking grapes on a farm, then think outside the box a little further. What are your talents? What are your passions? What do you really enjoy? How can you help someone? I found mine through the very platform that I am speaking to you right now, and although like any successful enterprise, it will take a while to see the fruits of my labor, I know in the end it will all be worth it.

Yes, there are bumps and frustrations along the way. Missed train connections (when the train you are riding on won’t let you off) railway strikes, long rides on crowded buses (carrying the ridiculously heavy pack and trying not to hit the old woman sitting behind you on the bus,) getting lost in a new city trying to find your accommodations and then not being able to finally get that much-needed sleep because of the disco playing music next door until sunrise. Yesterday was a hard day of “work.” And now as I sit on the terrace, listening to the chiming of bells from the cathedral and admiring the view of the beautiful city below me, I think of the “work” that needs to be done today. Museums to see, art to admire, towers to climb, new connections to make. Yes, it’s going to be another busy day at the office. I might need to put in a request for some vacation time soon.