Girls Gone Global

And what do you have to say for yourself?

2008-07-24T21:11:00.000-07:00

We have seen much on our journey, from awe-inspiring sites to animal cruelty to family feasts to devastating poverty to overwhelming hospitality. After many serious (sometimes not-so-serious) discussions about what we will tell people and it has come down to one thing from which all else erupts-

If our story has to end in a moral it is this: the good in the world greatly outweighs the bad. Faith in that is the best that we can succinctly believe in, assert and encourage. It is the best truth that we can bring home from our adventure around the world.

So until next time, as two great fellow travellers once said:

BE EXCELLENT TO EACH OTHER

AND

PARTY ON, DUDES!

6 months and 1 day later

2008-07-24T17:08:00.001-07:00

When Leigh and Genna get off the plane the smell of Pizza Hut rolls out from the corridor. Foam footed people loaf around, a croc for every man, woman and child. The most common "designer" bag is Timbuk2. Not one person is visibly smoking a cigarette (or any other rolled substance for that matter). And, despite the junk this trip has packed into their already round trunks, they are, for once, two of the smaller women in sight. This must be the U.S. of A.

When the biographic movie comes out this would be the point where you get a video montage down memory lane. Cue the music, a little bit alty but not too sappy, perhaps some Dusty Springfield.

Srinagar, Kashmir - Leigh and Genna huddle around a bucket filled with delicious embers as snow falls on the silently frozen Dal Lake. Later that week the girls make friends with some fine young men and a little tike named Ruman. To the tune of the most captivating call to prayer, they try not to cause too much trouble...aside from almost running into that frantic white horse while driving the Deluxe Ambassador. Oops.

Cherrapunjee, Meghalaya India - The rain pours down and despite what nice coverage the elephant ear banana leaf provides they will be soaked upon returning to the little Khasi village where a diminutive and kind woman waits with tea and biscuits.

Nairobi, Kenya - The airport is their holding tank but their money is worthless. The girls curl up under KenyaAir blankets while civil strife wages outside in the city.

Doha, Qatar - A nice nap on a not so nice floor and several rounds through the enormous duty free mall is all these girls get to know about the small nation in Southwest Asia. Which leaves them wondering, how did Qatar Airways master the art of incredible airline food?

M'Hamid, Morocco -Leigh wanders the cool sands after a late night trip to the "outhouse" ends in confusion. As she mounts one dune after another, arriving at each tree only to realize that this is not where her tent is pitched, terror informs her that there might just be a black hole in this desert. Meanwhile Genna busies herself preparing the meanest American style spaghetti this desert has ever seen. Mohammed, the chamellier (camel man) and Humza (guide, AKA "The Eyes") are dually impressed.

Salamanca, Spain - The girls pulse to the surprisingly infectious sounds of the man spinning the records. Above them the black night provides a backdrop against which the glowing inflated tentacles look their most menacing. No matter, just keep dancing...til 6:30 AM!

Anadia, Portugal - At the back of the Free, Informative and Artistic Bairrada Wine Museum Leigh and Genna break out their most gourmet dinner so far: tuna fish mixed with corn and red peppers and a jar of garbonzo beans. They make a messy mixture and look across the School of Viticulture's grape vines that surround the sunny building. Later some rabble rousing Portuguese men will win them over on roast suckling pig (leitao) and the unrivaled pinch of the Baga grape's red tinto. These carousers will also convince them that it might be better to spend the night in the car rather than a "free" homestay.

Vienna, Austria - Genna dines on a perfect soft boiled egg served up on one of those fancy egg thingies. Meanwhile, Leigh should know better than to order a bowl of valhrona hot chocolate after she has already polished off a tasty tart au citron. That's ok, they'll get their exercise playing giant sized Foosball at the Eurocup Park in downtown Vienna. GO SPAIN!!!

Kokino, Macedonia - A hippie with a braid trailing out from his tussled head chugs at least a liter of beer before the arrival to one astronomically important bed of celestial knowledge. As it turns out, his English is nearly flawless after the third beer and several hours later the two girls know just about everything about the 4th greatest ancient observatory in the world. Remarkably, the tie dye wearing grunger also has catalogued knowledge on the fabulous frescoes that are preserved in an old orthodox church nearby. Did you know that the frescoes on church walls are always painted in three levels with each level containing a certain theme? And you can see it personally if you happen to come upon a hidden, unlocked old church late at night with an archaeologist.

Sofia, Bulgaria - Leigh and Genna, after once being ripped off by Bulgarian money exchanger, decide they can walk to the center of the city in the 90 Degree heat with their packs. While the view of the old Communist buildings and beautiful cobbled roads is unrivaled, the heat makes a rest in the very popular central park necessary. An abandoned cucumber now rests there in their memory. At the airport, they pile into a bus with the rest of the lemmings, wait for five minutes for the stragglers to get it and then feel like idiots when the bus carts them the whole fifty meters from the terminal to the airplane.

Amsterdam, Netherlands - Leigh gets a quick lesson from the guy at Homegrown Fantasy who also makes a great cappuccino. Again, Genna wants salty and Leigh craves sweet. The girls decide that when Asians and decriminalized marijuana get together their is an automatic symbiotic market. Which came first the marijuana or the Chinese food?

Montage fade out.

Leigh and Genna, are warned that they may not be allowed onto the plane unless they are dressed appropriately for business class. Strung out and a little stinky the girls change into a compilation of new clothes with a double layer of disintegrating deodorant in hopes that they can fool the friendly KLM staff, who indirectly but ruthlessly interogates them about drug smuggling- "do you have anything on you that you shouldn't have?".

Booya.

On the biography the music crescendos while a smellier, wiser and chunkier pair walks right on through customs, beaming as they make their way to their Rocky Mountain home. The audience might even get a little teary eyed, or a little annoyed.

Not much time yet...

2008-07-22T14:31:00.000-07:00

As we have but one day left in the temperamental weathered Netherlands we will leave the details for later. But for now, what are we gonna jump on when we get home?:

Genna: Happy Hours. I want to be out by 5, drunk by 7 and in bed by 9.

Leigh: Planet Earth (English version), on someone else's HD TV of course.

50 Euros 30 minutes

2008-07-20T14:15:00.000-07:00

Coming from the red light district in Utrecht Genna and Leigh have developed a few crucial questions about the minivan driving soccer dads and the scantily clad whip wielding women:

1. Are they flat rates or are prices negotiated based on the customer vs. lady of the night?
2. Who exactly wields the dildos in the window?
3. What is in that sandwich she seems to be enjoying so much in the window?

But really, Genna and Leigh have been cruising the red light district wondering whether it would be allowed to pay our way into an interview with one of these fine ladies. And yes, they are smokin' hot.

As for what makes us smokin' hot (under the collar) for home:

1. Leigh: King Soop's and the array of 24 hour awesomeness that reigns for Colorado munchers such as herself.
2. Genna: Screw the supermarket - Delivery. Be this pizza, chinese, or cookies and milk. She can get anything she wants when she wants, and brought right to my door.

Pance Part Deux

2008-07-19T04:57:00.000-07:00

This countdown to home is brought to you by Pance's pants which Genna and Leigh are both lounging in due to the unkindly forecasts in rainy Utrecht.

Genna: Cannot wait to watch crappy movies in the middle of the afternoon at her mother's house where no one will make fun of her for watching Love Actually in the middle of July (did you know that she saw Titanic 7 times in the theatre).

Leigh: On a day like today Leigh cannot wait to get back to overhead instant hot water showers... even the really shitty low flow kind.

Sadly Saying Goodbye to...

2008-07-16T10:16:00.000-07:00

Goodbye enterprising gypsies recycling bottles with their horse drawn carriages. Goodbye old men drinking rakja at any hour of the day next to Pance's apartment. Goodbye our favorite one of Skopje's 20,000 stray dogs: the one with the bat-dog ears and Ewok face (he's the smallest of the pack but the king of the neighborhood). Goodbye fruit that dribbles just the right amount. Goodbye Lupjco popping peas in nothing but his underwear. Goodbye 80 year old grandma milking a goat to serve us milk and honey on a hungover morning. Goodbye Fast Food 7 and their highly efficient french fry piling system. Goodbye shopska salad (only to be considered shopska if it has peppers AND onions in addition the basic cucumbers, tomatoes and the cheese we purchase by asking, "shopska cheese?"). Goodbye hearing bravo as it was meant to be said. Goodbye afternoon ice cream and boza, that pre-beer yeasty mystery. Goodbye to rakja and those boys who are crazy enough to spike their beer with it. Goodbye gypsy children with their sun-tanned skin and ember eyes bathing in the river (or the awesome public water fountains). Goodbye our favorite geeky (but smokin' hot) couple. Goodbye Nescafe ladno that is never as ladno as you'd like. Goodbye Ayjvar - that delicious red pepper goop that simply must be homemade. Goodbye occasional and nostalgic squat toilet. Goodbye Kafana food and trying to order it without translators. Goodbye tomatoes the size of oxes' hearts (don't worry, they're biologic). Goodbye spaghetti-armed women outfitted in dresses that should be shirts and heels that could be lethal weapons. Goodbye 22 year old boy, who despite having bruises from his last run-in with the cops, cleans up your apartment quiet as a mouse while you sleep off your drunkenness. Goodbye homemade juice. Goodbye an entire country of people who leap to pay the bill. Goodbye people who will not hesitate to find your Turkish coffee (a mainstay in any house) and make it for you. Goodbye smoking cigarettes where it will not get you condemned to social hell. Goodbye radiant girl who is willing to track down a car, driver, archaeologist and smorgasbord of beer and snacks to watch the sunset over NASA's 4th finest. Goodbye to Macedonia and all the friends that have made it the beautiful, fun, hospitable and f*^$ing hot place it is - we will never forget you!

Count down to home cont...

2008-07-16T10:06:00.000-07:00

Leigh: Cannot wait to get some real bean coffee e.g. a latte with microfoam and some free-pour latte art, a cappuccino that follows the rule of thirds and does not come with a wad of hydrogenated soy coagulate atop it, a macchiato with a dollop of foam, an iced toddy made from real fresh-roasted (and dare I say Conscious Coffee) beans, and most of all a thick, heavy raw-milk breve.

Genna: Her vibrator (no further explanation necessary).

Macedonian Fun Quotient

2008-07-15T04:50:00.000-07:00

A recent realization we made while drinking beers in the park, is that while Macedonians truly know how to have a good time (and to much better music), it seems that, compared with Americans, they spread their fun in thinner layers. Just like our preferred way of consuming dairy, plopping tablespoons of butter atop all-American pancakes, we Americans try to consume a vast quantity of alcohol between the hours of 10 and 2 after which we all pass out and swear off that sort of fun for another 3 to 5 days.

Macedonians, however, shred reasonable amounts of fresh cheese atop cucumber and tomato shopska salads. They also drink from 9 at night until 6 in the morning, talking, dancing, drinking then talking some more and loitering until one strung-out person deigns to part ways for a limited 3 hours of dozing until work the very same day. The next day they do it again.

So it seems, as might be characteristic in many ways that we live, we condense our fun into little pockets of binge fun, while Macedonians spread theirs thin and long. We wonder, what's better: the inclined plane or the vertical jump? Take your pick.

Countdown to home cont.

2008-07-15T04:49:00.000-07:00

Leigh: Cannot wait to fill a cup up with ice and pour a beverage over it. Did you know that makes it cold?

Genna: Wants to plug into her ipod, put it on shuffle and rock out with her c*&#k out.

Countdown to Home

2008-07-13T09:51:00.000-07:00

Horizon's a comin' and Genna and Leigh would like to let all of you know the things that we absolutely fantasize about on a daily basis as that fateful day approaches. So, for the rest of our journey we thought we might clue you in daily on those things we just cannot wait to get our hands, tongues, eyes, ears or netherregions involved with.

1. Genna --> Big Spacious Roomy Wooden Cutting Boards: I am going to chop, slice and mince everything I can get my hands on.

1. Leigh --> Cracked Pepper: Oh baby, what it will feel like to get my hands on that grinder and feel the kernels crunch beneat my grip. This is closely followed by the gritty feeling of sea salt between my fingers.

The More You Know...(* <--shooting star)

2008-07-13T09:46:00.000-07:00

Did you know that Barak Obama supports Greece in their veto over Macedonia's attempts to join the EU despite the fact that Macedonia has changed its name to the F.Y.R.O.M., does not make a territorial claim to any part in Greece, and has changed its flag from the Vergina Sun to look more like a vent. All this to please a country that is acting like a child who has a toy it refuses to play with but refuses to let anyone else play with it either. (enter the more you know musical diddy - da da da da)

Much ado on pictures...

2008-07-12T09:17:00.000-07:00

Did you know that Macedonia has the 4th most important ancient observatory as ranked by NASA. Now let's get back to that plastic liter of beer.
Tina and Leigh get funky at Hard Rock.. We danced until dawn, literally. Tina's dormant moves were just waiting to be expressed.
This is the second time we have had a very legitimate opportunity to take an American Gothic photo. But check out those authentic pitchforks.
This is probably an 8th of what we collected in one weekend. Probably the only time a raspberry pie became a financially feasible option. Just don't tell anyone here that you have made an "American Pie" or they may want to "plug something in it."
Fun with the family in the apricot orchards. Until that bee decided it had more right to the territory than Leigh did.

How to Brace Yourself for Macedonia

2008-07-10T06:35:00.000-07:00

Macedonia is a beautiful country where Genna and Leigh feel very much at home. However, as in any foreign land, there are some things that one must grow accustomed to coming from a nation such as our own.

1. Invariably, upon arriving at a house, apartment, or party you will be asked if you have had Rakia, or Macedonian moonshine. Even if the answer is, "Yes, and I think it tastes like nail polish remover." The host's homemade version is insistently superior than the last 4 homemade versions you have had to choke down. The host will then pour you a "small" serving of the puissant distillation, but not one for his or herself. When asked why the host will not have a glass as well the reply comes, "No, it is too strong." They will also probably warn you that, as it is the middle of the day, you probably should not go outside in the "50 degree" (roughly 122 ferenheit) heat for a few hours because you might pass out.

And down the hatch it goes. Apparently a fabulous salad accompaniment.

2. Make 1 friend in Macedonia and you immediately have 15, including a nightlife scene, a a swimming companion, a burek-eating buddy, a hairdresser, an archeologist tour guide, and a pilades partner.

3. As per #2 if you need anything in Macedonia (be it brown sugar and oats or a phone, dvd player, laptop or car and chauffuer) you got it - front door delivery from friend #6's cousin's sister who has passed it down the grapevine and hauled it across town right up to your buzzer.

4. This is an important one: They are right. You are wrong. Period.

Examples:

a) Despite the fact that the citizens in Skopje constantly tell you Serbian words when asked for the names of things (ie. ice, never), the city's language in NO WAY has a Serbian influence or uses any Serbian words.

b) Hot feet or other body parts on a cold tile floor WILL kill you - so will swimming in the lake, watching a thunderstorm from a porch, or leaving the door or window open for a summer breeze to pass through --> BEWARE THE PROMIA (this may sound like and be treated as a medieval monster but it is, in fact, just a draft).

c) Despite the 20th annual report of the California Research Advisory Panel (1990) (see http://druglibrary.org/schaffer) and the giant bold SMOKING KILLS advisory on the outside of all packs, 2 packs of cigarettes a day is healthier than smoking 2 joints a day. (P.S. And no, they are not addicted to cigarettes, they just like to smoke them in chains morning til night, but they can stop whenever they want.)

d) The car will not start and the engine will not even attempt to turn over.

Genna and Leigh listen and comment, "It sounds like an electrical problem; we should try to push start the car and throw it into first to get it started."

Silly Americans, they think, we will wait for the taxi driver to come back and help us. Ten minutes later the taxi driver arrives. After several minutes of trying to start the car he explains the process of push starting the car which we then do, successfully.

Genna and Leigh then warn, "Do not stop the car, or park it at the top of a hill if we must, until we have a chance to fix the problem."

Again, silly girls.

Oh what's that Mr. Taxi Driver?

Right, we shouldn't stop the car, or we should park it on a hill if we must.

5. Macedonian club music, whether it be trance, house or American is ALWAYS better than American club music.

6. Despite the fact that scantily clad women abound and are clearly better looking than their male counterparts, you will be treated with respect. If you are coming from a country such as India or Morocco you may find this lack of harassment extremely odd and even unsettling.

7. It is NOT possible to get sick of fresh tomato cucumber salads topped with cheese and it IS possible to eat a kilo of cherries or peaches every day for a week (and for less than 1 euro a day).

8. Yes, their veggies and fruits ARE delicious, but beware, you may get tired of being lectured on how your food tastes like plastic while everything they eat is "biologic" [as said lecturer flicks his cigarette into the mountain stream where you fill your water bottles].

9. The first thing that will happen to you when you walk into someone's house is that you will be offered food. Too full, you don't need to eat? With a perplexed and offended look on their face, they will ask you accusatorily "why not?" And so, sick with food already, you eat more. The second thing that happens...

"All Americans so fat!"

10. The clutches of kindness in which we have been seized are, at times, overwhelming. But without the wonderful Macedonians, who all think that their country is equally rich in culture, history and F@#%ing UNESCO sites (including 365 churches - one for every day of the year) , we would be lost, tired, hungry, dirty and probably sleeping in a car somewhere in Europe. We cannot express how much we love them, and are surprised by how much they seem to love us.

Homemade

2008-07-07T05:57:00.000-07:00

Leigh's eye is almost swollen shut where a delicious looking bubble has shoved my cheek up into what used to be my eye socket. On the other hand, Genna and Leigh have dazzled the world with our superior cobbler and crumble making skills, possess two bottles of dense syrupy fruit juice and have a bucket full of apricots to dry over the course of the next week. Was it worth it to threaten the bee box in dangerous proximity to the sweet nectars of the farm? Damn right it was!

It all started when we, incidentally, went to see a man about a bee. And it all ended hungover in a raspberry bush at 8:30 in the morning...

Cybersex

2008-06-27T11:33:00.001-07:00

Our luck on this trip is sometimes staggering, and now thanks to Leigh's high school friend Pance, we have an apartment to live in close to the center of Skopje, Macedonia. It is perfect, situtated on top of the local green market, where peaches are cheaper than apples and we can by one egg at a time.

Despite the fact that we are still in a culture that drinks more than we can and dresses infinitely better than we do. However, we are lucky to have stumbled into Pance's fantastic group of self-professed geeks. They go to electronic conferences that sound more like huge raves than geek gatherings, but can drink until three and get up at eight in the morning for work.

Most days, we sleep until the mid-afternoon, spreading our arms and legs as far apart as possible as it is to hot to do anything except harrass the person who dares bring their limb close to the other's. The day usually starts with breakfast, a lesson from the yoga book and then the search for coffee or ice cream. Perhaps the biggest daily challange is ordering coffee, which we want iced, and not two cubes which will soon turn my cocktail into a diluted half-caff stew. Four days later, we still do not know the Macedonian word for ice (but we do know the word for hangover). At night, when we are not watching the Eurocup (GO SPAIN!) we busy ourselves trying to find out what the hell Greece is so worked up about.

And so with a life like this, who needs to come home and get a job?

Well, we do. Believe it or not, six months abroad is only cheap if you manage to circumvent Europe. As we let our funds dwindle we begin to miss the sensation of a good, hard, Puritan day of work. Turns out we are Americans and Americans love to work. So as much as we might poke fun at all our engineering friends, you're the one's whose couches (or vacation homes?) we might be sleeping at when we get home.

So, signing off with the favorite joke of our new friends, here is a shout out to all our beloved geeks:

There is a survey being conducted about Cybersex on the three campuses of the school, the Engineering campus, the Business campus and the Art campus. The interviewer approaches a student from the Art school and askes her "do you know what Cybersex is?" She gets a confused look on her face and askes "what kind of sex?"

Next he askes a student from the Business school, "do you know what Cybersex is?" He looks at the interviewer with a strange look and asks, "what kind of sex?"

Lastly, the interviewer finds an engineering student and asks him, "do you know what Cybersex is?" The Engineer looks puzzled and asks "Cyber what?"

A thousand words

2008-06-13T10:10:00.000-07:00

Well, because a picture is worth a thousand words and Internet is free in Portugal, here you are:
Genna, sampling some ports. Where else, but in Porto.
Leigh agrees, less graphically.
Genna's first magnum bar, but not her first time being lost.
Table wines being bottled in the factory we toured the day before the wine festival.

We Are Aware

2008-06-11T10:13:00.000-07:00

Many of our friends (and definitely Leigh's parents) are going to scoff at the following. However, as Genna so wisely put it "Most people get tattoos to describe themselves; I think of tattoos as a marker of phases in your life."

So, we decided to join the two together and have thus etched in permanently the most pertinent and beautiful saying we have come across along our journies to both remind us of ourselves and of this time in our lives. Also, because we are NUTS.

We are aware, Alex and Rob especially, how lame this implies Genna and Leigh really are, but we have never claimed otherwise.

So...here it is:

So what the heck is it right? Well, in Morocco there are many cultures. Of all the people we met, we found the Berber culture to be the most welcoming, warm and open. One Berber region is in the mountains and speaks the language of Tamazirt. Tamazirt is also a word used to refer to the small villages of the mountain people. The written language incorporates some of the oldest symbols of the history of written word and can be compared with Japanese. Most importantly to us, literally translated it means "I am free."

Can you guess whose is whose and where they are?

Announcements

2008-06-11T08:12:00.000-07:00

Wow...how lazy and busy we have been in our travels. So much so, that we have about a million announcements to make about our recent past and near future. For bearing with us we will reward you all with a few pictures to boot.

First of all: WHERE THE HECK ARE WE?

Good question. Currently, we occupy the only free internet facility we have found in all of Portugal. As it turns out, internet is NOT that cheap in the EU and we have therefore been slacking in our contact.

Where exactly are we? Another interesting intrigue. Well, as it turns out, our friends from Spain in Salamanca, Caceres and Merida happen to live right next to the border with Portugal. It also turns out that Leigh is an ancient 25 years old. What does this all amount to?

CAR RENTAL. The lamest gift to turning 25, but a gift nonetheless. From romantic Lisbon in the south to the green vine covered hills of the very northern Melgaço we have set out along the wine routes of reds to tables to ports to vinos verdes of the famed Alvarinho grape. It's a dreamy little trip filled with people who give either the worst or best directions on the face of the planet.

This is just a small rendition of the countryside that we owe better photo skills to. All pending.

Ok. Number two. WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU GOING AND WHEN ARE YOU COMING HOME?

Another interesting question. One that has taken us about a month to answer. Oh that wide world that beckons us forth and those loving friends and family that simultaneously coax us back home. It has been a rollercoaster of decision-making lately. So, upon a snap decision spurred by Pance and his wonderful family, Curtis, and Rosalie we have up and bought tickets to Sofia, Bulgaria. We are delighted to go visit Pance's family and hope for a little R&R before our auspicious and long-awaited return to the good ole U S of A!!!

Number 3. USA HERE WE COME

Our country, despite the fact that the whole world thinks our gun-toting ways are TOTALLY AND ABSOLUTELY ridiculous, is one that we miss with palpatating hearts of nostalgia: BBQs, summer microbrews, a kickass Democratic Convention and men who cannot stare at us for an entire city block. We want it back. We want YOU back. To our friends and our family, especially those who have kept in contact (and commented on our blogs), we MISS YOU.

Number 4. AND WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?

Well, nothing really. It has been a long time but nothing has changed, perhaps less than nothing. Leigh preemtively announced her acceptance into NYU which she has recently discovered is an unfunded invitation to do what she loves for a price she cannot afford. (In short, NYU accepted 4 students last year, 3 with Masters degrees and herself; they procured scholarships for 3 which they offered to those with more education and fuller doctoral proposals; I am invited to again apply next year with a few foundation classes and the "understanding" that I have already been accepted once to this incredible program.) One more year in Colorado, a few classes in Anthropology Methods and another round of applications will be her final attempt to make a career out of what she loves: food and people.

Genna, is in the same boat, but for the first time. She comes home to search for grad schools in the lucrative combination of women studies and poetry. It is perhaps, for this reason, that she plans on taking some time in Loveland to hunt down both the perfect job and the perfect grad school (that and she is flat broke).

FINALE

THE BOOK!
We charge it upon you that for the next 6 months every interaction, every beer is an opportunity to incite us to write. After all, if we really want to be worldly we should travel; and if we really want to be writers we should write. Your support and ass kicking through this endeavor as well would be esteemed.

AS PROMISED

Turns out that some of the best preserved ancient Roman ruins are in Spain. Caceres and Mérida gave us an excellent tour of such things and made us just about as culturally fulfilled as we could handle at the moment. This one's for you Mom and Dad.

To get things back on track Genna and Leigh have a little aperatif before the Gastronomia Festival in Balhada where we tried the famous casserole dish chinfana (while of course watching fútbol on a big screen where the town gathers).
While it may not be clear here, see if you can spot our wheels among the mobile homes. That's right, there it is, the Suzuki Ibiza, or as we like to call it - home.
This is perhaps 1% as breathtaking as this famous convent in Balhada really is. Our photo skills are on the decline but this is the most beautiful edifice we have seen on our entire journey abroad.

We really failed on all the beautiful photos of Porto, but this is just a sample of the romantic beauty that exudes from this city. And that's before we started visted the infinite array of wine cellars.

One camera down, one to go.

2008-05-28T13:52:00.000-07:00

Alas, Leigh has unsurprisingly lost a camera. That's about 1001 food pics gone to waste. And so it is we realize that we have been jilting you all on photos. Here's some farm fun to make up for it.

Leigh finds two eggs in the barn and is wicked excited to show her treasure to Tia, who will probably make some sort of amazing frittata out of it. One that will blow America´s pathetic egg sandwich version of an omelet out of the water.

We helped to make this cheese. From cow to curd to delicious moldy goodness, we were in on it.

The family from left to right: Jaime, Florinda, Josep and Tia.

The farmhouse. People pay tons on money to honeymoon in rustic places like this. Instead, we paid in bruises and very dirty clothes.

Triumphant.

10 Things I Learned on a Farm

2008-05-28T13:28:00.000-07:00

1. If it looks like shit and it smells like shit, it's probably shit (and yes, that is what the geriatric people call it too:mierda).
2. There is a similarity among us womenfolk: not all nipples are alike. They are as varied in size as they are in color, shape and production (Just ask Carmelia who has one extra dwarfed one on the lower left side).
3. Waterproof Wellingtons are only Waterproof Wellingtons if the are not torn at the ankle bend. Otherwise they are just shit socks.
4. Fat is a food group, and an expansive one at that. A well balanced Catalan meal includes a smattering of lard-fried meat, salt cured pig fat, cheese (milk fat), and a lovely salad drenched in olive oil (olive fat).
5. No. You DO NOT want to know what happened to the kittens(unless you are Leigh and kind of want of see how they do it).
6. If it looks like mud and it smells like mud, it's probably shit.
7. You can get along fine on a Spanish farm as long as you know the following words: mierda (shit), pala (shovel), paja (hay), cuidado (careful), vaca (cow) and caretilla (wheelbarrow).
8. Wine and chocolate are both acceptable breakfast foods.
9A. You are not, in fact, stronger than that 1/2 ton animal; you will have to outsmart it.
9B. You are not, in fact, smarter than that 1/2 ton animal; you will have to get this stick.
10. All species agree: cereal is delicious.

10 Things you learn to appreciate when you can find them in Morocco

2008-05-12T03:28:00.000-07:00

1. The one two punch of a toilet with a coresponding wipping method. A squat toilet with a bucket/toilet paper or a sit down toilet with TP. You don't know how rare this is until you've tried the splash method on a Western style toilet.

2. Ice. Two months, one ice cube that magically appeared in someone's cocktail in the refrigerator-less town of Imsouane.

3. Male companions. As much as we hate to admit it- an escort is a welcome break from the gauntlet of "bon jour les gazelles"that doubtlessly waited for us on the walk home.

4. A hot shower. We took one in all of Morocco and it cost us two dollars and took an hour and a half. This is not to suggest that we haven't gotten very efficient with a cold bucket.

5. Coke. One Swiss guy called it America's best invention. Nothing like cold sugar water for a break from the hot sugar water that they call tea. Beware- some are home brewed in bathtubs and poured into empty glass bottles.

6.Insh Allah. "God Willing," a country wide excuse to get out of all undesirable rendezvous, potential plans and unexciting obligations. "Wanna come into my shop and have tea tomorrow?" "Insh Allah."

7. Octopus. Delicious, slimy, tentically octupus. To be found under a rock at low tide by a good-looking Bereber man armed with a rusted iron rod. Then fried in spices by the sweet old Bereber who owns the cafe and to be consumed until you can't possibly eat anymore. Seriously, when is the next time you are going to be able to pull on octopus out of the ocean, spill sepia all over your hands and then devour it piece by delicious piece no more than 30 minutes after it was hiding under a rock.

8. Trannies. I mean...Transies. These gutted buses are like those vehicles they use at home to transport large amounts of marijuana or Mexicans, or both. Still, when you come across them you leap for joy as you know you will be charged the same price as everyone else to get to the next town on that uncomfortable wooden bench bolted to the floor (if you're lucky). The good news about a transie especially is that old-town rules apply so that women MUST sit next to women unless they are accompanied by male escort (read: family member). The chances thus of being masturbated next to en route are somewhat mitigated (however, see #9).

9. Consanguinity. Ok, so still not for us, but it's definitely a practice thriving in Morocco. What does one do when one cannot leave the house without male family member and does not talk to other males for all of one's life. Well, one marries in the family of course. When asking our companions in Zagorra where they met their wives both answered with nonchalance, "She's in my family."

10. American men. Wow, we never thought we'd say this, but if there is anyone who is not going to think of you either as their mother or as their whore it's American men. We think you respect us, but even if you don't, at least you are a little afraid of us. (And thank you to Peace Corps Shawn for offering this brief but absolutely necessary respite from Moroccan males).

We loved Morocco dearly and absolutely plan to return to the richly cultural south and mountains that we missed on our first journey there. However, there is only so much that one can take, so after two months we decided to buy a ticket to a place where coffee and chocolate come from actual beans and the wine is for drinking. Barcelona is a little upscale for us, but two weeks on a farm should adjust us quite well. Cuidase!

2008-05-06T10:21:00.000-07:00

Ok, so it's a little late, and a little crooked, but it's Happy Birthday, ON A CAMEL!

Everyone please wish my favorite brother a Big Fat Fogey Golden Birthday

"Where the hell have you guys been"

2008-04-04T07:20:00.000-07:00

No, we're not dead, we have just disappeared into the one horse, many surfer town of Imsouane, where we around surrounded by Bereber surfers playing the djembe, European Hippies, funny English guys and a whole bunch of people who tell us to eat more. It's a strange version of Heaven, but one without Internet connection.

If you don't hear from us in another month, it means we've settled down, learned to surf, acquired tans and taken lovers in this town.

Somewhere like this...

2008-04-04T06:49:00.000-07:00

Food for Thought

2008-03-20T12:24:00.000-07:00

And just a heads up, if you are east of the Mississippi this upcoming year (or 5) feel free to stop by and pay me a visit in NYC where I will be getting my edumacation and maybe even the silliest damn PhD (Food Studies) you've ever heard of. (- Leigh)

5 days in transit and one cold shower later:

2008-03-20T11:39:00.000-07:00

5 stars to Qatar Airlines, and your beef curry. Your flight provided the most luxury we've had in 2 months.

We've found ourselves in the middle step between India and the West, where sit down toilets abound but TP is still an anomaly. This halfway combination makes for an awakward pause, a shimmy and a search for the antibacterial (thanks moms). Nevertheless, we still refuse to buy toilet paper or pay the extra 6 durham for a hot shower.

Speaking durham: while prices are numerically equivalent it costs us five times as much in terms of the dollar as it did in India. For this reason we will be leaving the cosmopolitan, but beautiful, Marrakech (were a coke cost us 3 dollars) for seaside Essouiara tomorrow. We take the bus after a glorious victory over the swindling bus-ticket vendor, having discovered that good cop/bad cop is an effective method of barganing and intimidation. To everyones great surprise, especially Genna's, Leigh is the good cop- in three different languages no less.

Our proximity to both Spain and Easter (Semana Santa) is apparent by the millions of milling Spaniards in the magnificent Medina. Thanks to our new friends, five of these "spring breakers," we now have five places to crash in Spain. While they may walk painstakingly slower than our hurried American gait, we're pretty sure we wont be able to keep pace with their partying. Not that we won't give it our best.

We'll catch up later with more observations after we've eaten grilled fish straight from the ocean and enjoyed the breeze of the Moroccan coast. Life sure is hard, sigh...

T is for Transvestites on Trains

2008-03-15T05:42:00.000-07:00

Who are hilarious. Strutting through the train, harassing the men into giving them money, slapping the legs on the sleepers and making the most exciting hullabaloo we've had on the train for three days. That's right folks, we spend three whole days on a train getting from the Northeast to Mumbai. The most delightful moment, perhaps for them as much as us, was when one of the found the underwear Leigh was drying on top of her backpack. Old-ladyesque underwear that was once Genna's, then was Leigh's, now is the Tranny's play thing. She inspected the thick (and we mean, thick) elastic waist band, snapped it like a wet towel in a gym locker room and returned them. Too small.

So here we are Mumbai. Clean, modern, expensive Mumbai. We're strung out, we slept on the "ladies waiting room" floor as a result of a late train and unknown city, nothing a little Valium, earplugs and bandanna over the eyes can't fix. We're really dirty- brown skin peeling from your neck dirty- and we kind of smell like fish because we got in the way of a very crowded fish market at dawn. We don't envy the people who have to share the plane from Mumbai to Kenya with us. Or the plane from Kenya to Qatar, or the plane from Qatar to Morocco.

In closing, goodbye India, we will miss you. Hello Morocco, we have no clue what to except from you.

Not your Rainforest Cafe

2008-03-15T03:01:00.000-07:00

This is what they call "a truly hair-raising wire bridge" in its description. Genna seemed to not be too keen on Leigh's bouncing up and down to create resonance. Dad (Leigh's), you would have been so proud!

INQUIRIES

2008-03-10T01:24:00.000-07:00

...or as they say here, Enquiries. We are on our way out of India in less than a week. Can you believe it? Next we fly to Morocco (not without a pleasant layover in both Kenya and Qatar, heck, why not). After that we can nearly skip across the puddle to Spain. The only problem being our pathetic and dessicated US dollar. To save money we were hoping to enlist the assistance of anyone who has friends/family in Spain with open couches, floors, bathtubs or other surfaces of snoozing potential. You and they will be dually rewarded with good ol' American eats a la Leigh and Genna.

H is for Hunger Strike in the Himalayas

2008-03-02T05:05:00.000-08:00

The toy train ride to Kurseong and back to Darjeeling (with one delightful stop for momos, aloo paratha and chaitastic chai).

For 12 hours they let the channels open. The city had been closed for 10 days, no business, no produce, no nothing; only 2 things came into Darjeeling water and milk...watered down milk 12 hours the city breathed a sigh of relief to help the people, when that sigh opened its mouth for one last breath before it resealed itself it brought us in with it. Somehow, we managed to get off a train from Varanasi and catch one of the limited jeeps (a 13 person cramming record for us) up to a city whose people refused to let a thing pass until their demands had been met.

So there we were in a shut up town with all the money in the world (all 100$ that we have on us collectively at least) and nowhere to spend it. Lucky people take pity on us sorts here. Four days and one protest march later Gorkhaland is on its way to becoming a reality (with a little help from us), one man has stepped down and the condemned "6th Schedule" is at a hault.

This also means that we get to buy momos, ride the toy train (a world heritage site), and sample the first flush number one Darjeeling Orange Ultra Special Pekoe yadda yadda at High Tea at the Windemere (waste of rupees if you ask us). Oh yes, and with a view of the 3rd highest mountain in the world.

That being said, we're soon off to the wettest place on earth.

A few pics (a little late)

2008-02-25T04:49:00.001-08:00

Thumbs up to 6AM boat ride on the Ganga (Ganges). Thumbs down to human flesh eating dogs on other side of Ganga.

Here is snow Srinigar with Himalaya backdrop. Imagine sweeping off each of those snow covered roofs 3 times a day..with no electricity.

Genna and Leigh in traditional men's ferhens eating Was Wan with the women at the 40 day feast of sorts. This is only the first round.

Genna and the ultra cute, almost-makes-me-wanna-have-a-kid Rumman. He's our best Kashmiri bud and a great adventurer.

A Day in the Life

2008-02-24T02:33:00.000-08:00

Step 1

Genna and I spend the first five minutes of our discombobulated day attempting to dislodge the mucus pustules that have established residence in our lungs through the night. Leigh curses the fact that despite washing her hands 76 times per day, taking a multivitamin and utilizing the supposedly miracle performing Airborne elixir in all its effervescent glory, Genna has managed to kick their mutual cold well before she has.

Step 2

Our first task after arising is the laborious process of disrobing our teeth of thick nightly sweaters that cling to them like leather on Halle Berry as Cat Woman.

Step 3

We emerge into the dusty alleyways of current residence to acclimate ourselves to the refusal process that will soon be second nature - no autorickshaw, no boat, no hotel, no guide, no bicycle rickshaw, no hashish, no tchochke, not silk, no goat head and no saree. One or the other of us politely turns down requisite marriage proposal of the day. Sympathetically lament the VISA policies of the US with angry Muslim woman from whom we only need directions.

Step 4

Chai. And no white people, restaurant, acrid tea-bagged bullshit neither. We look for the slummiest alley with the most loitering men and the grumpiest looking chai wallah hovering over his blue propane flame and approach. Inevitably the sea of overlookers parts offering the only bench to approaching whiteys with red-toothed smiles. Using our limited Hindi request "Do chai" (there is no word for please here) and wait for enlightenment.

Step 5

Pick a direction. Any direction. Some mornings, the direction of food. Some, the direction of a skirt we wanted to see or a bowl we wanted to buy and loose. Sometimes the direction to where a bathroom might be. Accidentally end up at the monument all of the motivated tourists are getting lost while trying to locate.

Step 6

Practice haggling skills. "Is that kilo of grapes really worth 40 rupees? Come on, half of them are starting to turn and I can get them across the street for much less? They look more like 30 rupee grapes." Decide whether the salesman is actually insulted, or is just a very melodramatic actor. Pretend to walk away, turn around when they shout the price you want at our back.

Step 7-

Stop in the smallest hole in the wall you can find for dinner. Point to what our neighbor is eating, trying to convey that we would like to share one. Still somehow get two. Swear to learn Hindi word for sharing.

Step 8

Realize that it is now 7:30 and things are starting to close as simultaneously coming into the fact that biscuits (cookies, to you Yankee types) would be awesome in chai for dessert. Seek out confectionery, only to find that the only sweets still available are little syrupy balls of stuff that are way to sweet and if you are lucky, find streetside cookie oven guy, who somehow bakes little flat sugar cookies on a thin sheet of metal between live coals and a heavy pan placed on top.

Step 9

Order chai on the roof top of the hotel. Wait 45 minutes for chai to arrive. Dunk cookies in the sweet hot liquid and enjoy every bite. Try to read or attack the impossible task of catching up with writing in the fading light.

Step 10-

Crawl under the extra blankets requested, both huddle on one of the twin beds pushed together to form the Indian version of a double bed. Leigh, who lacks the ability to create heat herself, latches on to Genna "the oven" Kohlhardt like a panda cub to its mother, only wishing a more marsupialesque fitting were a possibility. The girl obliges, clamping pedal digits between angled warm skin. The two eventually drift off to sleep with strings of drool winding their way down the channels of smile lines like the 36 sewage drains flowing into the great Ganga River. The soundtrack of their slumber is rickshaw honking, the vibration of a water heater and the three hit songs that share rotation on the radio waves.

P is for Primates with a Package

2008-02-19T00:21:00.000-08:00

Internet is wicked expensive in Agra so we leave you with this little word of observation direct from our rooftop view of the Taj Majal. That's indeed correct, dey sum well hung primates.

More soon...Varanasi in 2 days. Hopefully the American monopoly has not caught on for internet cafes as it has here. Lame.

(#2) B is for Brain and Biscuits Before Bed

2008-02-15T07:10:00.000-08:00

We've passed the stand a dozen times and inspected its meat no less than that. Despite Annie's warning not to eat meat in Delhi the bloody, mushy sheep's brain that rests in that pan like a tray of brownies keeps calling out to us. It may be fresh, it may not...how does one tell when brain has passed its prime? The place (read - stall on side of road) is crowded: a good sign. However, we have not seen any one person actually consume the brain before us. Still, with Leigh's interest and Genna's encouragement we decide that it is only appropriate that we consume the craziest thing we can find. Order up.

When he pulls the lobes from the pan we are shocked by how much they looked like ridged pink globules of mucus. He sit on the pan and promptly minces it to look somewhat like gooey ground beef. To this he adds red stuff, green stuff, yellow stuff and a dash of some other stuff. And while everything else the man cooks takes less than two minutes, our special order seems to require similarly special preparation.

When the hippocampus (Rob, correct me if you will) reaches the desired doneness (looks rare to me) the still partial liquid is scooped over the wok's edge and into our foil bowl. The man splunked two miniature spoons like those tasters you get at Baskin Robbins into our cranial feast and handed it over. With apprehension we each dove in. Spicy, liquidy, solidy, brainy...deliciousness. But it needs something.

We spend the next 10 minutes, tin of steaming brain in hand, looking for the perfect compatriates to this incomplete meal. Down one alley we travel until we find the chapati maker scooping hot rounds from the tandoori. Up another alley we find the man with the final touch: curd. Our picnic is complete.

Back at our confusing Korean filled "hotel", we dig into our loosely compiled dinner. A crazy brainy burrito topped with paneer and onion...how cerebral. A cup of chai and a few cookies from the bakery today and our culinary extravaganza is complete...for today.

In other news, we are back in Delhi soon to head to Agra and Varanasi. We do our best to evade the Indian men trying to sell us rickshaw after bracelet after cigarettes after their first born child. We drink tea in teal walled homes discovered down dead-ended alleys. We lie about our Indian experience to the tourist counters. And we strictly refuse to go to Rajasthan. Oh yes, and we will be loitering around this place for another month as Kenyans have yet to decided whether they would like to stop killing each other. Bummer. Oh well, India is bright, delicious and odiferous and there's much more of it to see, taste and smell.

M is for Mad at Married Men

2008-02-08T00:54:00.000-08:00

Ok, so in the US when you say "I'm divorced" that usually means "I'm divorced...currently." In Srinigar it apparently means: I have a wife in Bombay as well. Asshole. So, one of us, (who shall remain nameless) took letter K for Kiss me Kashmiri and mixed it with letter M for Married Men and here we are at S - Shit-out-of-luck Stuck in Snowy Srinigar.

We've been here in excess of a week and there are no signs of leaving until Monday or thereafter. Luckily, Kenyans hate each other so we most likely have more time in India. (Yes mom and dad...you're right).

A little about us now might start with Leigh's head bent over a bucket this morning dripping freezing water on the bathroom floor. Perhaps 3 hours later her hair is finally combed and french braided to be left for no less than 4 days. Genna's knickers, on the other hand, hang on the hook in the bathroom stall as we are told that under garments are not to be washed or hung for any to see but oneself.

Tonight we have the hook up. Because we are Americans and get away with everything (yes, I know) we get to go out and play some snooker. Sweet.

ABCs cont...

2008-02-04T03:04:00.001-08:00

H is for Hostages on Houseboats

We have been sucked into the wet winterland that is Kashmir. It seems the entire universe, including every Kashmiri male and the climate, conspires to keep us here forever. Not that this is a bad thing. After days of toying with the idea of catching a train to Agra we have managed to instead get into the heart of Kashmir villages, become a catalyst of the houseboat mafia war, and contribute hugely to the economy.

In actuality, our escape from this insansely kind place has been barred by poor road conditions combined with poor weather. We have instead had to spend the days drinking tea with every third person on the street who extends us an invitation and discovering the practical world of Kashmiri fashion. At the moment Genna and I huddle in men's clothing draped in men's panchos stuffed with our kangri (winter wife).

B is for Boulder Bakers in Developing Nations

We're in a car with a man we met 5 minutes ago. He's a baker though, so how could we say no? He has promised to show us his factory at which he says there are two Americans working. This seems an odd place to find two American bakers, but it makes more sense when we pull up to the "industrial complex" (FoodPark) and two ex-Boulder hippies step out from the cement walls.

Leave it to Boulder to begin the wheat flour/brown sugar rage in a country that doesn't have sewage systems yet. Bob and Annie arrived in Kashmir with a dream this August and somehow managed to find a Kashmiri to share that dream. In the "bakery" is the most ancient industrial mixer we've ever seen sitting beside the brand spankin' top notch bread mixer. The wood oven bakes 150 loaves at a time and aside from that there is a stove top with a setting of high...only.

And so, we converse with these characters for some time sharing the joy of Kashmir and the hopes of health food abroad. There is little more we can say without writing a book on this event. Tomorrow, we head to Jammu if the roads are clear and then to Agra to be ripped off by countless Taj touts. Can't wait to dive into the madness once again. Missing you all.

P.S. A quick note on the blog...if you click on Our Profile you will find the individual blogs of Genna and Leigh. Leigh's is thinkgloballeigh.blogspot.com and Genna's is wordgenna.blogspot.com...there you can get riled up for exciting diatribes.

Global ABCs

2008-01-30T01:07:00.000-08:00

In short, our journey in kid's story format:

C is for Clarinets on Camels:

Republic Day in India is a curious thing. Perhaps the best part would be the full piece band riding camels. Perhaps the oddest part would be the giant phallic missile on display. Perhaps the most talked about part would be the whereabouts of Sarcozi and girlfriend, not wife mind you, Carla Bruni.

K is for Kiss me Kashmiri:

Wow! Let's say it again, WOW. There is a saying in India that refers to the eyes of Iran, the hair of Bengal and the beauty of Kashmnir. Folks, this ain't no lie. Kashmiri men are gorgeous. And so, as they stare at us, we stare right back wondering how one says "can I share your firepot" in Kashmiri.

I is for Indians on Ice:

After getting picked up by a water truck and hauled up a snowy mountain to a temple for Shiva (in a mostly Muslim region), we head back down the hill and can't help but explode by the spectacle of Indian tourists attempting to master ice. It may have taken 20 minutes for the family of four to cross a foot patch of the frozen puddle. This is not to say that Genna did not fall on her butt too. Not to fear, the water truck picked us up on the way down too as we passed tourist bus after jeep stuck in the ice in our warm and free ride into town.

Delhi Meat

2008-01-25T04:35:00.000-08:00

That's what Genna and I seem to be today...prey to the overwhelming amount of men swarming Delhi. We hop over feril dogs on the center aisle of a bustling street wondering, "Where are all the women?" This question has yet to be answered, but then again we were side-tracked by some fried potatoes.

Jet lag is a wretched monster chasing us around with exhaustion. Tonight, we head to bed around 8 and arise early for Republic Day festivities tomorrow. As far as we understand, our tickets are close the president so we should have good view of the action...whatever that may be.

More to come, as we are stealing internet from a very nice man named Latif.

P.S. Indian chai rocks my little taste bud's universe.

The Journey Begins

2008-01-22T23:35:00.000-08:00

Less than 30 hours await us before we begin our newest chronicles abroad. We are scared, excited and antsy as hell. Leigh has just realized that she does not, in actuality, have proof of her yellow fever vaccination. This may prove difficult (yes, I see those shaking heads of the Bush family now).

Tomorrow we will be dropped off at the airport in the early afternoon to take our first of a looooooooong travel day/night/day to New Delhi.

The following food items have been selected as must-haves:
1. 1 bag goldfish crackers
2. 1 bag baby carrots
3. 1 pkg. swedish fish
4. 2 chocolate bars
5. 1 English cucumber
6. 1 bag recently made cookies
7. 1 bag doritos (nacho cheese...of course)
8. 1 box peanut butter granola bars

Let's just say that we won't be starving on this trip.

Wish us luck! More soon.