Feel the burn.

Today for lunch I had a vegetarian hotdog (don’t make fun) with all the typical things we in the U.S. put on our hotdogs: mustard, neon green relish (why is it that color?), tomato, pickle (in addition to the relish which is, theoretically, made out of pickles), and-- because I am in Texas-- hot peppers. They weren’t chopped hot peppers or sliced hot peppers. They were just two, cute little hot peppers, sitting on top of the dog. But their cuteness was deceiving. They were pretty hot. 

Hot peppers have grown in popularity in the U.S. in the past few years. Salsa is supposedly the most popular condiment in the country now, overtaking the long-reigning champion, ketchup (or catsup). The level of hotness of said peppers depends a lot on where you are in the country. “Hot Salsa” way up north can actually be very mild. It can taste like tomatoes with some other stuff thrown in there. But “mild salsa” in Texas can sometimes still burn the paint off the side of a barn. It just depends.

People often associate this spiciness with Mexican food. And they should. Because they’ve got some hot shit down there. But I like hot and have a pretty high tolerance. Not as high as someone in Mexico who eats hot peppers like breath mints. Not as high as my brother who has lived in Texas for a very long time. But a decent level. I spent a Christmas in Mexico several years ago. And as a vegetarian (with nary a veggie-dog in sight), I often ate cheese enchiladas. Fantastic cheese enchiladas. Like here in Texas, I could choose from different sauces to put on top of the enchiladas. Whereas here green salsa (salsa verde) is typically pretty mild, in Mexico it has some heat. So much, in fact, that waiters often questioned my order. Once, with my friend Arturo (see blog post about Arturo’s family here) and I encountered such a waiter.

“But it’s hot, Miss.”

-- Yes, I know. That’s okay. I want the salsa verde.

As if he had not understood a word of my Spanish he responded,

“But it’s hot, Miss.”

 --- Um, I know. Don’t worry. I like it.

And then he looked at my friend as if to say, “Help me out here, amigo. This gringa is trying to order the hottest sauce and she doesn’t seem to understand the pain that is about to rain down upon her delicate güera constitution.”

And Arturo said, “Don’t worry. She knows.”

So salsa verde is what I got. It was hot, don’t get me wrong. I could feel sweat beading up on my upper lip and under my eyes. But I can take it, mi hijo. Está bien.

One thing to be aware of is that sometimes the tiniest of peppers are the most deadly to your tongue. I had two such types of peppers in Guatemala, only because the men of my host family were into spicy food. Everyday, my host “mother” made a little bowl of salsa for her 93-year-old father-in-law (go here to see a photo of Don Rafa). It was made with teeny, tiny green peppers that packed a real punch. If there was any leftover at lunch (yes, he ate it for breakfast), she would let me have it. Loved it!

These are one kind of hot little peppers
I had in Guatemala. If you know what
they're called, let me know in the comments

Another time, for a graduation party, they had tamales. The entire extended family was there and so was a mountain of tamales with various fillings. There were a couple vegetarian choices, and I was enjoying one when I discovered this little, skinny red pepper in the middle of my tamal. I pulled it out, showed it to the family and announced that I was going to try it, positioning the pepper in such a way that implied I was just going to pop the whole thing into my mouth (and I was). In unison, they all yelled, “No, no, no! Poquito, poquito.” So I took a tiny little taste and whoosh, a fire burned a trail down my throat. 

Here I am, learning to make salsa from
my hostess, Miriam. 

Once, I was having a Tex-Mex lunch with my brother at a local chain restaurant in Austin called Serranos. Yes, after the pepper. They put an actual serrano pepper on every plate. It is a larger pepper, not like the little devils I had in Guatemala. So I thought it was more like a jalapeño, which for me is on the mild side. On this day, I asked my brother, “Should I try this?” And he just said, “If you want,” although I noticed he was not eating his serrano pepper. Nevertheless, I took a little bite. Un poquito. But even before I started chewing it, I had to spit it out. It was burning my entire mouth. Even my teeth hurt. My teeth! I ate chips, chips and more chips. The burning continued. And it remained for some time after. I hadn’t even chewed or swallowed any of that pepper! Can you imagine if I had? 

¡Ay chihuahua!

I don’t know how you feel about spicy food or hot food or salsa picante. I have a friend who cannot take it at all. She hates it. I think it tastes totally different to her taste buds than it does to mine. Because even if it burns a bit, I like it. In any case, when you are traveling to other lands, you may be surprised that there are things much, much hotter than the Fire sauce packets at Taco Bell. Have fun and try as much as you can handle. But beware that you may be biting off more than you can chew.

Happy Holidays to all of you! See you in 2013!  

Relax!

When did we women in the U.S. become so busy that we need to have someone else do our nails? I don’t know when this happened, but now there are nail salons everywhere and there are women who go regularly. Yes, it’s true, things are very busy and hectic in this country. We do not relax as much as we should. We do not take enough time off from work. We have very few vacation days and some people don’t ever even use them (what is that all about?). Maybe this manicure/pedicure thing is a little vacation.

Maybe spas are as well. They are also everywhere these days. Beauty salons have them. Hotels have them. Casinos have them. They are a great way to get some pampering. There is nothing like a massage to work out all that stress. Mud baths and body wraps supposedly do wonders. And facials are a luxury for some (although I personally hate it when anyone touches my face, especially constantly and continually with greasy hands over several minutes. No thanks.)

When I was in Ecuador, I took a weekend trip to the town of Baños with some friends from my Spanish school. Baños is a town with many hot spring and steam sources (hence the name, which means “Baths”). Our hotel had “hot baths” on the top floor. Now this was no fancy, schmancy hotel. It was inexpensive and simple. And the hot bath was very economical, even for us students.

My friend Naomi and I went up to the top of the hotel in our bathing suits. We each got inside a box, where we sat down, our bodies enclosed, and our heads sticking out of the top. (Wasn’t there an old cartoon where someone got into a steam box one size and came out much, much smaller?)

Then the steam was upon us. It was hot. Really, really hot. When it got so hot we thought we were going to melt into a puddle, attendants opened the box and had us get out. We stepped a few feet in front of the boxes and they ladled cool water all over us, using downward hand motions (to guide out the toxins perhaps). Then we got back in the box for another steamy, hot experience. This cycle happened about three times. After the final steam, we were guided outside to the roof terrace, where other guests were relaxing after their baths. We were told to stand by a wall and then they hosed us down with more cool water. My friend screamed. I contemplated the daily routines of women’s prisons. Then we were done.

And this is what we got out of it: baby soft skin. I mean super soft. My skin had never been so silky smooth. It was also very relaxing despite all the hot, cold, hot, cold business.

This experience inspired me to seek out something different than a usual spa when I traveled to San Francisco with some girlfriends a few years ago. I knew there was a strong Asian influence in the Bay Area and I wanted to do something cultural, not just eat some great Asian food. I was initially thinking some kind of acupuncture or something similar in China Town. But then a male friend who lives in SF suggested a Korean spa some of his female friends had been to and recommended. So we made reservations for massages.

Included in our massage price was access to a steam room, sauna, hot tub, and showers. This was a “women only” spa, so although we each had terry cloth bathrobes to use, we could just walk around naked. Because that's what people do. 

Then the massage ladies called us upstairs. We were led into a room with what I can only describe as stainless steel tables covered with large plastic sheets. It looked like a place where autopsies were performed. There were another two guests on two of the tables (alive thankfully, but in the same room). The massage ladies told us to take off our robes and lie down. This is when my friend Susan whispered to me, “I’m going to kill you.”

So, there we were, naked, lying face down on plastic sheets and metal gurneys. Horrible, right? Wrong. These women began pouring warm water all over us. Not too hot, but warm enough to feel great. Water was flying everywhere, which explained the plastic sheeting. It also explained why the massage ladies were only wearing their underwear: bras and panties. Any clothing would have been drenched. We later wondered why bathing suits weren’t worn instead. And believe me, these undergarments were worn very modestly. If you know what “granny panties” are, then you get my drift.

Next, wearing some kind of loofah gloves (not sure because I couldn’t see), the massagers started exfoliating the hell out of us. All over our bodies. We were loofah’d in places we didn’t even know could be loofah’d. Then they switched to a regular massage (no loofah gloves), working out the tension we had developed from being naked on plastic covered metal tables in a room full of strangers and being loofah’d within an inch of our lives. Then they switched to warm oil. I don’t recall how long this all went on. It had to have been close to an hour, after which we were lying on our backs, when they rinsed off the oil, massaged our heads, and poured warm milk all over us, including our hair. Then we were rinsed off with more ladled warm water and we were done. Pretty silky smooth after this one, too.

My friend Laurel had been by herself in another room, getting a different treatment because she was pregnant. When she came down to the hot tub, she said in amazement, “That was the best thing that has ever happened to me!”

Yeah. It was pretty awesome. Crazy, but awesome.

As I usually do, I will suggest that when you are traveling, whether in your own country or abroad, try to experience different things than what you are accustomed to at home. Don’t just go to a spa that is like a spa you would find in your own town or city. Try something new. But as always, be cautious. Some “spas” have seedy reputations. Do your homework or get recommendations from people you trust. Check websites for customer feedback. Just like you would at home. But take a chance to try something new. You may end up more relaxed than ever. And softer than a baby’s bottom! 

Leave your heart behind, but not your meds.

When you are planning a trip, especially one overseas, a very important thing to remember is your medication, specifically your prescription medication. If traveling within the United States, forgetting your meds may seem like a really bad thing initially. But if you live in the U.S., all you need to do is have your pharmacy at home contact a pharmacy where you are visiting and you’re all set. No problem.

Not so when in another country. There are some medications you can purchase over-the-counter (without a doctor’s prescription) in pharmacies/farmacias/drug stores/whatever else they may be called in other countries. I have heard of people going to Mexico for cheaper medications for everything from prescription skincare to erectile dysfunction medication. But if you are on a daily, or even weekly, medication for a health condition, you need to be sure that you not only pack it, but that you pack enough for the entire trip. Because if you run out, you are up the proverbial creek without a paddle.

I would also suggest that to avoid any issues with immigration in any country (including your own), keep prescribed medication in the original bottles. It’s probably not a good idea to dump them all in a ziplock plastic bag so you save space in your luggage. I’m all for saving space when packing for travel, but a little baggie full of pills just doesn’t look good, officially speaking.

Unfortunately, I cannot speak to anything beyond pills. If you have diabetes and require insulin injections or have another health condition that requires injections of any kind, then please do your homework, talk to your physician, talk to a travel clinic in your home country, and make sure you do what is necessary to stay healthy during your travels.

In regard to other medications, such as pills, you also need to remember them when you leave your hotel or hostel or guesthouse. You’re thinking, “No duh.” But honestly, sometimes you are in a hurry to catch a bus or another flight and you leave the little things behind. Like pills.

When I was in central Mexico, staying in a simple but charming family-run guesthouse, I became friends with a young Danish couple staying there. They weren’t married, but they often told the older locals that they were so their cohabitation wasn’t frowned upon. The same morning they left for the bus station to continue traveling through the country, I heard a knock on my door. It was the maid. She was an extremely sweet person. Very friendly and she helped me when I suffered from stomach bacteria (see stories about stomach woes here). But this particular morning, she was upset about something. Shaking a small plastic disc in my face she declared, “That couple was using birth control! That is a sin! They are not supposed to use these! I cannot believe it!” And on and on.

My first thought was, “Oh no, they aren’t going to have birth control for the rest of their trip! They are going to freak out!” (My second thought was, "How does the maid know those are birth control pills if she is so against them?" But I digress ...).

I managed to calm the maid down a bit, telling her that sometimes doctors prescribe birth control for health reasons, not just to prevent pregnancy (which is true, of course, even if it wasn’t in this case). Then I said, “Here, let me take care of those for you,” and took the packet as I patted her back and diplomatically nodded my head. I already had plans to go to the bus station that day because I was checking out transportation options for my mother’s upcoming visit. I decided to go earlier to see if I could catch the Danes and save them from possible problems, like, say ... an unplanned pregnancy.

When I got to the bus station, they were happy to see me since we didn’t get to say good-bye that morning. But the woman was even happier when I showed her the pack of pills she left behind and asked, “Did you forget something?” Tough situation avoided. Sinful tourists – 1. Devout maid – 0.

Ladies, I suggest you keep that particular type of “medication” in your makeup bag or something, rather than out on a countertop or table. Not only will you avoid leaving it behind, but you will avoid any potential culture clashes that are simply too difficult to explain in any language. Keep your birth control to yourself, if you know what I mean. Not all locals in more traditional countries hold the same view as the maid I mention, but why risk such drama?

For other types of medication, it is just important to not only bring it along, but to bring enough. You are taking it for a reason. Don’t let forgetting it make your trip memorable for the wrong reasons. 

Let it rain.

It is dry in Central Texas. Very dry. This has been the case for many areas of the U.S. this summer. And last year, too. I have developed a new appreciation for the wet stuff from the sky. A nice, steady rain that soaks in and pitter-patters on the roof would be welcome. I would especially welcome the kind of rain I have experienced in Central America.

I have written about the cold climes of Latin America (see here), and the hot ones as well (here). Many places I have been in Central America have two seasons: rainy and dry (or muddy and dusty as the case may be). The rainy season I experienced in the hot, tropical areas of Costa Rica, Nicaragua and Panama did not include days and days of unending rains. The days were hot, pretty much like the dry season. But typically in the afternoon, it would rain like the dickens for a while. It came down in buckets. Within minutes, the streets were running with water. If you stepped into the street, your shoes would get soaked. Even with an umbrella, you would get drenched. If indoors, the rain battered the rooftops so loudly that you could not have a conversation with anyone.

This is a nice, hard rain I experienced while staying with
a family in Granada, Nicaragua. This is the uncovered
laundry area (notice the pila in the corner) and my room
was to the left, where the floor was covered with water.

On my first trip to Costa Rica, I was with a group. It was during rainy season, so the afternoon rains came after we had completed our work at a house construction site. So much rain came down, that some of the young women in my group ran outside to wash their hair in the downpour.  

There are places in the U.S. where these types of rainstorms happen. I experienced strong rains years ago in the Houston area. If I was driving, I sometimes pulled over to wait out the storm because my windshield wipers couldn’t keep up and I couldn’t see a thing in front of me. There are also places in the U.S. where the rain is regular, consistent, and at times unrelenting. But I have never lived in those places and can only imagine what that is like (maybe a little too dreary for me).

I did hear about a person from the Pacific Northwest who moved to Austin only to be bothered by all the sunshine. It is so sunny here so often that this person found it strange and uncomfortable. For the first time, she had to wear sunglasses regularly; she had to think about sunscreen with a higher SPF; she even wore big hats when at an outdoor events.

Yes, the sunshine is pretty predictable here. You wouldn’t know that from the meteorologists on the local news. They say things like, “If you don’t like the weather in Central Texas, just wait a minute,” a quote that is actually attributed to Mark Twain speaking about New England. Since New England actually has four seasons, and a cranky Atlantic ocean whipping its shores, in Texas (at least in Central Texas for the past couple years) it might be more appropriate to say, “If you don’t like the weather, too damn bad!”  

If you travel to a place that has a different climate, different weather patterns, different temperatures than at home, enjoy the difference. If you are from hot and dry Central Texas and are spending some time in hot and wet Panama, get those shoes wet, walk without an umbrella, shampoo your hair outside in the rain. If you are from a place where it rains frequently and the sun is a stranger, enjoy that sunny beach you are visiting, bask in its glow, soak up that Vitamin D (but always use sunscreen!). If you are visiting a place that is so hot you feel like you could melt, then find some local cool cocktails (like I did here).  As I have said before, enjoy what is different. This weekend may be gloomy and rainy in Austin, but that gloom and rain is welcome out of necessity. When you're traveling, the weather is part of the experience, even if your original plans get washed away.

Go batty.

I have written a little about bats in a previous post (see here). Today I am going to write about them again, and not just because this weekend is Austin’s 8th Annual Bat Fest (although the timing is pretty good for that).

In case you are not aware, the Ann Richards Congress Avenue Bridge in Austin, Texas is home to the largest urban colony of bats in North America. At sunset from spring to fall, you can see as many as a million (or more) bats leave in unison to fly down the Colorado River (Lady Bird Lake). They look like choreographed black smoke, flitting and dipping as they consume tons of mosquitoes and other insects. It is quite a sight, and one that attracts thousands of tourists every year. It is only fitting that there is a festival in honor of the bats.

I mention in the aforementioned post that to me bats are fascinating. I would not call them “cute” per se, but they serve an important role in our ecosystem (did I mention they eat mosquitoes?). Not only did I encounter them in my hotel sink in Nicaragua, and flying from beneath a bridge in Texas, but I have seen them in a place one might more naturally expect: a cave.

When in the Yucatan peninsula of Mexico several years ago, my then-boyfriend and I went to explore a cenote (sen-NOTE-ay). A cenote is basically an inverted cave or a sinkhole, that connects to groundwater. It is an underground cave with freshwater, so you can swim around, snorkel, and even walk around where the water isn’t too deep. We paid the modest fee to enter this particular cenote and climbed down a rather rickety ladder contraption. The water was deep where we entered, so we swam around, coming to the other side where we could stand up and walk. My boyfriend was walking ahead into another chamber of the cave when I spotted something hanging from the ceiling. It took me a while to figure out they were bats because they were very small, not what I had seen in books or on TV. I called out, “Hey, there’s baby bats hanging out over here.” And just like that, whoosh! A huge herd/flock/bevy/whatever of bats came flying out of a hole in the ceiling of the cave. I wasn't scared, for whatever reason. They didn’t make any noise. All I could hear was the flutter of their wings as they circled in a figure eight formation above me. I just stood there, still as could be, hand over my mouth in awe, trying not to make a sound. It was amazing.

I know there are many of you out there who are freaked out by bats. You don’t want anything to do with them. They scare you because you’ve heard they have rabies or they will get tangled in your hair. Maybe they seem like rodents with wings. Maybe you’re afraid they will turn you into a vampire. But there are times when traveling presents you with the truth and shows you how different something is in its natural environment. Sometimes something you fear is just something to marvel. This was not a bat flying around the attic of a farmhouse. These were not two dehydrated and sleepy bats hanging out in a hotel sink. What I saw in that cenote was a colony of bats that lived there. They slept, ate, and raised babies there. I was the interloper, not them. And I had to be thankful to those wordless hosts. Because it was quite a show.

Read up, Part 2.

I was talking travel books with a friend last night and recommended to her the books I suggested in this blog post. So now I feel like recommending to you some more books, these with the common thread of "cultural differences." I have written before about how cultural differences make traveling so interesting. This is true. At least for me. But sometimes these differences are much deeper than you ever thought. The following books illustrate this well.

Foreign Babes in Beijing: Behind the Scenes of a New China, by Rachel DeWoskin.
A recent American college graduate goes to China to work for a public relations firm and becomes a star on a Chinese soap opera. She improves her Chinese language skills, immerses herself in Beijing life, and encounters cultural differences that sometimes baffle her. She also illustrates the changes China was undergoing at the time, in the early 1990s, shortly after the Tiananmen Square protests. Knowing little about China, I found her story educational, charming, funny, and inspiring. I really want to go to China now.

The next two books I list show how you do not have to leave the U.S. (or wherever you may live) to find cultures other than your own. And the stories don't necessarily have to come from immigrants.

Neither Wolf Nor Dog - On Forgotten Roads with an Indian Elder, by Kent Nerburn.
This book traces the lessons an American Indian teaches a white man as they travel through the reservations of the Dakotas. What Mr. Nerburn learns, and therefore what we learn, goes way beyond anything most of us have ever known about native peoples and how they view their history and world. According to the author's forward, this book has been used as a bridge between cultures and as tool for Indians themselves - a way for them to visit their past history and feel proud to be Indian.

The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down - A Hmong Child, Her American Doctors, and the Collision of Two Cultures, by Anne Fadiman.
This book was recommended to me by a language interpretation instructor I had. It is about the Hmong community in Merced, California several years ago. Many Hmong refugees fled to the U.S. and other countries because of the civil war in Laos in the 1970s. This book focuses on one such refugee community and shows how cultural differences and misunderstandings can have serious repercussions in the U.S. medical community. Western medicine and traditional Hmong culture collide in this intriguing anthropological story.

These real-life stories amazed me. In many ways. Traveling can sometimes mean "traveling with a book." You can learn about other cultures while reading in a comfortable hammock in your backyard. You can enjoy others' travel adventures and experiences without renewing your passport. And you can discover incredible and different cultures within your own borders. I love traveling to experience other cultures, but sometimes all I can afford is a book. Sometimes, that is enough.


If any of you out there can recommend any books you have read about other cultures -- books that amazed you in some way -- please share in the comments below. 

Check yourself before you wreck yourself.

Ugly Americans. What is that? Do they really exist?

Oh, you bet they do. They are amazingly loud, talking as if their ears have not yet depressurized from their flight. They don’t speak any phrases in the local language, choosing instead to speak louder when a local does not understand them. They display an arrogance that is often shown with demeaning comments about the way things are done in that particular country. They do not consider local traditions, choosing to wear inappropriate clothing in more conservative places or refusing to research local customs before arriving to avoid any misunderstandings or disrespect.

The Ugly American is also a novel, written in 1958 by Eugene Burdick and William Lederer. I found this great quote on Wiki where a Burmese character in this book explains his view:

“For some reason, the [American] people I meet in my country are not the same as the ones I knew in the United States. A mysterious change seems to come over Americans when they go to a foreign land. They isolate themselves socially. They live pretentiously. They’re loud and ostentatious.”

(You can see more about the book, and the 1963 movie staring Marlon Brando, here.) 

This is a drastic version of people from the U.S. who are abroad. Oh, these drastic versions exist. But there are also those who aren’t as obvious, not as obnoxious. Yet they, too, have trouble opening their minds to absorb differences and find value in them. 

They say things like:

 “They drive on the wrong side of the road.”

“Their doors open the wrong way.”

“They don’t know how to make a sandwich.”

“Their coffee is too strong.”

First of all, let’s establish that if you want everything to stay the same, to experience only the same things you experience every single day of your life at home, then don’t travel. Stay home. Order a pizza. This seems like an extremely boring way to live in my opinion, but if that is what you prefer, then do what you do.

Second, when you are going on a trip-- particularly if it is a trip to another country-- it is a good idea to shift your thinking a bit. I believe that the fun of visiting another place and experiencing another culture is for the differences. The differences are interesting, beautiful, and often inspiring. And all these differences, whether they are the way coffee is prepared or how people drive, are not necessarily “wrong.” They are just different. To people in other countries, the way you do something is very different. Sometimes we forget this when we are traveling. Much like the character in The Ugly American, I do not know why.

When I was in Nicaragua, the sea turtles in the Pacific were laying their eggs on the coast. There were night tours from San Juan del Sur that took people to watch them lay their eggs. A group of us packed into a couple crowded vans and bounced along a bumpy road for about an hour to another beach. When we got to the nature reserve, we were greeted by the scientists who would be leading us to the turtles. They gave us explicit instructions: no flashlights unless they were red light; no flash use with cameras; and no talking. Easy enough. We didn’t want to scare the turtles and keep them from their job of laying eggs in the sand.

In the very dark night, we eventually came upon a female turtle digging away at the sand to lay her eggs. The guide pointed a red-filtered light at her so we could see. All of us were silent ...except for one couple that evidently did not hear, or chose to ignore, the previous instructions. They were talking normally, like they were having lunch at a cafe. They were promptly shushed, and it took a few times before they finally shut their respective pie holes. Now, I am not 100% sure this couple was American. But based on past experiences, I am 99% sure they were. 

Yes, it’s true that there are people from all cultures that are oblivious, obnoxious, loud, embarrassing, etc. I am not saying that all such people are my fellow U.S. citizens, because in fact, I have seen and heard such behavior from other countries as well. But it has become such that no matter where that particular type of person is from, people assume they are American. So I simply suggest that when you are going to travel abroad, shift your thinking for the little things, and maybe you can help shift the thinking of others in the world and help make the Ugly American a thing of the past.

It’s a simple shift.

Not  “They drive on the wrong side of the road” but “They drive on the other side of the road.”

Not “Their doors open the wrong way” but “Their doors open differently.”

Not “They don’t make a sandwich the right way” but “This sandwich is a whole new experience.”

Not “This coffee sucks” but “This coffee is definitely going to wake me up!”

It is not about being polite. Or politically correct. It is just changing your frame of mind so that you enjoy the differences instead of making them into something annoying. And then you can possibly avert becoming an annoyance yourself. 

Zach Galifianakis in Due Date (also starring Robert Downey, Jr.). Hilarious movie.

Where am I?

Today I am going to share some photos from a beautiful place I visited a few years ago. Check them out and see if you can guess where I was. I'll give you some clues: it's not Latin America (big surprise, I know); and it's not New England.

Clue: this is the Atlantic Ocean.

Another clue: it's an island.

Last clue: to get there, you must take a ferry (although, obviously
none of these boats are ferries. The ferry is much, much bigger).

That's it for clues, people. Now see if you can figure it out and post your guesses in the comments below. I know some of you have had trouble posting comments on this blog page. I have no idea why, but I am sorry about that. Please try again. Even if it's anonymously. Come on, just do it!

Oh, and friends reading this who know where I was on this trip are not allowed to guess. That would be cheating.

I'll tell you the answer later.

And the answer is ...
Grand Manan Island, New Brunswick, Canada!
Grand Manan is a lovely little island and a great place for a peaceful and quiet vacation. 
If you want to know more, check out this link.  Or if you're thinking of visiting, see the information here. 
      So grab your loonies and toonies and go have some fun, eh.   

Go shopping!

In the last two blog posts, I wrote about money. Today I will discuss what to do with that money: go shopping! The truth is I do not enjoy shopping like I once did. It’s more of a chore, something I sometimes have to do. It is rarely something I get excited about doing anymore. Unless I am traveling.

Shopping in local stores and markets, browsing through locally made artwork and handicrafts is a wonderful way to get a taste of the local culture when you are traveling abroad. And it’s a great way to find souvenirs for friends, family and yourself. It is also a way to find things you forgot or didn’t realize you would need. This happened to me in Guatemala, where the evenings and early mornings were ever-so-chilly (see this post here for info on that). I really felt I needed some more clothes for layering to keep warm. That is when Mercado Minerva came to my rescue.

Minerva Market in Xela, Guatemala is a large, open-air market that is open a couple days a week, Saturday being the busiest. Minerva is a bus terminal, where you can catch a bus to anywhere, or to a point where you can then catch another bus to anywhere. So if you are ever a traveler in Xela, you will undoubtedly be there at some point. But the market is another adventure altogether.

You can buy anything there: fresh produce, batteries, kitchen utensils, toys, hair accessories, live (or not) chickens. If the booth you’re browsing in doesn’t have what you're looking for, another one will. The market is crowded with people. You get pushed and shoved as you try to make your way through the crowd. Mayan women, who were so much smaller than I, were experts at getting through a crowd. They pushed passed me like determined rugby players, while I was merely an empty, cardboard box to be flung aside, not a woman who towered over them like a Sequoia tree. It was quite impressive.

I was specifically searching for the part of the market where they sell used clothing from the U.S. (and perhaps other countries as well). Evidently this practice is quite common all over the developing world, although in Latin America I have only seen it in Guatemala ... but that could be because I was looking for it. Organizations, such as Goodwill, sell their surplus inventory of donated clothing to merchants in developing countries at a bulk rate. The rate must be very low because these items are sold at a price that shames any sale at Macy’s. The L.L. Bean thermal, long-sleeve shirt I found was only 3Q (three quetzales). That was about 50 cents at the time. Take that, Macy’s!

Here I am in that 50¢ shirt from the market.
It is not nearly as cute as Estrella here, one
of the students in our afterschool program.  

The booths with the used clothes don’t have any fancy displays. There are usually just piles of clothes that you can go through. You don’t have to refold anything and put it back on a shelf all nice and tidy. No sirree. You can sometimes just climb onto the pile of clothes and sit there, searching comfortably for as long as you wish. If any of you ever heard of the wedding dress sales that used to take place at Filene’s Basement in Boston, I imagine it is comparable. Only much more affordable. With no overly eager brides clawing out your eyes.

Some local shops in Xela also sold these used clothes, but in nicer storefront settings. One day, I was walking in town and saw an awesome t-shirt hanging in the doorway of such a shop. I just had to buy it for my friend, Laurel (you can read more about Laurel here). Since I hadn't packed many clothes, I wore it during my time traveling. She knew it was used. She knew I had worn it. All of that was part of the charm, part of the experience that she appreciated (maybe not all people would appreciate such a gift, but Laurel is cool like that). 

Like I mentioned in my very first blog post, when you’re traveling, there is no time or space for being overly fashion-conscious. But you should make time to shop and search for that special something you just can’t live without ... at least until you get home. Or until you pass it on to a friend! 

I have mentioned this green t-shirt before, and you have seen it in other photos. But I am showing you again
because this is the shirt I got for Laurel, but that I wore throughout my time in Guatemala. The irony of the shirt
was not lost on my volunteers, shown here with me,  Miss Brightside.  Miss Brightside indeed.

Show me the money, Part 2.

Last week I wrote about money when you travel and some tips on how to use it with as little drama as possible (see this post here). But sometimes a little drama cannot be avoided.

When I was in Guatemala a few years ago, quetzales (the local currency) were hard to find for several weeks. One day I went to five or six cash machines/ATMs with a friend and they were all empty of money. So I had no cash. And there were no places that would just swipe a credit card for payment, especially in the local stores, restaurants and markets. We continued to try, day after day, but to no avail. Luckily my host family lent me some money until I could get cash. But it was a problem for a few weeks, and there were travelers running around Xela in a panic because they had no money. “Help me, I cannot even purchase a liquado de sandía or hot chocolate because I have no cash!!” (Of course, the locals were having the same problem, but as I discussed in this blog post, they take it, and any inconvenience, all in stride.)

Evidently the Guatemalan government was having new money printed in Europe somewhere. But before the printing job was complete, they retired a bunch of old bills, thereby leaving an inconvenient and incomprehensible void. True, sometimes one goes to a cash machine in the U.S. and there is no money left, especially on weekends. But on Monday morning, it’s full again. We don’t even think about it. Believe me, when it goes on for days and days and you are in a place where you don’t have your own bank, it is a little disconcerting. This is another one of those instances where you just adapt, deal with it, and realize it is part of the experience. Luckily, part of my experience was living with a kind and generous family.

When using local currency, you will sometimes find it hard to get change for bigger bills. The smaller stores will often not be able to change the larger notes, thereby making it impossible to buy that pack of gum/local paper/bottle of water. They will just tell you, “No change. Sorry.” And you lose out on that candy bar, and they lose a sale. Much like in the U.S., the ATMs I’ve encountered in other countries don’t spew forth a wide variety of paper money. Stateside it’s 20s all the time. Never any larger, never any smaller. The lack of denominational variety is sometimes the case in other countries, too ... thus the issue of getting/not getting change. The smaller businesses, which most of them are, just cannot keep up. So any time you can get small bills, do. It is worth making the effort so you can buy what you need, when you need it (or what you want when you want it). 

Here are those cool Nicaraguan córdoba bills again. I love that see-through
circle and wonder what it is made of, because I promise
it is not plastic cling-wrap. 

As far as using the ATM, I have used a personal credit card, and one of those prepaid credit cards. The problem is the fees, but I don’t think you can avoid them. On my trip to Nicaragua, I used a prepaid Visa card I bought through AAA and it worked well. But I had all types of fees by the time I got back. Fees from the U.S. side, fees from the Nicaraguan side. It ticked me off, but what can you do? You will probably have some kind of conversion fee whenever you use a credit card, so they will get you one way or another. I do not recommend carrying huge wads of cash around, even though there are no fees with cash. Your fee may be losing it all to a pickpocket, luggage thief, or worse. Just don’t be flashing that money in front of anyone. Ever. (I also discussed this here.)

Before you take that trip, contact your credit card company and/or bank and let them know where you will be traveling so they do not put a block on your card if they see charges from Buenos Aires or San Salvador or wherever you are traveling (which is a great service if your card has been stolen, but not so much if you trying to use your own card in a foreign country). Also, make sure you have on hand the phone number you should call if your credit card is lost. They will most likely have a number you can use overseas. Keep this number separately from your card. Or better yet, email it to yourself so if everything gets stolen or lost (gasp!), you can access those numbers at an internet cafe. You could also email yourself a copy of the credit card so you have all the needed information in an emergency. I know, I know ... you keep everything on your smart phone. It’s so remarkable. It’s so cool. But when your smart phone falls out of your pocket as you jump onto a moving chicken bus, lands in a giant puddle, and is run over by a pick-up truck hauling six water barrels, three goats, and two men sitting on a hay bale, you will feel pretty stupid that you don’t have the information elsewhere.

For me, a few of the interesting things about visiting another country are seeing the colorful, local money, getting accustomed to using it, learning what the conversion rate is and using it in my head (eventually), and getting away from the almighty dollar. It’s just a nice change of pace. Those bills and coins represent a colorful culture and history. There may be many places out there where you can get by with just a credit card. That’s all well and good, but traveling to developing countries isn’t always quite so slick and easy. So if you use the cash, take a close look at it, feel it in your hands. Then let it go. Use it for that ice cream cone or cold cerveza. That’s what it’s there for after all. 

Show me the money, Part 1.

If you have ever traveled in another country, you know about foreign currency (and the Canadian quarters that sometimes turn up in your wallet do not count, unless you were in Canada when they got into your wallet). Money from other countries is very often quite gorgeous. They feature pictures of various historical figures, royalty, national monuments, famous buildings. Yes, we have all that on U.S. money as well (minus the royalty), but not in such bright, beautiful colors. It can be lovely. Frame-worthy even. And dealing with a new type of money is another part of the experience and adventure of travel.

Before you take that trip abroad, I recommend ordering some currency of the country you will be visiting through your bank. And do it well in advance because it sometimes takes a while ... not every bank has a stack of Honduran lempira or Malaysian ringgits lying in their vault.  I suggest doing this because it’s just great to have some cash on hand when you get to the airport (or dock/port or bus station). You don’t have to find an ATM/money machine right away, or money-changing booth, nor do you have to worry about dealing with the money exchange brigade as you exit (people standing there with cash, ready to change your money ... but rarely at the going rate) – you can simply smile and walk on by. Then you can pay for a taxi, or a bus, buy a cold drink, stop and get some coffee, whatever. It’s just one less headache, especially if you arrive at night.

Here are a couple of Nicaraguan córdoba bills. The paper
is shiny and seems to be waterproof. And I love the
illustrations. Thirty córdobas equals $1.29 US, as in
one dollar and twenty-nine cents. 

Another thing I recommend is to take a calculator. Just a teeny, tiny one that will fit into your pocket, purse or daypack. Maybe you can do math in your head lickity-split like Rainman. Not so me. It is just useful as you get used to the conversion of your money to the new money you’ll be using on your trip. Because you will most likely want to know how much something is compared to home. 

“Wow, this rug is 200 quetzales! Are they crazy? I could get a rug at Crate & Barrel for less than that.”

---- Um, no, you couldn’t. Two hundred quetzales is just over $25. Get a half dozen!

A calculator helps put things in perspective.

Sometimes you can use your U.S. paper money, especially for hotels and the like. Even though it’s had some hard times lately, the dollar is still valued in many countries and used with great frequency.* In fact, it is used so often in many countries that they would scoff at my suggestion to bring a calculator because they are so accustomed to converting to U.S. dollars that it is second nature. I have met many foreign travelers who have to exchange their country’s money for U.S. dollars before exchanging it for the local currency of where they are traveling. At home they got U.S. dollars to exchange in a country other than their own and other than the U.S.  Go figure. 

*(Note: Panamá, as well as some other countries, exclusively use the U.S. dollar. Here is some information on the Panamanian balboa, aka, the U.S. dollar, which is quite interesting. )

I should also mention that in my travels to Latin America, I have encountered businesses that are very willing to take U.S. dollars, but only if the bills are nice, clean and as crisp as possible. If a bill is even minutely torn, they will turn it down. If it is worn out with folded edges and corners, they do not want it. I have never understood this, especially since I have paid for things several times here in the U.S., with bills that looked like an old pair of ripped up denim jeans, with nary a blink from the cashier. Why in these countries that are so laid-back are they so uptight about the condition of a U.S. paper bill? If you know, please share. 

Next week I will continue with more information about money and travel. Stay tuned ...  

See what's in store.

I went to the grocery store the other day, and was reminded of the different foods people can find in stores in different regions of the United States. Here in Texas, you’ll find an amazing assortment of tortillas made fresh in the store every day, which you would not find in Concord, New Hampshire. In New England you may find Fluff, the nor’easter marshmallow cream of choice, but you will not find that in the south. You can find marshmallow cream, but it won’t be Fluff.

My family moved from Iowa to Wyoming when I was 13. In Iowa, I was a big fan of Hostess Ho Hos, a chocolate snack cake with whipped cream swirled in the middle (see here). But in Wyoming, there were no Ho Hos. What?! I was astounded -- so astounded in fact that I approached a Hostess delivery man I saw at the neighborhood Mini-Mart one day. “Hello kind sir, I was wondering if you could tell me as to why there are no Ho Hos here in the fine state of Wyoming.” He informed me that in the Rocky Mountain region, they sold Chocodiles in place of the Ho Ho. In case you are unaware, Chocodiles are (or were) basically a chocolate-covered Twinkie (if you are from and in another country reading this, I’m sorry because you undoubtedly have no idea what the heck I’m talking about, but check out this explanation for Chocodiles). Let’s just say that Chocodiles never made it onto my regular junk food menu.

Here I am, back in Iowa a few years ago. Our dear family
friends, Sharon and Don, remembered how crazy I was
for Ho Hos and kindly bought me a box (I think Don wanted
to take them back, that's how yummy they are!).

When you travel to another country, it is interesting to experience a local grocery store, supermarket, market, food store, whatever you want to call it to see just how many different packaged foods are out there. Those of you from the U.S. are surely aware of a rather recent surge of “drinkable” yogurt on the market, mostly geared towards kids. Mexico, and I’m sure many other countries, have been selling it for years, and not as a childhood novelty snack packaged with cartoon characters in neon colors. When I spent time in Guanajuato, Mexico over a decade ago, the little supermarket I went to had shelves and shelves of different types of drinkable yogurt, all different flavors, many of fruits we do not typically find in the U.S. I had it every day, at least once. It was something I missed when coming back to the U.S.  All I could find at home at the time was Kefir, and comparatively, it wasn’t that cheap. It was good, but just not the same.

Something else I enjoy when traveling in Central America is the soda/pop/soft drink called Fresca. It is a grapefruit flavored soda and is so amazingly refreshing on a hot day in the tropics. But the Fresca here in the U.S. is, and always has been, diet. Ummm ... yuck. I did, however, discover a store here in Austin that sells the south-of-the-border version of Fresca, so that was tasty news. I won’t make a habit of drinking this sugar-laden beverage too frequently --- just once in a while during the hot summer. 

You may find a need for a grocery store while traveling abroad, and not just as your own personal field trip to investigate differences. You may need food! This can be very fun, even when you can’t read the labels printed in another language. You look at the label and try to decipher what is inside the carton/box/container/can/bottle and determine if it is something you want for your six-hour bus trip the next day, or your hike to a waterfall, or your late night snack. You might buy something that looks like a dried fruit roll-up, but ends up being some sort of dehydrated meat pancake. Or you think you’re buying a sweet cookie to have with a nice cup of tea, but it ends up being a salty cracker that would go better with a beer. Or you assume that the bag of chips you bought is some kind of local potato chips, but ends up being dried, salted bugs. 

See what adventures you could experience just by going to a grocery store? Who knew?

Please use the comment section below to share any “weird snack” experiences you have had visiting other places in the U.S. or other countries. 

Eat outside your comfort zone.

What is the point of traveling, especially to different countries? To simply see a few famous sites, take a photo, and then go eat dinner at McDonald’s or Applebee's? Although I’m sure that is true for some people, my answer is a loud and resounding:  No! I love to travel for many different reasons, too many to list and some I probably cannot even explain. But most of all, I love to meet different people, see different things and unfamiliar places, and experience the norm of local everyday life in a way that is not normal for me. And this includes eating.

In the United States, every town, city, suburban area, and state has basically the same chain restaurants, and many of these restaurants can be found overseas:  McDonald's, Taco Bell, Wendy’s, Burger King, Kentucky Fried Chicken, TGI Friday’s, Applebee’s. The list goes on and on. I, however, prefer eating in independently and locally owned restaurants, wherever I am. Locally owned restaurants, diners, cafes, cafeterias, fast food eateries, and food trucks have better food in my experience, often times locally grown, and the profits go directly back into the community. I’m not against the above named national restaurant chains or any of the big chains. They do employ local people and some of them aren’t all that bad. And when you don’t have many choices (or even if you do), it’s where you go for lunch with coworkers or dinner with friends. But I do prefer the more unique and interesting local businesses where they are available.

Along with my efforts to frequent local businesses at home, when I’m traveling I do the same, only probably more so. If you are visiting another country, witnessing the uniqueness of another culture, there is no better way to experience a new place than through food ... local food, the food that those who live there eat every day.

During my first trip to Latin America, I was with a group of people helping to build a house near the southern Pacific coast of Costa Rica, and we were not there long. Maybe a little over a week. I was enjoying the local food, especially the rice and beans. But when we left the coast and were back in the city of San Jose for our flight home the next day, everyone made a beeline for Pizza Hut for dinner. Seriously? A few days in another country and everyone felt the need to connect with the homeland through mediocre (at best) pizza from the states? I broke off from the group and found a bakery and some local eats. Costa Rican food. Because we were still in Costa Rica. 

This just seems obvious to me ... eating local. I can understand if you are traveling abroad for a few weeks or months and you get a craving for something familiar. Maybe you think some fast food from home would really hit the spot. I get it. I’ve been there. And I’m not suggesting you only eat regional food. If you want pizza, then eat pizza from a local restaurant, rather than Pizza Hut. If you want a cheeseburger, then eat it from a local fast food restaurant rather than Burger King. I've had awesome Indian food in Guatemala, great Italian food in Puerto Rico, and delicious Greek pizza in Panama. Just because something isn’t native to where you are visiting, doesn’t mean you can’t find an interesting variation of it. But you won’t know unless you step out of your comfort zone.

Here are my friends (Sarah, Hanna and Anna) at a local Guatemalan fast food chain after we ate really 

yummy ice cream cones. There were no tourists in there except us. It was still cheap and
unhealthy food. But it wasn't McDonald's!  

Before you take that trip abroad, to a new country with new customs, languages, and foods, try to leave your usual eating habits behind. When you see a restaurant that looks familiar, or that you would see in your country, just walk on by. One of the grandest ways to experience a new culture is through your taste buds. And you’re not going to have that experience if you keep falling back on what is familiar to you. Change those french fries or baked potato for a tamal or an arepa. Exchange that Big Mac for a local dish at a little cafe on the town square. Give up what you usually eat so you can have a truly fun and interesting travel experience. Because if you can’t even do that, then what is the point of traveling? If you can’t give up the chain food, you might as well just stay home and call the pizza delivery guy. 

Use your network.

One of my friends is getting ready to go on her first trip abroad. Nickie and her boyfriend are taking a Mediterranean cruise and will spend some time in Rome and other cities in Italy, Greece and Turkey. Knowing this, and knowing that another friend of mine, Michelle, had spent several days in Rome last fall, I asked her to provide some travel tips for Nickie. So she shared the name of an incredible tour guide in Rome, a good way to plan ahead for a visit to the Vatican, and some advice on what to do for food (you can’t really go wrong in Italy when it comes to food, which is no big surprise). Then I emailed my friend Pep about his trip with his family to Greece last summer and if he had any tips. Sure enough, he did. Even though Nickie won’t be spending as much time there, she now has a better idea of what might be possible in their limited time.

And that is the point of today’s blog post: networking. Everyone is crazy for networking these days. Social networking. Networking for work. Networking events. Networking whatever. But it is useful for planning your travels as well. Let your friends, family, coworkers, acquaintances, and distant relatives know you are taking a trip and see if they have been there, or if they know anyone who has.* This can help you make plans on what to see, what to skip, where to go, how to get there, and may even connect you with someone local who will make your trip even more interesting and special.

(The most memorable time this happened to me was in Mexico and I discussed it in this blog post.)

Sometimes there is no connection, and that’s okay. That doesn’t mean the trip won’t still be amazing or that you won’t find remarkable things on your own. If you’ve been following this blog, you know I’m all for solo travel and blazing your own trail (see posts here and here). But perchance you do make a connection before your trip, it could be really helpful and/or add something special to your trip that you may not have known about otherwise. So ask those seasoned travelers in your own personal network. You never know who or what they know. Or who or what the people they know know. Ya know?  Networking can sometimes lead to some awesome places.

* Side note: I'm sure you know this, but it bears repeating. When using Facebook to seek such advice, please do not post on your wall that you will be out of town or when you will be out of town. Keep it simple, e.g. “Hey, has anyone been to Athens?” Not, “Hey, we’re going to Athens for two weeks starting July 1 and we need some advice.” Response: “Hey hospitable home robbery victims, thanks for the heads up. We really like your TV, sound system, laptops and jewelry collection. Hope you had fun in Greece!” Networking can sometimes lead to some not-so-awesome places. Just beware. 

Take in your surroundings.

No matter where you travel, there is something different, amazing, and beautiful to see. Today I am sharing some more photos with you to make my point ... the point being: take it all in. And take some photos while you’re at it. I know some of you do not feel the need to have thousands of photos on your computer (or in my case, on my computer and in a huge rubber bin in storage). And I understand that. But I cannot abide by it. I love taking photos and I love looking at them when I return. This has been true since I was a little kid. So even if you don’t carry a camera when you travel, take a photo with your mind. Hopefully you will be able to preserve some great scenes like these:

One of the two volcanoes on the island of Ometepe in Lake Nicaragua in Nicaragua. 

The shore of Isla Ometepe.

A coffee cooperative on Isla Ometepe.

If you are too tired to refer to Wikipedia to find out more about Isla Ometepe right now (or ever), I will tell you a little bit about it. It is the largest volcanic island in a fresh water lake in all the world (and Lake Nicaragua -- also known as Lago Cocibolca, and a few additional names I will not list here -- is the largest lake in Central America). When I was there, there were almost entirely dirt roads and my guide took me around in a very necessary four-wheel-drive vehicle. Some cool things you can find on Isla Ometepe are howler monkeys, petroglyphs, and lovely people. And also peace and quiet. Unless a howler monkey is ... you know .... howling (although it sounds more like growling to me. Or roaring.) And also many things that make beautiful photographs for a frame, or simply your frame of mind. 

Open your heart.

It is almost Valentine’s Day and romance is in the air. Okay, maybe for some, blatant commercialism and feelings of obligated romance are in the air. Whatever the case, no matter what time of year, most people like a good love story, at least once in a while. Sometimes even a tragic love story.

In Xela, Guatemala, there is a local legend about a young gypsy girl named Vanushca Cárdenas who fell madly in love with a local boy from a rich family. Upon learning of their relationship and plans to marry, the parents of the rich boy forbade him to see her. They even sent him away to study in Spain. Vanushca was left behind, alone and broken hearted. She eventually died from that broken heart at a mere 17 years of age and was buried at El Calvario cemetery in Xela.

There are various stories as to how this all came to be and what happened to her beloved. I have heard that he returned shortly after Vanushca died, discovering that the love of his life was gone. And suffering from the same affliction as his sweetheart, he died right there at her grave, not able to live without her. I have also heard that he threw himself off the ship going to Spain, or that he perished in the war in Spain, and his death was the reason Vanushca died of a broken heart. I am inclined to believe that if anything, he died in Spain because Vanushca’s tomb reads, “The remains of the man I loved in life lie in Mother Spain.”

Vanushca’s gravesite is a popular place for visitors. Those who wish for luck in love come to pay tribute. So my friend Anna and I decided we would go and pay our respects. Why not? It couldn’t hurt. 

One day we met at the entrance gate to El Calvario and bought some flowers from a nearby vendor. We went to Vanushca’s gravesite and saw that many were asking her for advice and guidance; people had written requests for help right on the grave. There were flowers, some fresh and some dried from time, on the tomb. We just left flowers and took some time to read the wishes of anonymous souls looking for a little help. 

"Dear Vanushca, I have had bad luck in love all my life. Please
help me obtain good luck in love now and in the future.
What would life be without love ... "

When traveling, I love to learn about regional stories, tales, and folklore. They bring color to the local life, and sometimes even give hope to both locals and visitors. If you learn of such a story, as I did, find a way to make the story more personal. Participate and leave those proverbial flowers.

The story of Vanushca is tragic, like Xela’s own Romeo and Juliet. Vanushca died of a broken heart, so I’m not exactly sure why she would be the best person to ask for help with romantic problems. I don’t think she handled the experience very well quite frankly. Plus, she was helpless to do anything when her man was sent away. So she died. Instead of eating mass quantities of ice cream to drown the pain, she just died. Not a recommended outcome. Maybe the legend is based on the assumption that since she had suffered such a loss, she would know how to help keep others from the same fate. Maybe her broken heart in life enables her to help others in death. Maybe she didn't have access to decent ice cream back then. I don’t know. But it is quite a story nonetheless.

I cannot speak about any great revelation or happening due to my visit to the gravesite of Vanushca Cárdenas. But Anna, shortly after her return to the U.S., started dating the man who recently became her husband. Coincidence? Perhaps. Or perhaps just believing in the possibility helps make it a reality. Taking part in a local legend was fun and interesting. And if it helped Anna find true love, then all the better. You just never know. When traveling, you never know what great stories will become a part of your own great story.

P.S.  After doing some research on-line, I found out that Vanushca’s tomb, featured in the photos above, is different now. They replaced it with a new, more elaborate tomb, but it is still a place where people go to leave flowers, write requests, and pay their respects to Vanushca. You can find a photo and an article about it here.