Dear Buenos Aires, I love you

Hola mis amigos! ¿Cómo estás? Bueno, claro. Todo bien. Bueno. Bien....... (This is Dave's contribution to the post. He is taking the piss of a certain way of speaking the Argentinians have where they repeat themselves often, particularly in greetings. He does a great impersonation of it but I don't think it translates so well into text.)

Faithful readers, when last I left you mi esposo y yo were about to journey to the most unknown, most undiscovered (for us at least) continent on our trip - South America. I know my parents are super terrified that I'm here because danger supposedly lurks at every corner but somehow we have made it through the last five weeks with all our limbs and internal organs intact. Off to a flying start!

The trip to Rio de Janeiro from Athens is no picnic, it's basically 24 hours of flying and stopovers, the equivalent of flying from Melbourne to London. As luck would have it we were well prepared for the flight, with hangovers and sleep deprivation. Our one stopover was in Qatar and let me tell you, if you ever need to sleep overnight in an airport you could do a lot worse than the lounges at Doha International Terminal. They have a whole 'quiet' area where the seats are all reclined past the perpendicular (I'm no mathematician but I'm guessing around 120 degrees - that's a serious obtuse angle right there.). You could wrap yourself up and sleep like a baby if you needed to. Unfortunately we only had an hour here but at least I know for next time, if it's sleep I need I can find it here.

Our hostel in Copacabana (yes, we are well and truly back into hostelling - joy) was the cheapest hostel in the nicest area. Pretty good trade off for me. Being low season in Brazil there were not a lot of guests there, except for a massive group of Brazilian MMA fighters. Lots of muscles and facial tattoos amongst that squad. In their entourage was also the cutest baby of all time who we communicated with solely through smiles (it's the universal language!).

Rio was definitely an interesting first stop in South America, it's a city of stark contrasts. Staying in Copacabana and walking through nearby Ipanema you saw lots of expensive apartments with beach views, lots of super hot people exercising by the beach, nice bars and restaurants (highlight of our bar visits was when a table of girls asked Dave [in Portuguese obviously] to take a photo of them. Dave totally panicked because they were so attractive and sat there like a stunned mullet until I stepped in and took the photo like a normal human being) and plenty of boutique shops. But a stones throw away you have favelas which until recently were ruled by drug cartels, and where there are still a lot of problems and a lot of people living on the poverty line, despite the government's attempts to clean them up (the sceptic in me has to think these attempts are purely driven by the attention that the World Cup and the 2016 Olympics has cast upon Brazil). However, I felt more or less safe in Rio except for that one time when we witnessed a knife fight in broad daylight on a busy street. Dave maintains it was not a knife fight BUT I ask you, if two men are arguing and then one of them pulls out a knife how does this not qualify as a knife fight? You say tomato...

One of my favourite things about Rio was how active the locals are, exercising outdoors at all hours of the day and night. Copacabana beach was always full of people running, walking, cycling, playing volleyball and soccer (they call it football here... weird), or using the free outdoor exercise equipment. There was something incredibly unpretentious about it. No need for an expensive gym membership or the latest fashionable active wear, just a desire to keep fit and healthy no matter what social class you belonged to. We were even inspired to go for a couple of morning runs along the famous Copacabana promenade. 

Rio as a city doesn't seem to make a lot of sense. There are massive mountains EVERYWHERE that they have just built around and up and tunnelled through, and the ocean is all over the place, meaning that half the city is located on separate islands. Very strange but it's part of what makes the city so fascinating. We got a birds eye view of it from the top of Corcovado mountain when we hiked up to see Christ the Redeemer. This was a somewhat challenging walk, made easier by the resident monkeys we saw and the immensely rewarding experience at the top. This Jesus statue is fucking massive. The scale of it and the fact that they managed to build it on top of this mountain is just incredible. After spending some time admiring it all and laughing at everyone taking selfies (then taking our own selfie) we headed to the train ticket seller to buy tickets for the train to the bottom. Obviously we weren't keen to walk back down! Turns out the train tickets are really expensive, more than what we were carrying, and the buses that also ferry people down will NOT sell you a ticket at the top, only at the bottom. Sooooo, it was a walk back down (via the road this time) for these weary travellers. About half an hour into it the umpteenth taxi stopped beside us and offered us a lift. 'No, obrigado' we said, like a broken record by this stage. 'You're walking?' he asked. 'Si, si'. 'No, don't walk. I'll take you down. $10 reais.' Sir, you have a deal! We jumped in the cab and he drove us down. And drove, and drove, and drove. Turns out it was much further than we were anticipating and it would have been getting dark by the time we finished. Best $10 reais I ever spent.

We were super keen to see Foals in Rio, they were playing a couple of shows that matched up perfectly with our visit. As the story goes, we bought tickets, their singer got sick, they cancelled the shows, we missed out, consoled ourselves by watching a brilliant busking band called the Beach Combers, notable for their psychedelic 70s rock sound and the fact that the bass guitarist was wearing a skirt. My kind of band!

São Paulo was the next stop in Brazil. We weren't really keen to visit this city, but it was a decent stopover to break up what would have otherwise been an excruciatingly long bus trip from Rio to Florianopolis. Not much to say really, seemed like a pretty soulless city, a concrete jungle with little to set it apart from any other sprawling metropolis in the world. We found a great craft beer bar (of course) but nothing else really sticks in the memory, except for a couple we met who lived in São Paulo but were staying in the hostel (thankfully in a private room) just to bang. As you do.

We had however, heard great things about Florianopolis which was our next port of call. We had heard about a fabulous beach, great opportunities for hiking, supping, surfing and just general relaxing in the sun. Perfecto. Problem was, the four days we were there it never reached temperatures above 15 degrees and we copped two days of solid rain. All our hiking plans went out the window which left plenty of time to drink caipirinhas at the hostel and get to know our fellow travellers. We met some great people in Florianopolis, including a few people who had lived in Australia, for the purpose of learning English. Apparently it's becoming a pretty popular thing to do, and man can you pick the foreigners who have learned English in Australia. Not only are they missing that awful fake American sounding accent that you so often hear they also litter their speech with constant profanity. Ah, Australian English, how I miss you!

The hostel we stayed in was on the opposite side of the island to the main town of Florianopolis, where all the main services are. This caused us huge problems when we arrived on the bus at 6am, spent our last reais on a taxi to the hostel, and then found out that the only ATMs on the whole island were way back over the other side. There is a bus that runs regularly, but we had literally no money so we couldn't even afford to catch it. So, for the hundredth time on this trip we were faced with a long trek because of our poor planning. 10kms (mostly uphill) into town, running on no sleep, no breakfast, and no water. At least we were able to laugh about it. Top tip: when a hostel sends through important info about how to get there, are there any ATMs nearby etc actually read it...

Having definitely not experienced the best of Brazil, we then jumped over the border into Uruguay. We did not spend much time here, only visiting the capital Montevideo. I have zero notes written in my journal about Montevideo because I spent most of my time there asleep. Yes, that cold snap we had in Florianopolis totally messed with my body which had been used to temperatures consistently hovering between 30 and 40 degrees for the past four months and I got super sick. So, I can tell you that there is some beautiful architecture in Montevideo. I can also tell you that the streets, even in the centre are weirdly deserted of people all the time. There are also a whole bunch of abandoned buildings all over the place and it looks run down as hell. Definitely very different to any city I've been to before and I wish I'd been well enough to really get the feel of it. Instead I drank pumpkin soup in the hostel wearing literally all the clothes I own to stay warm, venturing out for like an hour each day before I had to go home for a nap. Good times.

Luckily luckily luckily, spending so much time at the hostel gave me the opportunity to talk to fellow travellers who had already been to Argentina. They gave us the most important advice we've received so far - take only US dollars into Argentina. The fucked up monetary system in Argentina means that the peso is super devalued and there is a huge demand for USD. So if I were to go to any ATM in Argentina and withdraw pesos I would get about 6.7 pesos for every $1AUD. However, there exists an illegal 'Blue Market' where you can exchange US dollars for much much more than the official exchange. I'm talking 16 pesos for every $1USD. Huge difference. Therefore, even though the exchange from AUD to USD is terrible at the moment we were still going to come out waaaaay in front if we exchanged on the Blue Market. So every day in Montevideo we went to the ATM to withdraw $300USD on each of our bank cards (they have a daily limit of $300 to stop Argentinians travelling to Uruguay and withdrawing a ton of USD.). There is an entire street in Buenos Aires, Calle Florida, where you walk past shady looking characters and they call out 'cambio, cambio' (change, change) and if you approach them they will take you to what's known as a 'cueva' which might be inside a restaurant or a jewellery store where they will exchange your dollars for an agreed upon rate. There's even a Twitter account you can follow so that you always know what the current Blue Dollar rate is to reduce your risk of getting ripped off. We never used one of these cambio guys, it's all a bit seedy and it's easy to find Argentinian people who want your dollars or exchange offices that seem much more above board. Given that we are going to be in Argentina for close to two months being prepared for the Blue Dollar has made our bank balance look a lot healthier than it would have if we exchanged at the official rate.

So, armed and dangerous with our USD we arrived in Buenos Aires. We had been here for exactly 20 minutes when I knew I was completely in love with this city. Up until this point I had not enjoyed South America as much as I had expected to. I'd found the transition from Europe quite difficult, I never felt 100% safe (stupid overactive imagination and paranoia rather than actual threat. Please don't worry Mum, everything is fine.) and we had visited a few places that I guess I felt like we could have probably skipped. I was also desperate to get to Buenos Aires because I had a sneaking suspicion it was going to be my kind of city, so I may not have been 'living in the moment' enough, rather I felt like we were just killing time until we got to the place I really wanted to be. Luckily BA was as fantastic as I imagined it was going to be. Being here has really helped me to feel settled in South America and has renewed my enthusiasm for travelling this amazing continent. Positive vibes everywhere!

We had our first Couchsurfing experience in BA which was a great way to start our time here, as on our first night we were able to try Fernet (this weird alcohol they drink) and maté (this weird herbal thing they drink [parenthesis in parenthesis: everybody has their own special maté mug and they drink the maté from a silver straw. You can get them in every colour and design you can imagine. Importantly though, everybody has one. Just their own special one. And they invite friends over to drink maté together. All super normal. EXCEPT that they all drink from the same cup and straw! Your mates don't bring their own maté cups and everybody gets their own drink. Oh no, you pass around this one cup and everybody drinks from the one straw. When our Spanish teacher told us this like it was totally normal Dave almost fell off his chair laughing. He quickly got used to the idea though, and when we get home he has vowed to only ever crack one stubby at parties, stick a straw in it and share it with all his mates. We're referring to it as 'Five guys, one cup'.]) as well as having our very first asado (fabulous barbecued meat, this is good by me). We quickly learned that the nightlife here is very different to back home. We went to a party with our hosts on Saturday night, which began at midnight. Midnight. Some clubs don't even open until 3am. Don't people know that nothing good ever happens after 2am? Well actually, at this party after 2am everybody was in fine form because it was still early in the night for them. Gosh, Argentinians are hilarious. It was just like being back home hanging out with all of Dave's mates, people making offensive jokes, that one dreadlocked guy who looks like a hippy but is actually a massive capitalist, everyone talking over the top of each other and then the inevitable bottle-o run at 3am. Lots of fun.

Dave and I both thought it would be a good idea to learn some Spanish while we were travelling to make getting around this continent easier. We had heard that a lot of people don't speak English so we felt that even having some basic knowledge of the language would be useful. We had been listening to a Spanish language podcast as we travelled through Europe but we decided to do some formal lessons to give us a better understanding. So our two weeks in Buenos Aires included four hours of intensive Spanish classes each weekday morning. We were in small group of just five students all of whom were super lovely and friendly people which was a huge bonus. The teachers were young and fun and shared much more than just verbs and grammar with us. We also talked about our cultures and swapped stories of amazing places we've been to. We learned a lot in the two weeks and hopefully now we will be able to sit down and review everything and really try to absorb it (difficult to do on a daily basis when you're visiting a city and want to be out and about doing stuff everyday). I am genuinely sad to be finished the classes.

So, onto the part where I bang on about how fucking great Buenos Aires is. It is now firmly placed in my top three cities I've ever visited (the other two are NYC and the love of my life Melbourne, obvs). A good city has to have a good bar scene and we certainly made the most of the different suburbs we stayed in by sampling all the best craft beer spots in Buenos Aires. The national beer is Quilmes which is pretty shit, but there's a massive craft beer scene happening now (like everywhere in the world I guess) and we drank some very good beers while we were here. Hora feliz (happy hour) is generally a 2 for 1 deal so if you plan your evening wisely, moving from one place to the next according to their happy hour times you can drink pretty cheaply.

The food was fantastic, if you're carnivorous like us. Meat, meat, meat and more meat, always cooked over hot coals until it was smoky and scorched and delicious. Choripan was my favourite, it's essentially just a fancy version of a hot dog with a super smoky chorizo covered in chimichurri (garlicky salsa deliciousness) inside a bread roll. As much as I love a Bunnings sausage sizzle and can never walk past one without buying a snag I have to say that this BBQ trumps that. The steaks were more on the well done side than I prefer but cooking them in this method means that they're still tender and juicy. Also, ice cream. The best ice cream in the world? Quite possibly. You can buy it in weird amounts too, not just a cone or a cup but in quarter or half kilos (which you can take home but we also saw people eating them right then and there).

Everywhere we go our favourite thing is to just wander around the city taking everything in. It's a very cheap day out but it's also the best way to get to know a place. We walked a lot of kilometres in BA and with each new place we stumbled across we learned something new about the city. It's a super easy city to get around, the buses go everywhere that isn't walking distance and there's a great app that tells you which one to catch. It's also really well laid out, the blocks are all pretty much square, with 100 house numbers between intersections. Very much like the Hoddle grid but on a larger scale. There's a lot of great green spaces, parks and gardens and monuments and fountains everywhere, especially in the older suburbs.

There really is such a fascinating mix of Europe and South America here. The gorgeous contrast of architecture styles is the first thing you notice when you arrive here. The second thing is the dog shit. People in Buenos Aires love their pet dogs. Apparently there's like a rule here that dogs need to spend a certain amount of time outside each day so there are a heap of people employed as dog walkers and you'll see them walking massive packs of dogs around. It is super cute and of course I love a dog filled city. Problem is, nobody ever cleans up after their dog (apparently there's a rule that you're supposed to do that too, but nobody adheres to it). The smart visitor learns early on that you always need to walk with your head down looking at the ground, otherwise you will definitely step in something. On the whole, I would actually say it's the dirtiest city I have ever visited, in terms of physically dirty, rubbish and shit all over the streets etc. It's one of those things that reminds you that you're in South America. Just when you're comparing it to Paris or Rome you'll see something that brings you right back to where you are - people blatantly throwing rubbish on the ground even though there are bins everywhere, men pulling carts full of cardboard down the main roads in amongst the cars and buses like it's no big deal, the guys who drive around with a loudspeaker calling for people to bring out their old furniture and appliances (it's basically a hard rubbish collection every single day, but also very much like 'bring out your dead' from Monty Python), and of course seeing people carrying around the most common accessory of all - their maté cup and a thermos to refill it from.

Some of the 'sights' I really enjoyed were La Recoleta Cemetery (until my claustrophobia kicked in and I had a minor panic attack - every single day I wonder why Dave continues to travel with me), the San Telmo market, Floralis Genérica, Teatro Colón (spewing we didn't get to see a show here), Al Ateneo Grand Splendid which is an old theatre that has been converted into the most beautiful bookstore you've ever seen, Caminito en La Boca (super touristy though, more so than anywhere else in BA), MNBA, Jardin Botanico, watching our friends dance tango in the beautiful Confitería Ideal, the list seriously goes on and on. If you are visiting Buenos Aires (and you definitely should) please hit me up for recommendations, I have a lot.

Most of all, I actually really enjoyed having a full two weeks to really experience this city, and I even appreciated having some sort of routine again. Every morning we would walk to class, stopping for a cafe con leche and medialunas along the way, study for our four hours then spend the afternoon and evening exploring the city and eating and drinking. That's a pretty awesome routine. We also met a whole bunch of brilliant people and I temporarily fell in love walking down the street every single day - seriously, Argentinian men are all tall, dark, handsome, bearded, and lean. Single ladies, I highly recommend you visit. We leave today, and I desperately wish we could stay for longer but new adventures await. I will look back on our time in Buenos Aires with the fondest of memories, and if the rest of our time in South America is even half as enjoyable then we are going to have an amazing next 6 months.

Today we catch a 25 hour bus down south to Patagonia where we will be staying on a farm for the next four weeks. They only have electricity for 5 hours a day so wifi looks like it's going to be pretty sketchy. Please please please continue to message me and fill me in on what is happening in your lives, I love hearing from all of you and whenever I can I will be checking for stories from home. I just may be a bit crap at responding in a timely fashion. But I miss you all and I really wish I could squeeze all your stupid faces.

So much love, as always. Barbecue some meat this weekend and think of us. Love Mel and Dave. xox

Tales from Turkey and Greece

Hey team! I hope you've got a cup of tea or a bottle of wine ready, this one is long. I didn't mean for it to be, it's just that a lot has happened since the last blog. There's some devastating lows in this one too so if you cry easily (I'm looking at you Marg) have some tissues ready.

In my last blog I mentioned that we had an absolutely savage travel day when we flew from Barcelona to Istanbul. We managed to book incredibly cheap flights, but a cheap flight always has a trade off and this case the trade off was a 12.01am departure time, then landing in Athens at 4am to begin a 10 hour layover. [Side note: Dave dubbed the flight from Barcelona 'The Rainbow Express' as it was chock-a-block full of big gay Greek men who had obviously all been to some event in Spain. I can guarantee that Grindr was working overtime on that plane.] I don't know if you've ever tried to sleep at an airport but it's not easy, nor is it fun. Athens airport is also very small and floor space was hard to find, as there were a whole lot of other travellers in the same boat as us who had taken all the best sleeping spots. There's actually an entire website dedicated to finding the best spots to sleep in every airport around the world. I now have it saved in my favourites. We eventually found a good spot and settled in for an hour of the least restful sleep ever. By the time we arrived in Istanbul we were shadows of our former selves, and struggled to even keep our eyes open on the 1.5 hour bus ride into the city. Istanbul is the most sprawling city I've ever seen. I could not believe how big it was and how long it took to get anywhere.

Knowing that we were going to be back in Istanbul in a few weeks meant that we were able to completely relax on our first night and day there, without feeling pressure to race around seeing the sights. We sought out the best gozleme and Turkish delight in our local area, went to a cute cafe for breakfast, planned our travel through Turkey, dropped into Carre d'Artistes (an amazing store selling works by local artists, we had bought a piece of art from their New York store last year), and found the holy grail of travel - a shop selling cheap books in English! 

The next day we made the trek back out to the airport for our flight to Cappadocia. Our accommodation was in Uchisar which is like a little village, much smaller than Goreme where most of the cave hotels are. We loved Uchisar. Best gozleme we ever ate was in Uchisar at a place called House of Memories, where the owner was always either singing or calling out 'wonderful, wonderful' at anyone who would listen. We ate there three times. There is a 'castle' in Uchisar which is really just a giant rock formation that has been carved into so you can walk through it. From the top of the castle you get a fantastic view of the sunset. We were up there one evening, and just as the sun started to dip below the horizon a group of Spanish teenagers who must have been travelling together as part of a choir sang a beautiful song to the setting sun. It was one of those goosebumpy travel moments where you just think 'I can't believe I'm here'.

Unfortunately we also experienced that 'I can't believe I'm here' moment at our hostel. It was one of those god awful places where the owner treats you solely as a walking wallet, and will not give any genuine recommendations for sights or businesses that aren't giving him kickbacks. He told us that if we weren't prepared to pay for a hot air balloon ride (even the shitty ones where they cram you in with 20 other people were out of our budget) then we wouldn't see the hot air balloons at all. He also told us that the only way to see Cappadocia's landscape and the famous fairy chimneys was to pay for a bus tour. Again, totally out of our budget. We did some independent research and thanks to the magic of the internet and other cheap travellers sharing their tips we were able to find the perfect spot to watch the sunrise and see hundreds of balloons floating over the landscape. Really a special moment and I'm sure it's even better from inside a balloon, but we were pretty happy with our little spot. We also laced up the old hiking shoes for two days and walked all over Cappadocia, seeing plenty of fairy chimneys and some amazing cave churches that were only accessible on foot. Better than a bus tour, and totally free! It was hard work as it was very hot and there is virtually no shade out there, however we saw quite a few fellow hikers so it seems that this 'sticking it to the man and his overpriced tours' thing is catching on.

It was on one of these hiking days that we encountered a local boy selling freshly squeezed orange juice, and I will admit he caught me in a moment of weakness. We had been walking for ages and I was sure we were lost as the track kept changing and didn't seem to be heading anywhere (there are no hiking maps or signs or information or anything out there. They really want you to pay for the tours). We ended up walking up a massive cliff face to reach the road above and lo and behold here's this kid and his OJ. We bought one without even asking the price because I was so hot and cranky but he later told us it was 10 lira. Problem was, we only had a 50 lira note. I'm sure you can tell where this is going. He didn't have change. He tried to force us to buy a necklace with the remainder. We refused. He offered to take our 50 lira and run down to the hiking track to get change from a potential passer by. We refused. Obviously. We repeatedly offered to walk into town and swap the note and come back and pay him but he wasn't having any of that. In the end Dave got so fed up with the theatrics that he just walked off, with the intention of getting into town and swapping the note. Kid decides he is going to follow us and call out new solutions but we walk on ignoring him. He then stops me and tells me he has 30 lira change now (what a fucking surprise) which he got from 'a hiker who went past'. Okay mate. Despite the obviousness of his lie, I also tell him the change should be 40 lira, not 30. He says 'no the juice was 10 lira EACH'. This infuriates Dave and he keeps walking, now refusing to pay this scammy little kid anything. We are getting closer to town and it's like a weird procession - Dave in front walking faster than I've ever seen him do, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the kid; me awkwardly behind, not wanting to make a scene in town especially as we speak zero Turkish, and the kid running behind yelling 'please madam, please madam, I now have 40 lira. 40 lira ma'am, please. Pleaaaase!' I really don't want this to become a public spectacle so I eventually convince Dave that we should pay him and leave it at that. Dave reluctantly agrees, and he finally makes the transaction and tells the kid not to lie to people. I'm sure the kid really took those words to heart...

Our final day in Cappadocia we had big plans to see the Open Air Museum, literally the best thing in the area. Except after we'd bought our tickets we realised Dave's bank card was missing. This was actually a huge problem because my bank card had not been working for a couple of weeks, a problem we didn't deal with because we had Dave's. To compound matters the local buses weren't running due to road closures so to get back to our hostel we had to pay for a taxi to take us the long way home. We rock back into the hostel, turned our room upside down looking for this fucking card, before resigning ourselves to the fact that we'd need to contact the bank (eventually we determined that Dave had left it inside an ATM). Hostel owner couldn't possibly let us make a reverse charge call on his phone as 'actually, it only works for incoming calls'. Okay mate. We end up buying viber credit and calling the bank but it never quite works due to the shitty wifi. We are on an overnight bus this evening so we really need some resolution to this problem. We decide to head to Nevsehir as it has the most facilities, shops etc. We share the bus there with an Aussie girl from our hostel and her Italian travelling hookup and they mention they are on the way to the Museum. Score! We sell them our tickets which gets us some cash to use and is also literally the first positive thing that's happened all day. In Nevsehir we catch the luckiest of breaks and are given free reign of a mobile phone store after the SIM card they sold us doesn't work to call Australia. We are in their back room for an hour and a half, using their wifi, trying to call the bank and not only did they never once complain they even bought us water and checked in on us every ten minutes to make sure we had everything we needed. This kind of generosity was very common in Turkey and it was the reason why Turkish people were pretty much our favourites. Thanks to these guys we got in touch with the bank, got my card back up and running, and arranged for a replacement to be sent to our accommodation in Istanbul. Phew.

The overnight bus we took that night to Pamukkale was very unlucky for two of our fellow travellers who were robbed. A Canadian woman and an American guy both had stuff stolen while they were sleeping. Obviously we felt sorry for them and I was showing my concern to the guy, as he'd had a bag stolen containing some expensive electronics. I mentioned that it's so annoying because he will now have to spend all day putting in his insurance claims and he replied that he didn't have travel insurance. That was a complete conversation killer. Sympathy finished.

Pamukkale was a very uneventful place in comparison. We stayed with Erol an engineering student who hosts on Airbnb to practise his (already very good) English and for extra beer money. He will be finishing his degree in a year and told us that he really doesn't want to get a job in Turkey. When we asked where he wanted to move to his main criteria was 'somewhere where the beer is cheap'. Our type of guy. He was the perfect host, he cooked us dinner, was easy to talk to and fun to be around, gave us a great insight to what it was really like for young people in Turkey at the moment, showed us around his local market, helped us buy bus tickets to our next destination, and cooked us breakfast. 

Pamukkale itself, although still beautiful, was unfortunately not as spectacular as the pictures we had seen on the Internet. It was very dry when we were there which was disappointing but not unexpected. There were still plenty of chicks in bikinis posing for ridiculous photos though.

Our onward bus was to Fethiye, the neighbouring town of Oludeniz. Oludeniz is renowned for amazing beaches and national parks but also for being absolutely swarming with the worst kind of English tourist. We were happy to stay nearby and bus in each day rather than immerse ourselves in that. Unfortunately our arrival was an absolute sanga. Our host Kartal spoke very little English and had not provided us with a complete address or directions to his home. His intention was to pick us up from the local mall after he finished his work for the day (he was a paragliding pilot) and drive us to his house. This message was completely lost in translation and we ended up walking the streets of Fethiye at 10pm in search of what we thought maybe might be his address (it wasn't). I resigned myself to the fact that we didn't have a bed for the night and we stopped in at Burger King for some food. Through the helpful translation of a cleaner at Burger King we were able to determine that Kartal would pick us up from there and drive us home. His apartment had gorgeous views over Fethiye and we all sat down on the balcony together, ate lokum and chatted. He liked the fact that we were Australian because it meant we were his brothers. He said about Gallipoli 'big war, but now, big brothers'. It was a very sweet moment. 

Our few days here were filled to the brim with beach time, firstly at Oludeniz and the Blue Lagoon where we were able to afford to hire sun beds and an umbrella for the first time on the trip (cost $8 Australian - hey big spenders). We also took a day trip out to Butterfly Valley, a gorgeous spot with a pristine beach and a waterfall that you could climb up more or less to the top. Apparently you used to be able to go all the way up and over but then somebody died so they closed it. There's always that one clown who ruins it for everybody. The water here (and everywhere else we swam in Turkey) was the most pristine, clear, perfect temperature, medium salted, amazing water I've ever seen. Remember I was complaining that all the oceans were too cold to too warm? Well the Aegean was an absolute delight. You should all go there, now.

The taxi boat home from Butterfly Valley threw up a few of the aforementioned chavs who flock to Oludeniz. We heard a 10 year old girl accuse her mother of being on coke, and the mother's  only response was that it was a 'pathetic and ridiculous' thing to say. They were accompanied by two of the drunkest men I've ever seen, one of whom had clearly pumped a lot of steroids in his time. Honestly, the best kind of Brits.

A trip to turkey would not be complete without a visit to Gallipoli and after yet another overnight bus ride (they are the bread and butter of the budget traveller) and a night staying in the world's worst hostel in Canakkale, we hit up the peninsula ready for our tour. Our bus was full of kiwis bro, and our tour guide was Turkish which we really appreciated as it gave us a different perspective rather than being focused solely on the Australian efforts. This was an unfortunate battle for all involved, and even though the allies were defeated the Turkish people certainly don't view it as a 'victory', just a really sad shared history that we have. The cemeteries and commendation sites we visited were really well looked after and very simply done, letting the emotion of the location speak for itself. It was hard not to shed a tear at the cemeteries or at the monument of Ataturk's speech, words that have always made me emotional. It was definitely a very moving day and an experience that we won't forget in a hurry.

The bus from Gallipoli took us to our Airbnb in Istanbul, dropping us off just after midnight. I felt so guilty that we were inconveniencing our hosts (Khan and Gülsa, a painfully cool Turkish hipster couple) but she had only just gotten home from an exam and was waiting for her boyfriend to cook dinner. They needed a couple of eggs for the dish so she pulled out her phone, called the local grocer, put some lira in a basket on a lead, lowered it out the sixth storey window and 30 seconds later she was pulling fresh eggs into the apartment. Best apartment ever. They also had a fabulous dog called Rush who I was able to get to sit through the magic of google translate. Turkish dogs apparently don't understand the English word for 'sit'. 

Of course we visited the Hagia Sophia (amazing piece of history. Definitely one of my favourite sights in Istanbul, particularly the mosaics), the spice bazaar, the grand bazaar and all the shops in between. While we were lining up to see the underground cistern we ran into our friends Helen and Joel from back home who we had arranged to have dinner with that night. It was a lovely reunion and so good to see familiar faces! We caught up over beers and meze and the following day visited the Blue Mosque together and had more beers and meze.

Istanbul was one of our favourite cities to visit. It was a great place to just walk around, safe, vibrant, full of cool people and places. Alcohol and food are more expensive than a lot of places we've been but still cheaper than being home!

There are always pros and cons of staying in Airbnb places, many of which I've already touched on. One of the pros of our place in Istanbul was that the balcony overlooked a soccer stadium and one night we sat on our balcony watching the Olyroos beat the Turkish side in the Gallipoli Cup 1-0. Us watching pretty much doubled the attendance at the game, but hey, who's counting. One of the cons of the apartment was that the stove was hard to figure out. I didn't want to ask our hosts why it wasn't working so I did some detective work, found a plug on the stove and a powerpoint on the wall and decided that they must belong together. They didn't. I shorted out the power to the entire apartment and gave myself a very big fright. Khan probably got an even bigger fright because at that moment he was recording/making music (that was his job) and definitely lost all his work. Dave brings this up at least once a week. Turns out you just needed a match to get the stove going. #wellwhythefuckisthereaplugonit

Athens was the next port of call, after our longest overnight bus ride yet - 16 hours! We did nothing on our first day in Athens, except sleep, find a souva for lunch, sleep some more, then check out some local bars and eat another souva for dinner. We had a super friendly bartender at one of these bars who chatted to us for ages and gave us souvenir beer glasses when we were leaving. This was a lovely gesture but very awkward to carry in a backpack - we gave them to our Airbnb host. He probably didn't deserve a gift though. If you've been to Greece you will know that their sewerage system cannot cope with toilet paper being flushed so it all has to go in the bin. Super gross and unsettling but just a part of life for them. Most places have a very small bin that gets emptied regularly so it doesn't get funky. Not so our host. This bin was literally up to my hip and contained probably a weeks worth of shit covered toilet paper. He didn't empty it once while we were there. You feared for your very life every time you entered the bathroom. 

The next day, we did the right thing and made our way to the Acropolis. It was so weird to just walk past random ruins on the street that are thousands of years old. The Acropolis itself was great, some things were remarkably well preserved and others clearly needed a LOT of restoration to ensure they will even still be standing in 100 years. The Greek government is spending billions of dollars on these restoration works and although I was disappointed that the monuments are not entirely 'authentic', once I learned that most of them would crumble without this maintenance I was 100% on board. This is a part of history that we can't afford to lose. 

It was at one of these monuments that I ran into Emilia, the sister of Helen from the Istanbul part of this story. It was lovely and unexpected to see her, but also unnerving that the entire family was stalking me through Europe. You don't have to go to that kind of effort guys, you could just read the blog. But seriously, come visit please. All of you.

Athens was the most surprising city we visited. I was not particularly interested in going there, and did not have high expectations. Turns out, it's a super cool city with a lot more going on than I anticipated. The people were so friendly and there was much more to it than just ticking off the standard tourist spots. The New Acropolis Museum is the second best museum I've ever visited and really fleshed out what we had seen at the Acropolis. And the pork souvas are really really good.

We had signed up for Workaway while we were in Turkey, a website that is kind of like WWOOFing but with a much broader range of tasks and not necessarily geared towards farming/organics. Our aim was to spend a few weeks on a Greek island experiencing life as the locals live it. We ended up at a villa on Skopelos (famous/not famous for the movie Mamma Mia being filmed there) staying with a British couple in their late sixties. This stay differed greatly from the WWOOFing we had done previously as our main task was to repaint the pergola. Once that was done we were mostly doing bits and pieces around the house, helping with cleaning etc. It was not difficult work but nor was it interesting in the way it had been when we were working on farms. We didn't learn any new skills the whole time we were there (except how to polish silver, you can imagine how often I'll use that in my daily life) and we certainly missed the feeling of hands in dirt. Hopefully in the future I will be sharing many more stories about the fabulous farms and plots we find ourselves on.

What we did learn however, was a lot about Greek culture. Skopelos is a tiny island in the Sporades, population of about 4000 and no real export or industry to speak of. They are renowned for their plums (I can attest that they are delicious) and their fucking amazing cheese pie. The people were lovely and friendly and happy but a lot of them are really struggling to make ends meet, and have been greatly affected by the austerity measures. On our second night in Skopelos we were lucky enough to view a film made by an English director who has a home on the island, focusing on the unfair way that the Greek people have been treated and drawing parallels between history and what is occurring now. It was very eye opening and made much more sense by the time we were leaving and really understood what was happening in Greece. It's incredibly sad, but the people are very resilient (perhaps too resilient) and life seemed to go on as usual, even after Tsiporas was voted back into power.

The first ten days on the island were sunny, warm and perfect for tanning. We spent time by the pool, swam at a couple of local beaches (Dave was lucky/unlucky enough to see a couple having sex in one of the coves, obviously thinking that they were very well hidden!), we sunbaked, we read, we walked, we paddle boarded, we relaxed and we acclimatised to island life - slow down. We definitely needed this after the constant go go go of our last three months. On our second day at the villa our host Neil was showing me how to clean the pool and he said the most important thing was to 'just take your time doing it. There's really no point in rushing anything'. This was island life.

Our run of luck had to break though, and break it did with two days of constant rain and some of the most severe thunderstorms I have ever experienced. The thunder and lightning were terrifying. We were very lucky that the part of the island we were staying on was spared the brunt of the damage, but the main street in the main town was pretty much destroyed, with shopfronts and cars completely washed away in flash flooding. 286mm of rain fell in 24 hours. The island was not prepared for a disaster like this (they don't even have a police station) so a state of emergency was declared and the army called in to assist. We lost power in the storm, and the water was off for two days afterwards but this was very lucky in comparison to those who lost their entire livelihoods. Many people don't have insurance or the money to rebuild so it will be interesting to see what happens long term. A disaster fund has been set up and hopefully the funds will be distributed correctly. This was an odd few days in our time on Skopelos, as by the time we left it was back to clear blue skies, sunshine and the most magnificent sunsets we had ever seen. All considered it was a very interesting time and certainly not your regular tourist experience.

Unfortunately, what we had considered to be a positive and enjoyable experience was punctuated a few days after we left with a long, unfairly negative review from our hosts. This felt like a complete kick in the guts and was incredibly upsetting, especially as they had not given any indication that they were unhappy with us while we were there. Sidebar: everybody knows that shit happens when you travel. There's funny shit (like Dave leaving his bankcard in a Turkish ATM) that's stressful at the time but will eventually become a funny story that you will laugh about. But there's also shit shit, like when you feel you've been unfairly treated and been set up to fail in your future endeavours with a review so bad that nobody would consider hosting you again. The funny shit is great, it makes for enjoyable reading and fun writing. The shit shit is awful. It makes me feel sick thinking about it and I need to stop dwelling on it and continue carrying the negative energy around. I have avoided sharing those kind of stories here for that reason. I won't go into further details about what happened but it certainly makes it hard to look back on the Workaway experience with fondness. Rather, we will treat it as a big learning curve and hopefully be able to seek out more authentic people in future, whose ideals and principles are more in line with ours.

But onwards and upwards, and Athens was calling our name again. First port of call (after a pork souva and a craft beer of course) was the Brazilian embassy where we had an appointment to beg them to process a rush visa for us so that we could board a plane to Rio in three days. We really dropped the ball on this one - we assumed it was a simple e-visa process like virtually every other country we are travelling to. Wrong. It's a full blown visa that requires you to send your passport plus all your supporting documentation to the embassy two months before you travel. Whoops. We called the embassy several times before we got someone on the phone who would agree that if we made an appointment and had all of our papers and photos with us, and all our information was correct then they could process the visa in 4 hours. You could tell they weren't thrilled about doing it but we got the stamp of approval and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Dave's replacement bank card had also made its way safely to our hostel in Athens after mysteriously not turning up in Istanbul. Everything was coming up Dave and Mel in Athens!

The rest of our time here was spent predominantly eating, drinking and making sure we were organised for South America. We managed to squeeze in a museum visit while we were waiting on our visas but other than that it was virtually free of tourist sights. We were staying in Monastiraki which is a pretty cool part of town, with a lot of bars and cafes and we were more than happy to hop from one place to the next each night.

One place we did spend a lot of time however, was the sports bar. The AFL grand final was on and there was no way Dave was going to miss out on watching it. Luckily there was a place in Athens showing it, and they advised us to get there early because it would be busy. It wasn't. We were the first ones there at 6:15am and I was absolutely cursing Dave for his eagerness. A couple of coffees and some bacon later and things were looking up. There was even a small crowd forming (those who were smart enough to sleep in). We were seated next to a table of women who were probably the most fanatical West Coast supporters I've ever seen. It turns out that they were the mother, aunt, cousin etc of a guy who was actually playing in the grand final. Well, this guy kicked a goal and the entire bar just erupted. Obviously she was disappointed at the result of the game, but shit, her son kicked a goal in a grand final. That's pretty special. It was really nice to feel part of a little Aussie community for a couple of hours and we met some lovely people. So lovely in fact that we decided to go back to the hostel and sleep off the early morning beers, then regroup for round 2 at the sports bar that night - Australia v England in the rugby World Cup. This was a different kettle of fish altogether. The place was jam packed when we got there, and predictably full of poms. Most of them were also lovely, and gracious in defeat (they all just said they would switch to supporting Wales now). 

That was a very big day and we greeted Sunday with very big hangovers. Our flight wasn't until late so we had to check out of the hostel and awkwardly hang around passing the time, trying not to vomit, trying not to sleep on the street etc. I'm sure you've all been there.

We were really quite sad to leave Europe, it had been a long, hot (sometimes unbearably so), enjoyable summer and we had met a bunch of amazing people and seen some beautiful places. Europe was like a familiar friend to us and heading to South America which was the complete unknown was a little bit nerve racking but also incredibly exciting. We are currently in Rio and I can confirm it is nowhere near as dangerous as the papers would have you believe. BUT I will keep all of that for the next blog. Until then, be nice to each other and wear sunscreen! Especially all you tarts at the races. Seriously, even if it's cloudy. Trust me.

Eu amo todos vocês. x

The rain in Spain falls... occasionally

G'day folks, and thanks for checking in. I can't think of anything funny to say because successive overnight bus trips have temporarily stolen my wit and ability to form coherent sentences. Don't worry, the post itself was written in chirpier times so it's as funny as you would have come to expect from me by now i.e. less funny than Chris Farley in a little coat but more funny than everything Wil Anderson has ever said. If you're a Wil Anderson fan stop reading now, there's nothing here for you. Everyone else, enjoy!

Granada was our next stop after Morocco, and I can tell you that we were pretty keen to drink some beer and eat some of the world's best jamón after two weeks off. The travel was of course long and tedious and we arrived in Granada exhausted and smelly. To make matters worse we struggled to find our Airbnb location and really needed to find somewhere with wifi so we could load our maps and messages properly. Once we were in the general area of the house we found a bunch of cafes, which we approached in turn asking 'tiene wifi?' to be met with 'no' after 'no'. Nobody in Granada has wifi guys, take note. Finally we found somewhere, sat down, ordered a lemonade each and got the password. Not two minutes later the waitress returns with a plate of these tuna rolls, explaining that tapas are FREE with every drink in Granada. I seriously could have kissed her. Well, long story short, we found the house, showered and set off to drink and eat our way across the city - for free! Free tapas does not mean poor quality tapas, as we ate some of the best food on our whole trip in Granada, our favourite being from (ahem) a super hipster record store/bar called Loop. You can take the couple out of Melbourne etc..

During the daytime we kept ourselves occupied with exploring the city, visiting Spain's oldest hamman (remarkably well preserved), wandering the streets of the old town Albaicín, checking out the local street art, drinking spring water from the fountains in the street and trying to keep cool, and for me, dealing with some unpleasant side effects of the ice (the frozen water, not the highly addictive drug) I had in my very last beverage in Morocco. Yes, two weeks of being super careful with our food and drink and then on the last day I forgot myself and accepted a drink with ice in it. Always a mistake.

The free walking tour we took in Granada was one of the better ones we've ever been on, our guide knew a shitload of interesting stories about the history of the city, and Granada certainly has a more interesting history than a lot of other cities. She also pointed out the best place to buy piononos, this amazing cake originally made for, and named after Pope Pius XI. It is a close second to pasteis de nata for our favourite cake SO FAR. Don't worry, we still have 14 more months of cake eating to do, I will keep you posted on all the developments in this very important contest.

Obviously no trip to Granada is complete without a visit to the Alhambra. We splurged on a guided tour AKA forgot to book our tickets in advance and only the expensive guided ones were still available. But, every cloud has a silver lining, and our silver lining was Alberto, the best tour guide you could ever want. He had fabulous hair, was rocking lime green pants, and he dropped a David Bowie reference on us in the first five minutes - does it get any better than that? Well, yes it does. He is probably the only person I have met who hates selfie sticks more than I do, and he was not backwards in making his feelings known to the people in our group yelling 'selfie time is over!' when he wanted us to move on to the next part of the tour. He also clearly loved the Alhambra. He was born and raised in Granada so he felt a great sense of pride in it. If you have ever seen pictures of the Alhambra I'm sure you would wonder why. I wondered why too when I first saw it. It's a pretty boring (dare I say ugly?) building. From the outside. See, this is the thing about Arab architecture, and something we also saw a lot of in Morocco. They never spend money making the facade of your house beautiful and luxurious. For them, beauty is something that you keep on the inside, for your family and your guests, not to have a very ostentatious outward appearance that shows off how much money you have, and could embarrass your neighbours. In Morocco you could not tell who was rich and who was poor until you saw inside their houses. Even the hostels and riads, which were gorgeous inside, have no outward facing windows. All the rooms are built around a central roofless courtyard, which lets in light and air. It is a really nice idea, and stunning from the inside. As was the Alhambra. My initial judgment was thrown out as we were led through beautifully landscaped gardens, into gorgeous courtyards, and amazing bedrooms, all the while with Alberto explaining the history of this fascinating building. Definitely a highlight of the trip so far. It also managed to rain while we were inside, for the first time in 69 days of travel. It was a very welcome sight, as we had been struggling with the constant dry heat for weeks. Evidently so had the streets of the European cities, with their complete lack of public sanitation. To quote Dave in Bordeaux 'the whole of Europe smells of piss'. I think it would need to rain consistently for a week to sort that out, but one afternoon of rain was a good start.

We had a small emergency in Granada, where there was a problem either with all the ATMs or with our bank cards and we could not withdraw any money for hours. We were down to our last €10 in cash, so we did what any sensible people would do - we went and spent it on beer. Thankfully, whatever the issue was was rectified and we were able to withdraw more cash and buy more beer. Phew.

Our next Spanish stop was Valencia. We arrived late on Sunday evening, after travelling on a bus all day, and our (super awesome) host Nini had told us to meet him at his work. His workplace turned out to be a bar with Fosters (!) on tap, and when we arrived he was drinking beer and chatting with people. This 'work' it turned out, is actually his hobby - a language exchange program connecting people of different backgrounds to help develop their English, Spanish, German, French or whatever it is they want to learn. We grabbed a beer (Estrella, in case you're wondering. We did not touch the Fosters.) and joined in the fun. We did try to sharpen up our Spanish skills, but mostly we just used it as a great way to meet interesting people. Everybody was happy to have a chat and meet the 'Aussies' (Nini had made us like mini celebrities in Valencia. He himself is a celebrity in Valencia and the fame by association was good for us). We made friends with Americans, Spaniards, Brits, and a whole bunch of others and they were all so lovely. Except for one guy. This guy was obsessed with the crocodile hunter, and once he found out we were Australian it was all he wanted to talk about. I'm not joking, he gave me a blow by blow of how Steve Irwin died, as if I was not aware. He also wanted to discuss with me how sad Steve's widow Terri must still be every time she thinks about it. I say 'me' because by this stage Dave had slowly moved his chair away from the table until he was far enough away to be completely out of the conversation and just abandoned me as I listened to tales of Steve Irwin for 15 minutes. He's a great bloke that Dave. 

Language Exchange took up three of the four nights we spent in Valencia so on our last night we thought it was high time to take ourselves out for a traditional paella. Paella actually comes from Valencia and in their traditional version meat and seafood are never mixed together. The Valencian paella we ordered contained chicken and rabbit and it was really delicious. But I still reckon, traditional or not, you can't go wrong with a bit of chorizo and some prawns. Yes, I prefer the bastardised Aussie paella over the authentic one. I never said I was a paragon of culture!

You might recall that we have swam a couple of times in the ocean and found the water just a little bit too nippy, and we were keenly awaiting arriving at and swimming in the Mediterranean. Well we got our chance in Valencia, trotting off to the beach on a typically hot day. We ran into the water, and holy shit, it was like being in a giant salty bath. I'm not kidding, that water was so warm it was not even remotely refreshing. We stayed in for 10 awkward minutes before agreeing that it was just too weird. And yes, I understand we are never happy, but dammit I'm Goldilocks and I just want to swim at a beach where the water is 'just right'.

Barcelona was the next port of call, and we were keen to make up for our trip here in 2011 where we pretty much only saw the inside of the train station and the beach (don't ask). We were staying with Pablo in a great location, only problem was we couldn't find it - this is becoming a familiar tale. We hit up KFC AKA The Dirty Bird for some free wifi and 10 minutes later Pablo was there to show us the way. We were located just off Placa Reial which is a very busy and noisy square, not a place to stay if you really want to sleep, but it was a lot of fun. Especially staying with Pablo. He bought us beer and 5 litres of water to welcome us, and proceeded to give us a very graphic demonstration of how sick we would be if we were not careful with our food hygiene in Turkey. Very fun guy. 

Day one was dedicated to seeing the one thing that we were devastated to miss out on last time - Sagrada Familia. Definitely worth the wait, it is an absolute work of art, inside and out. It rivals Palace of Versailles as the most beautiful man-made thing we have ever seen and no matter what your religious beliefs you cannot help but be amazed by the story Gaudi is trying to tell with this building. The thing that impressed me the most was that this was a project he undertook with 100% certainty that he would never see it finished, yet with 100% faith that the works would continue after his death and would be faithful to the original concept he designed. 

After Sagrada Familia we decided to chase down some more Gaudi masterpieces, and followed the trail of them back to La Rambla. It was very interesting to see the casas he designed, but also to see how much the surrounding architecture had been obviously inspired by his legacy. There are some gorgeous buildings in Barcelona, with windows to die for. If I win tattslotto I know exactly where I'm buying my holiday home.

One fantastic thing that we did in Barcelona, and that I encourage everybody to do if it's available in a city you're travelling to was Eat With. Eat With is another creation of the new 'sharing economy' we find ourselves in, like Blablacar and Airbnb. The concept is simple, you go to somebody's house and they cook dinner for you. There's a bit more to it than that, the 'chefs' go through a pretty rigorous screening process to ensure that the diners are going to get an experience worthy of what they have paid, but essentially it's a delicious meal cooked by strangers. We were lucky enough to book in for a Saturday night dinner at Alberto and Ella's house in the next neighbourhood. Alberto is Italian and Ella is from Melbourne and they met and fell in love at an Eat With dinner a few years ago and now they host guests together in their apartment. Seriously, stop it. It's like the best rom-com plot ever. This was actually one of our favourite nights of the whole trip. The food was incredible - we would have paid much more for the same quality in a restaurant. Alberto and Ella were lovely, and we also met a whole bunch of great people. There were 12 guests that night, and we all sat together, chatted, ate our four courses, and drank Spanish wine. We spent a lot of time talking with a couple from Britain who were travelling with their four children, and a young couple from Melbourne who are now living in Rotterdam. It was just a great way to spend a night and so much more enjoyable than going to a restaurant and getting a table for two (no offence to Dave, but we have eaten a LOT of meals just the two of us in the last few months). I loved it, and if you ever get the chance to do it you definitely should.

Alberto and Ella also gave us the inside tip that we needed to hit up Festival de Gracia which was happening at exactly the time we were in Barcelona. This is a super fun street party, mainly for residents but they very kindly allow tourists to join in the festivities. So the very next night we decided to see what it was all about. It was amazing. Entire streets are closed off for days and decorated in a theme (Flinstones, Japan, anti Nuclear power, children's birthday party [this street somehow ALWAYS smelt like lollies, it was the best]), stages are set up in various squares, EVERYWHERE is selling cheap beer, and the people are all in high spirits. We took it all in and then camped out at the folk stage, where a fabulous six-piece Spanish folk bank absolutely owned the night. The band included my favourite instrument, the double bass, and I drunkenly proclaimed that I was going to learn it when I get home. Watch this space. Don't watch it actually, I can't handle that sort of pressure. But if you see me in 5 years busking with my double bass in Bourke Street Mall PLEASE throw me a gold coin or higher.

Guell Park was another highlight, another Gaudi masterpiece (and clearly Tim Burton's inspiration for a whole bunch a movies) that we happily viewed in the rain. Oh yeah, it rained again you guys. Actually, Barcelona's weather was the BEST! Consistently under 30 degrees, I even had cause to wear pants one day. PANTS! I had been seriously considering ditching them as they had been collecting dust in my backpack for 8 weeks. I had forgotten what it was like to walk 100 metres without sweating profusely, to sleep under a sheet (spoiler alert: in the future I sleep under a DOONA again), to dry myself after a shower and remain dry for more than 5 minutes, and to actively choose to sit somewhere that isn't located in full shade. In short, I really appreciated the weather in Barcelona.

Of course, a city like Barcelona always throws up good times. Like the rival €1 tapas bars we found across the street from each other and ate at both of them just to encourage competition. Or the American guy on a shocking comedown who announced to his (completely unaware) girlfriend in the queue for felafels that he had decided he was never leaving and was going to live in Barcelona. Or a lazy Sunday lunch spent at Le Quinze Nits watching the shenanigans of Placa Reial unfold. Or heading to the local Irish pub to watch Barcelona get thumped in the soccer (they call it football over there, weird huh?) and then seeing everyone still wearing their Barcelona jerseys the next day, proud as ever. 

One not so good time I have to include is the Magic Fountain of Barcelona. Apparently this fountain display is fucking amazing. You have to see it to believe it. I say apparently because we missed it. Twice. Friday night we rolled in at 12:20am ready to be delighted by it, only to hear that it gets turned off at 12am. No worries, we have three more nights here we think, let's find a rooftop bar instead and check it out another night. Saturday we are at our Eat With dinner. Sunday we are at Festival de Gracia. Monday we roll in for the 9pm display, the first of the evening because we want to watch the soccer afterwards. No 9pm show takes place. It's cool we say, they mustn't have thought it was dark enough. We wait for the 9:30pm show. It doesn't happen either. We really have to leave now, we have a date with sport and beer. On our way out we notice a sign saying that the show occurs from Thursday to Sunday. It doesn't even fucking happen on Monday. We have wasted 40 minutes watching a completely still fountain, fending off beer sellers and selfie stick toters for nothing! I did get to pat a dog though, so it wasn't a complete waste of time. Not just any random dog either, he was carrying his own lead in his mouth. Actually what am I saying? Patting that dog has gotta be a top 5 highlight of all of Barcelona. Ignore the previous paragraph. I patted a really well trained dog. It was awesome.

And that's all she wrote. Spain was amazing in every way and we were super sad to leave. But there's still so much more of the world to see and so much more cake to be eaten!

Oh wait, can someone please confirm wether or not Joe Hockey picked up a cake and threw it at a woman in parliament? I'm pretty sure Dave just dreamed it, but stranger things have happened! Love to everyone, be good. xox

Musing on Morocco

Hola amigos! I'm trying to use my 9.5 hour bus ride somewhat productively (other than just eating a kilo of pick and mix lollies) by churning out another blog post for all my eager fans. That's you, by the way and I do appreciate you reading my incessant ramblings. 

So, Africa huh? That's a whole other continent, hey. Visiting Morocco was a very interesting experience for me, it definitely had its ups and downs but in the end I'm really glad I went, not just for Morocco itself but also because I think it was fantastic preparation for some of the things we will encounter in South America. To put it in the wankiest way possible, I feel like it made me a more savvy traveller.

Firstly, the travel talk. We caught a ferry over from Tarifa in the south of Spain and in a little over an hour we were in Tangier in the north of Africa. Of course there's a lot more to it than that, it was probably the most hellish travel day of my life and really tested my patience, my fledgling Spanish, and my faith in public transport. But long story short, we made it to Tangier. We caught an overpriced taxi from the port to the medina and were shown to our hostel by a helpful local kid who then demanded 2 euros from us. This is a pretty regulation arrival in Tangier.

Tangier in the 1930s - early 1960s was a very different place than it is now. Under international rule at the time, it had very relaxed laws towards homosexuality and drugs, both of which were incredibly taboo in the rest of the world. For this reason it attracted a plethora of artists, musicians and writers from the western world who were seduced by the lax regulations and inspired by the natural beauty of the place. To see it today, it is very hard to imagine the debauchery that was rife only 60 years ago. Nightclubs and bars have been replaced with male-only cafes and carpet sellers. Despite the hostel owner telling me I didn't really need to 'cover up' in Tangier because it's so 'chilled' I still copped a fair amount of staring when I ventured out on our first day in a loose knee-length dress and long sleeved shirt. I quickly bought some harem pants in an attempt to 'fit in'.

Our time in Tangier was spent mostly exploring the medina, which is an unmappable maze of streets in the old town, full of shops, cafes and people trying to 'help' you AKA do whatever they can to get money out of you. We also took a day trip out to Asilah, which is a beautiful seaside town painted completely white and then given over to local artists to paint whatever they want using the towns walls as their canvas. They repaint and update the artwork regularly so it will be different every time you visit. It was a very cool place. We also spent a bit of time on the hostel's rooftop terrace where we could escape the hustle and bustle of the medina, eat pastries and hang out with other travellers. The terrace had amazing views of the medina and the beach, and was in the best location to hear the calls to prayer from all the surrounding mosques.

Our next stop was the incredible Chefchaouen (I can actually spell that without having to look it up now), commonly referred to as the Blue City. The entire medina is painted in various shades of blue - walls, floors, staircases, doors, EVERYTHING, even the pet dogs. I'm kidding guys, Moroccans do not have pets. It was beyond stunning, you really need to see it to believe it and I strongly encourage everyone to visit Chefchaouen. It's a much more relaxed city, the people are friendly, the hawkers are much less aggressive and it's at the foot of a mountain. Eric Clapton is buying a house there you guys, I'm telling you this city is going to be the next big thing.

Fes was our next destination, a whirlwind visit as we only had one full day. We decided to take the walking tour of the medina from our hostel, as this seemed much easier than tackling it on our own (the medina of Fes has 9,500 streets, incredibly daunting for anyone who hasn't grown up there). Our tour guide Abdul Ali was the best. He introduced himself by saying 'you can call me Abdul Ali, or you can call me Abdul, or you can call me Ali, or you can call me friend... or you can call me whatever you want'. Excellent. Our three hour tour turned into a 5.5 hour tour, as he showed us around, pointed out some amazing buildings, took us to the tanneries, and walked us through the gross part of the market where the live animals were (I accidentally saw a chicken being slaughtered - that wasn't part of the tour). He was also a great talker, very keen to break down any cultural barriers - 'I don't believe in taboos' he said. He explained a lot about Islam and Moroccan culture (and importantly, the difference between the two), gave us a better understanding of the purpose of Ramadan and then showed us a spot to get a delicious and cheap lunch. Top bloke. 

On the walking tour we met a few sydneysiders (most of the Aussies we have met have been from Sydney, and they've all been lovely. Stereotype quashed!) who were keen to head into the desert the next day, so we tacked ourselves on to them and got up at the crack of dawn the following day to start the long drive Sahara bound. Thankfully we had been given a people mover with great aircon so it was a relatively comfortable journey. A few stops along the way at the monkey forest, the high atlas and an incredible river gorge (totally understand the meaning of the term 'desert oasis' now) and we finally arrived at the Sahara just in time to mount our camels for a lovely ride through the sunset. Well, I assume there was a sunset, it was very overcast and there was a storm rolling in. Still, we powered on with our camels (I named mine Mereen. She was lovely) and our Berber guide, getting to camp in time to bust out some sandboarding before dinner and get caught in a small desert storm, before sleeping out under the stars (on mattresses that we later found out were likely to be riddled with bedbugs). It was a pretty amazing experience.

A sunrise camel ride, and another long day's drive later, we arrived in Marrakech. Marrakech is probably the most entry level of all the Moroccan cities we visited. The shops in the souks are very much aimed towards tourists, pretty much every restaurant has a menu in English, and city life is not focused around the medina but a massive square called Place Jamma el Fna. This square really is the vibrant heart of the city, with orange juice sellers, nut stalls, ladies doing henna, fortune tellers, restaurants, dancers, as well as things I would have preferred not to see - snake charmers (cruel, and frankly very underwhelming) and monkeys on chains (just awful). Our hostel in Marrakech was ridiculous, like a tiny palace for backpackers. We spent a lot of time in the pool, laying by the pool, talking to people around the pool, venturing out daily to explore and eat. Ate camel for the first time (sorry Mereen) and it was delicious. A very sweet meat. 

Now, for my thoughts. Stop reading now if you're prone to falling asleep easily. I found Morocco to be a very difficult country. I don't know what I was expecting, but I think subconsciously I just assumed it would be similar to Cambodia. It is not. It's incredibly difficult to have a genuine interaction with a Moroccan person. Everybody who speaks to you wants something from you, generally your money. They see a westerner and they see dollar signs. It became increasingly frustrating to be offered 'assistance' to find somewhere and then be taking to a completely different place. Or to have people flat out lie to us in order to get us to come into their shop. It's not in mine or Dave's nature to assume that people are inherently bad, but it became much easier to dismiss people straight off the bat before they had a chance to scam you. And then of course, they got offended, claiming that they weren't like that etc etc. In our worst interaction we were 'helped' across the road by a guy in Tangier who then started chatting to us and told us he knew a great place for dinner, with great views and a really cheap menu. We were very hesitant, said we could find our own dinner but he insisted, saying that he didn't want anything from us, he hates that other Moroccans try and scam westerners and he just wanted us to eat at the best place he knows. So we finally agreed to go along with him after he spent 10 minutes assuring us that it was all above board. Our suspicions were raised as we started following him deeper and deeper into the medina, and the cost of this 'cheap meal' somehow crept up from 50 dirhams each (about €5) to 100 dirhams each. We eventually reached our destination, surprise surprise it was a carpet shop. We turned to leave but he says no, no, the restaurant is up the top. We meet the owner, he takes us upstairs. With each flight of stairs it feels more and more wrong. Once at the top we see the 'restaurant' - it's the rooftop terrace of his home. Sure does have a great view though. Sit down, they tell us. Special menu tonight for you, 150 dirhams each. We have been had in the most comprehensive way. It takes us 10 minutes to convince them to let us leave, that we don't want to eat here, we don't feel comfortable and it's too expensive. Once we're finally back down on the street our 'friend' is very angry with us, presumably because he's just missed out on his cut from what we would have paid the owner. He even tries to convince us to go with him to ANOTHER restaurant. We are done, we refuse to go with him and give him 10 dirhams as thanks for the 'pleasure of being scammed by you'. This is a genuine expectation, that you will pay them even though they wasted your time and tried to rip you off. He looks at the coin in disgust telling us it is not enough, he can't even buy a litre of milk with that. Same guy who 'wanted nothing from us' and 'hates the reputation that Moroccans have'. Unfortunately, for us and for the people of Morocco, this was the last time we trusted a word anybody said. It was day three of our visit.

For this reason, everything in Morocco takes longer than you think it will. Want to go to the patisserie 100 metres from the hostel and buy a couple of millefueille? That will take at least 10 minutes, as you fend off men offering drugs, shoo away kids offering to 'show you the way', get stuck behind a donkey carrying soft drinks, or make way for a game of soccer in the narrow streets of the medina (which Dave always tried to join in). If you need to catch a taxi, give yourself an extra twenty minutes to barter with several drivers until you get down to what you think is a 'good price'. It will still be three times as expensive than if they turned the meter on (they won't) but if it's less than half of what they originally quoted you'll feel like you've had a win. You haven't, they know how to play this game much better than you ever will. It's not unusual to spend an hour in a shop, haggling over the price of something. Moroccans are very patient people, they will literally just wait you out. So be prepared to go home empty handed unless you're in it for the long haul.

I also struggled with the expectation of modesty from women. I dressed in a way that I considered to be conservative, long pants and a t shirt most days which was difficult considering that the temperature hovered around 40 degrees the entire time. I still received plenty of judgemental eyes, most often from other women. This I really struggled with, as I respect any woman's right to dress however she chooses (I'm not going to get into a discussion around women being forced to cover themselves, that's a completely separate issue). If a woman chooses to wear revealing clothes it does not make her a 'slut' or deserving of sexual harassment, conversely, if a woman chooses to cover herself it does not mean that she is oppressed. We cannot judge based solely on clothing choices. However, it was obvious to me that I was not receiving the same respect from some women (and men) based on how I chose to dress. I believe this is due to a difference in education and opportunities to experience different cultures, not because these women are bad people. I wish I had more opportunities to interact with the local women to better understand them, however it was very difficult as nearly everybody who speaks to you, whether it be approaching you on the street or serving you at a cafe or shop is male.

One afternoon Dave and I went to the beach in Tangier, where I was one of a handful of women wearing a bikini (most women swam in long pants and shirts or not at all). I made a shocking faux pas, one that still makes me cringe every time I think about it. Dave had gone in for a swim and I was sunbathing, minding our stuff. He came back and told me to go in but I didn't feel comfortable going on my own. We were discussing whether or not it would be safe to leave our bag and that maybe we could ask somebody to mind it, when the woman next to us babysitting a horde of children, who had obviously figured out what we were talking about offered to keep an eye on it. She spoke in Arabic so we didn't understand her words, but it was clear from her gestures what she was suggesting. It was really nice of her and I said thanks in French and Spanish (they speak a thousand languages in Morocco, you really need to hedge your bets). But I also gave her a little bow. I was trying to show my gratitude without language, so instinctively I bowed. 

I bowed.

To a woman wearing a hijab. 

While I was wearing a bikini. 

I am the worst.

Later while Dave and I were swimming, I got caught under a wave and as I swam up and found my feet a local guy accidentally brushed past my arm. Both of our faults as neither of us were looking where we were going. So I said to him 'pardon'. He also said 'pardon'. But not to me. To Dave. As if he were apologising for touching something that belonged to Dave. I'm sure it was done out of respect for me, but it sat really uneasily with me. 

I wish this wasn't sounding so negative, because we did notice some really nice aspects of Moroccan culture. It was not unusual to see several sets of parents looking after a whole bunch of kids and it was not obvious which children belonged to which parents, they were all treated equally. Older siblings were also very active in the care of their younger brothers and sisters in a way that you don't often see at home. The saying 'it takes a village to raise a child' was very evident in Morocco where the care of children appeared to be shared by the community. The kids are also the cutest of any country I've been to so far. If stealing babies were not frowned upon I would have come home with dozens.

We also had a really nice experience in Tangier, where two rival restaurants next door to each other were vying for our business. We chose one of them to eat at but felt bad for the other one and promised to come back tomorrow and eat there. They were very skeptical (I'm sure people say this all the time) but when we returned the next day they were so happy. Dave was even welcomed with a salute from one of the waiters who appreciated him keeping his word. They looked after us really well that night and from then on they would greet us and chat to us every time we walked past. 

I guess the overwhelming feeling I had when leaving Morocco was one of exhaustion. It is an exhausting place to visit. Constantly fending people off, haggling for ages over the price of something, not knowing whether to trust what people say, this makes for a very tiring time. On our last day as we were waiting to board the ferry back to Spain a man came up to us and told us we needed to go in a particular direction for boarding. He also had a bunch of yellow customs forms with him and offered us one each. We lied and said we already had them, and then double checked his directions with someone else. In all reality he probably worked for the port. But our immediate suspicion was that he was sending us to the wrong spot and that he was going to ask us for money if we took the forms from him. Two weeks in Morocco had made us very jaded.

Would I recommend that you visit Morocco? If you have ever though that you would like to, then you absolutely should. It's definitely a place that you should experience for yourself before making any judgement. It's also probably a country that becomes much easier over time, as all the people we met who had been there for a month or more had only positive things to say about it. Would I go back? Yes. But I would chose to spend more time on the south west coast in more relaxed towns, rather than the bustling cities. As with anywhere, once the pace of life slows down people seem to be friendlier and more welcoming. This is the side of Morocco I would love to see.

Well I think I've prattled on for long enough, and the beach is calling my name so I will leave it at that. Take care and maybe hi five a stranger today. People love that. xox