Summer in Byron is skinny dipping season.

Stripping down to our bare and bronzed birthday suit and sprinting for the nearest body of water is an exceedingly common act my friends and I participate in here in Byron Bay. Only the best nights consist of a stash of clothes and a dash to the shoreline. It's all too tempting in such a magical dwelling, full of wonderful people and endless good times. This place basically asks you to get naked, to be wild and free. I've discovered there is a recipe for "skinny dipping", and in this town the ingredients are easily accessible.

To begin with you need friends! Byron is the perfect place for young people to meet young people, especially in the summer when the waters warm and the bars stay open late. For me this summer was a constant cycle of beach, work, and play. Each element of the cycle providing ways to meet new people and thus, add to the recipe. One of my favorite Australian terms I've learned here is "cruisy", basically meaning easy-going and flexible, and the attitude around Byron can most accurately be described as just that, cruisy. No one seems to be stressed or bothered, everyone is looking for a good time and an adventure. The "cruisy-ness" of Byron is infectious, something you really won't experience anywhere else.

I'm so fortunate to have met some of the most incredible people here, people with big hearts and healthy spirits. When you are surrounded by people constantly searching for fun, life becomes a collection of good times, and those good times string together into an epic adventure.

Friends mean endless BBQ's and road trips, picnics at waterfalls and smoking on the porch, days on the beach and nights on the town, shopping trips and music festivals, and of course... skinny dipping.

Let's be real here, getting naked is much more fun when your not alone.

With a solid group of friends the next ingredients you need are alcohol and music! Byron is a party town and there's no shortage of bars and live performances. Most nights something is going on in town; from surfboard giveaways to one massive singin' black woman... you are sure to find entertainment.

However, heading out for a night on the town doesn't come cheap in the bay. When schooners (regular sized beer glass) can cost half of what you make in an hour and shots aren't even allowed in most venues... you are basically forced to perfect the art of pre-gaming. Pre-gaming doesn't vary much across the hemisphere, you're really just drinking at someones house before going out so you can attempt to not spend your entire weeks pay in one night.  Something completely unique and unknown to those back home who have never ventured this far south... is the goon bag.

I don't really know how to start explaining the goon bag. I don't know where the name "goon" originates from, but it does come in a bag. Well, it comes in a box and then you pull out the bag. If you are thinking it's like boxed wine.... no. Just no. It's something like a cross between boxed wine and unleaded fuel, mixed with some fruity berry dish soap. The worst part is it actually lists "FISH EGGS" in the ingredients. Despite that kind of description, well, we'll drink anything that cost $11 and gets six of us maggot. (Another of my favorite terms, meaning drunk)

So when you're out with friends, full of goon, and the bar closes...

Don't forget the most vital element to the recipe... water.

We are in a bay here, engulfing a massive body of water. There's nearly a dozen beaches within 15 minutes of town! The white sand beaches surrounding Byron are soft and beautiful, they also squeek when you walk on them! The closest beaches are the busiest in the day, great places to gather friends and make new ones. However if you're searching for something more intimate or just less crowded, simply head to the quieter beaches on the other side of the point. The water is warm and there's beauty everywhere (note that this is a surf town ladies, full of surfers).

At night the lighthouse casts it's beam rhythmically across the water, and you can see the dark silhouette of Julian Rocks in the distance. Beach parties and bonfires spark some of the best nights in Byron! Only one thing beats laying in the sand under the stars at night... swimming naked in the ocean under the stars at night! This is when the magic happens; the clothes come off and nude bodies leave scattered footprints leading to the sea. Swim, laugh, smile.

The essential role skinny-dipping played in my summer was about so much more than just being nude and swimming. The act was symbolic of every emotion that defined my time in Byron; freedom, youth, joy, and possibility.

And remember if the beach is too far from home for some, you can always rely on that one particular private pool... just a fence jump away.

A little "Ew" with all the "Yew"

This has got to end.

I'm sitting on the foot of my bed soaking wet, wrapped in a towel, and shaking from head to toe.

I have to do something. I need to stand up for myself, and prove that I have the power, I am in control here.

Okay. I stand up, march down the hallway, slowly push open the bathroom door and peek in.

He's still in there. Ew!

He's just staring at me from the floor. Looking up at me through all those beady eyes ready to attack in full force. This isn't fair! For fucks sake he has EIGHT legs how am I supposed to compete with that?

I'll just come back later.
No, you need to get ready for work.
NO, I can just go naked.
Get back in there.
But he's massive!
YOU are bigger! Get back in there!

The internal debate persists in my mind for several more minutes before I finally build up the courage and step into the bathroom. He really is massive though, nearly the size of my fist! I thought those wimpy black widows back home were big, then I moved to Australia.

Actually, he doesn't look so scary.

He's cornered. The poor thing was trapped by the shower on one side, run off water from my bath on the other, and ME in front of him.

He looks a little scared himself now that I think about it.

He's sprawled out and frozen in terror. Suddenly he doesn't look so massive. In fact, he probably wants to get out just as much as I want him to. Some sort of unexpected sympathy sets in and I start imagining his family and friends. Maybe he has little baby spiders that miss him. Maybe he has a girlfriend in the backyard wondering where he is, if he's found someone with longer legs and taken off. I start to feel kind of sad for the little guy...

But then he does something detrimental to his survival...

HE MOVES.

I shriek and jump and grab the closest thing to me, a can of hairspray!

ATTACK! ATTACK! ATTACK!

I spray and spray, he wriggles around trying to escape. Each move he makes provokes another blast of sticky chemical. The struggle seems to last for hours, I'm sweating and my spray finger starts to cramp. Eventually he stops fighting and the battle is over. I grab what I need for work and bolt from the room.

That's right. I'm the boss.


Until the next morning...

I hadn't really thought about the spider again after flushing his crumpled body down the toilet. I carried on with my day at work, returned home and enjoyed dinner with my housemates, I showered before bed in peace and woke up the next morning with not a worry in the world. I proceeded through my morning routine of pouring tea, making breakfast and picking a chore to be done. Hmmmm, judging by the mountain of clothes blocking my passage into my own room, I guess it's laundry day.

I gather all my dirties and make my way down the hall to the laundry room. I'm just organizing my clothes, as innocent as one can be, minding my own damn business. I open the door of the laundry machine and...

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

He's back!

Okay clearly it's not the same spider. The other spider died. I killed him. This is someone new!

Oh shit. It's probably his cousin or something.

I've slammed the door closed and backed against the opposite wall, weighing my options. I've come to the conclusion that this new spider is definitely in some way related to the last spider and is no doubt here for revenge. My mind races with images of a war began, hundreds of thousands of armed eight-legged creatures the size of Chihuahuas angrily surrounding my house demanding justice. I see their glistening poisonous fangs and they hold spears and machine guns.

No.I think. I am not going to let this happen.

I stand there and begin talking to the spider, through the metal door of course. The negotiation goes something like this;


"He there Mr. Spider. So look, I know you are pissed. I would be too if I was you. But you see, I really think we need to make peace with what happened and move forward. What happened was a tragedy, and you don't want more tragedy do you? No me either. So maybe if you could find it in your heart to forgive me... oh fuck it."


I reach over, choose a cycle and press start.

I can do laundry next month.

Sorry for partying- Amsterdam Queens Day Festival

There are a few things that need to be said before getting into the details of this particularly sinful and shameless weekend;

If you find yourself questioning my potential after reading, then I made the whole thing up, ok? Second, I have changed the names of my accomplices as to protect their dignity and any shot they might have at a government job later in life.

We probably should have double checked the hostel Nigel chose to book. Out of all seven of us, not a single one of us thought to look into it and make sure it was acceptable. How and when we left the task of finding a place to sleep up to him, I just can't figure out. I'd like to think we are smarter than that, especially collectively, but no. We let him choose it, and not one of us so much as glanced at the picture on the website to confirm that it was even a hostel in Amsterdam at all. You see the funny thing is, it wasn't.

We decided a few weeks ago that Amsterdam is a "must" on the list of weekend trips, and that the best weekend to go would be the weekend of April 30th because it's the Queen’s birthday and there is a massive festival. "Queen's Day" is a huge party where everyone dresses in orange, alcohol is allowed in the streets, and DJ's from all over the world perform in squares and parks across the city. Over a million people attend the festival, so we knew we had to book a hostel in advance or we'd be sleeping with the bums and prostitutes on the sidewalk in the red light district. Now that I think about it that might have actually been the way to go. So we arrive at Amsterdam Central Station excited as all hell to be in Europe's "sin city" for three days, only to realize Nigel doesn't know how to get to the hostel. And he can't remember the name. And obviously none of the rest of us paid an ounce of attention. So we are off to a great start. Fortunately kids these days are more attached to their iphones and blackberrys than a junkie to a crack pipe. So all six of us are searching for wifi and manage to download the directions to "Lucky Lake" just as a metro bus pulls up. We hop on, check the station name, and realize it's at the end of the line. That's never a good sign. Then we read the small print and notice the instructions to "wait for the hourly shuttle bus from the station" to get to the hostel. Where the f*ck is this place?

At the end of the line we find a piece of paper taped to a wall under a bridge saying "Wait here for Lucky Lake shuttle". Okay, so we wait. For an hour. Finally the shadiest white van I have ever witnessed pulls up. No way am I getting in that thing. It just screams "rape" or "your liver is going on the black market". I was half expecting a pedophile to open the door and start handing out free candy. I was wrong though, (something I will be many times this weekend) and a cheerful Aussie girl hops out and helps us with our bags. We drive through farmland for a solid twenty minutes before pulling into a little parking lot in the middle of nowhere and being led to reception.

I have to hand it to the Lucky Lake staff, they are master minds at deception. Their genuine friendliness tricked me into thinking I have just arrived at an exclusive resort spa outside of the city where I can relax and party and possibly win a million dollars. Then the welcome man pointed to our "rooms" and I almost broke into hysterics, this had to be a joke. Turns out, Lucky Lake hostel consists of a long row of trailers, yes trailers, lined up in front of an outdoor community kitchen and several porta-potty type bathrooms. I'm literally talking about those two person trailers that you attach to the back of a truck for a camping weekend. About fifteen of them! Two to a trailer, have a nice time. Poor Nigel, if looks could kill he would have dropped dead right there.



We spare Nigel and decide to drop off our crap and get back into the city as soon as possible. Kandace and I examine our mini double-wide just long enough to realize it has no running water, the windows don't close, and the heater is broken. The bed, our one single bed, is about the size of our coffee table in Prague. Whatever, I'm thinking after a night out in Dam-Town it's not going to be hard to get comfortable and pass out. We meet the rest of the group and wait another hour for another lousy crap van to pick us up and take us to the station so we can take another lousy crap metro all the way into the city. We are informed they charge us for each shuttle ride and the last shuttle is at 1:45am. So much for partying. (Yeah right)

It's hard to stay upset when in Amsterdam. For starters, it's AMSTERDAM! Anything goes in this city, there's no rules and regulations, no inhibitions, and apparently no morals or standards either. Fresh off the metro we decide how to best start off our epic weekend. Nigel has lost the privilege to decide anything, so the rest of us agree on finding the nearest coffee shop and indulging in its infamous amenities. To specify, in Amsterdam a "cafe" is where you get coffee, a "coffee shop" is where you purchase various forms of marijuana. These forms range from baggies of weed, pre-rolled joints, and baked goods with weed in them. I split a space cake with Kori and if I really have to explain what that is... just google it ok?

Now I'm not much of a stoner, in fact I'm not at all. For this reason I decided eating pot was probably a better choice than smoking myself silly and most likely throwing up. That other option, the one where I just don't consume the drug at all, that one never really crossed my mind. This is AMSTERDAM! Come on!



So we wander around for awhile, waiting for the effects to kick in. Amsterdam is a really beautiful city! We cross old stone bridges over the canals, pass the crooked old Dutch buildings, and laugh at the things in the sex shop windows. We come across a cozy little Chinese food joint. It's called "Walk to Wok", haha- that's funny. My friends wait in line to order while I save the seats and people watch. Everyone is eating with chopsticks, haha- that's funny. The soy sauce on the table is empty, haha- for some reason that's funny. It seems like they have been in line forever. Haha. My nail polish is really orange- haha. It starts raining outside- haha. Why is everything SO FUNNY?

If my friends weren't feeling it already by then, it definitely hit them when they returned to the table and found me all alone giggling like a maniac at nothing in particular. Every comment, movement, and action sent me into another fit of laughter. Wait, did I just laugh? I know I meant to but did I actually let it out? What was I laughing at? Woah look at that bike...

After devouring some serious Chinese food we entered the outside world again with a whole new perspective. Giggling and tripping over the cobblestone we explore for about two whole minutes before some strange magnetic force pulled us into another coffee shop. I sat my happy ass on a bar stool and cracked up when the bartender asked what I would like. What would I like? Everything. I would like everything. Wait do I? I finally manage to order a beer and return to the table to find Nigel and Dan lighting up a massive joint. It's called "white widow" and that alone should have set off flashing red alarms in my head, but at the moment my head was happily gazing at a string of Christmas lights on the ceiling. I deny the joint as it passes from Nigel to Dan to Kori and back. So much is happening right now; I'm laughing at Kandace and Jenny who are laughing at all the people lounging at the tables around us, this dude and his girlfriend next to me are rolling a joint bigger than my wrist, Kori can't open her eyes anymore, and Steevie is pissed because she's the only one not high. But she's trying to be.

I'm not sure how long we were there but at one point Kori turns into a broken record player and keeps repeating "I'm so high, I'm so high". We all bust up laughing and begin teasing her a bit.

"Tell us what you are feeling!"
"I see green and orange lights..." Haha.
"...and smoke is flowing out of my mouth..." Haha!
"...and I'm freezing cold!" Wait, but it's hot in here!
"…and I'm sweating really bad" Haha, wait, she really is sweating, she's drenched!
"I can't move, I don't like this" Uh oh.

Two seconds later and BAM! Kori hits the ground. Oh shit! Steevie jumps to the rescue and starts screaming orders. I run to the bar and yell at the bartender for help, Nigel runs outside and starts pacing back and forth, Dan just stands there with his hands in the air, and Jenny pours a bottle of water on Kori. No one else in the place moves. Several glance at our friend on the floor and go back to hitting their bongs. The bartender leans over the bar and says to relax, just give her a minute. Nigel is still running back and forth outside. Dan is laughing as Jenny prepares to dump another bottle on Kori. But it was unnecessary; Kori was sitting upright looking at all of us like we lost our minds!

"Why am I all wet?" she asks, giggling a little but remaining on the floor.

"Shit you scared us!" I crawl under the table with her and laugh.

"Happens all the time" someone in the bar proclaims.

So that's it I guess, we get Kori up and realize we were just "those kids".

We all take our seats again and break out in short spurts of laughter at what just happened. Time to go somewhere else! Maybe a park so we can get some fresh air? Crap it's raining again. Ooooh we should eat again! Wait a second... Where's Nigel?

All our heads turn towards the door and, once again, we absolutely lose it at the sight of Nigel still pacing out in the pouring rain.

That night we end up eating (again) at a great Irish pub where, conveniently, a pub crawl was meeting. We sign up and immediately the party begins. To start off with we get free "test tube" shots for the first hour. These were quite possibly the worst shots I have ever had, and as a bartender that likes to experiment with new concoctions, that's saying a lot. We were told it was vodka and juice but I'm convinced is was some rejected Dutch cough syrup that expired. Regardless, the lady pouring them finally just left us our own bottle so she didn't have to keep returning to our table. I wasn't kidding when I said you lose your standards in this city. The "crawl" part begins and we are each handed a bottle of champagne as we file out of the pub into the rainy street. I have now acquired a bright orange fedora and several new friends. We pop our bubbly, turn our swag on, and get ready for the madness.

Madness was an understatement... now pumped full of booze we follow the leader from bar to club to bar and back. Reflecting briefly I recall at some point dancing to "Grease Lightning" and "Total Eclipse of the Heart", being interviewed on some strangers video camera (currently scanning youtube), nearly crying when my hat goes missing, an epic denial of some feisty Aussie, a painful fall in the rain, singing Disney songs in the street and attempting to steal a fancy glass from a bar. Not necessarily in that order, and not all MY actions. Eventually between "fist pumps" and Jager shots, someone came to their senses just in time to point out we need to catch the last metro back to our cozy trailers. We stumble through pouring rain to the metro stop only to be informed that the metro closes at midnight. It's 1:15. Why the f*ck does the Lucky Lake shuttle run until 1:45 when the last metro reaches the end of the line station just after 12? Someone please explain that to my sloshed and soaked ass! After a forty-five euro taxi ride to BF Holland, Kandace and I cuddle up on our gnome size bed and get rested before the main event tomorrow. It's freezing, raining, and the windows are stuck open.

At this point I am determined not to let our unfortunate Lucky Lake fiasco get me down. We wake up the next morning to beautiful clear skies and warm weather. Perfect! The seven of us are decked out in bright orange apparel and ready to celebrate the Queen! (We later find out it's actually the Queens mothers birthday, and she's dead) The city is absolute madness! The streets are packed with people, bars and street food set up at every corner, boats full of dancing people fill the canals, and everything is orange! I get a beer from a man wearing orange wings (so jealous) and enter a sex shop with the rest of the girls. Basically we act like 3rd graders, huddled together giggling and pointing at all the various "toys" and whatnot. We pass all the fantasy costumes and edible panties, ending in a room filled floor to ceiling with porno. At first we are flipping through the DVDs laughing at the different classifications of porn; midget porn, Asian porn, pregnant porn, obese porn, gay porn, you name it. Then we flip to the WRONG section... let's just say lunch was silent and awkward.

All of us are big fans of DJ Tiesto and we knew he was performing somewhere in the city today. We grab a few more space cakes and some bottles of wine and set out into the crowd on an epic day-long quest for Tiesto. The quest ultimately fails but was worth every second! At one point we enter this huge square absolutely packed with people raving out to live techno. It was nuts! People were dancing on top of bus stations, benches, trash cans, etc. You had no control over where you moved, you just kind of had to go with the flow and naturally we ended up smack in the middle of the action and somehow still together. We dance and dance and dance until the wine runs out and decide it's time to move on, Tiesto wasn't here anyways.
















































The great thing about Amsterdam is that despite its "party city" reputation and tolerance of most drugs, it's still a really mellow place. The architecture, tree lined streets, and canals create this beautiful serene setting, it's kind of unreal. On Queens Day it was anything but quiet of course, but it still had this relaxed vibe that anyone recovering from a big night out could appreciate. Just minutes from the exhausting pulse of the techno mob we found ourselves a lovely little park to relax for a minute and enjoy more, um, pastries. Unsure of how much time has passed we all persuade each other to get off the ground and continue the "Quest for Test". We attempt to look at a map and discuss strategy, but that failed miserably. We also are running out of people capable of decision making; Nigel is still on probation, Steevie has lost the ability to talk altogether (she finally got high!) and Kori proved herself unworthy after the fainting incident. The rest of the day consists of crawling (literally at some lesser moments) into new insane scenes around each corner, usually forgetting what we were looking for and becoming absorbed in a street performance or carnival ride. As the sun goes down everything turns into a hazy combination of orange, music and flashing lights. We make our way back to the station by passing through the red-light district. Normally I would be too embarrassed to do more than glance at the prostitutes chillin' in each window, but at our level of intoxication we are clearly not feeling too shy and proceeded to "rate" each girl by our own list of qualifications. Lesson learned today: They can hear you.



I think it is safe to say that the "party" part of our Amsterdam visit was burnt out come the next morning. We planned to experience the "cultural" side of Amsterdam and visited the Anne Frank Museum. The museum is attached to the house that the Frank family hid in for two years during the Nazi occupation of Amsterdam. We toured the house before examining the museum- quite the experience. I had a hard time wrapping my head around the reality that such an evil could force a normal group of people into such a desperate situation. I felt claustrophobic just maneuvering my way up the stairs and through the bedrooms. I can't imagine being stuck inside that kind of place for two years and never setting foot outside. I admire the courage of Otto Frank in making the decision to go into hiding for his family, I can't fathom having to even consider something like that. It was painfully upsetting to imagine my Dad doing the same for my family- especially since the outcome was so tragic. I encourage anyone visiting Amsterdam to visit this museum, never have I walked out of a place feeling so incredibly fortunate and appreciative.

On a happier note; I ALSO encourage anyone visiting Amsterdam to visit the Heineken Brewery! Severely touristy but equally entertaining, this museum/brewery starts with a walk through the history of the Heineken family and the creation of their famous brew. Throughout the museum you learn about the ingredients in the beer, find out how it is processed and participate in a tasting. There are corny rides and entertaining karaoke setups (random), as well as a massive international bar at the end where you get free beer! Yes I know, the party "burn out" was short-lived.

The next day we speedy-gonzales it out of Lucky Lake, pausing to wave a sad goodbye to Amsterdam. I formally apologize to my liver and promise (with fingers crossed) to give it a break. Reflecting on the various toxins consumed, the pass-out episode, and the short cultural party break, I’d say Amsterdam was a definite success. Even though we never managed to find DJ Tiesto. A short flight home lands me back in Prague where I am greeted with the harsh reality that our time here is nearly through. Then slapped in the face with a worse reality- finals start this week. I've cracked open far more beers than books this semester and now it's time to seriously get down to the grind. Until next time friends...

A vacation from vacation- Spring Break in the Balkans!

It kind of seems silly really, having a "spring break". It's like taking a mini vacation from the semester-long vacation. An escape from an escape. A break from, you know, my whole two days of class for a week. I really need some time to relax, let me tell you. Between the five-day weekends of travel and fun across central Europe, long lazy days lounging in my neighborhood bagel shop, or taking advantage of the long-anticipated arrival of Spring strolling through my favorite park overlooking the city... Get me out of here. I'm about to break from the stress!

I thought about one simple thing when considering where to spend spring break; sun. Preferably lots of it. Real sun, not the pathetic little glowing spot half hidden behind grey clouds that I recently have been accepting as "sun" in Prague. I want blue skies, warm weather, and how about some beach and water too! Okay then, it's settled.

I'm going to Croatia.

A group of five of us really outdid ourselves and booked a charming villa in the center of old town Dubrovnik for four nights. We spent hours searching the web for the perfect place, arguing over size, kitchen space, location, proximity to the local bars, walking distance to the water, number of showers, wi-fi accessibility, color, texture, comfort.... you name it. What we did not, however, even consider at the time of booking, was how to get there.

If you look at a map of Europe, everything looks relatively close. We knew we could take a train to Zagreb (capital of Croatia) and from there a bus to Dubrovnik. Sounds simple enough. Despite the fact that I should know better, I nodded in agreement to the plan. What we weren't very clear about was how long this trip was going to take. I mean, Croatia isn't that big! And we aren't that far! Are we?

Thirty-six hours later we arrive at the doorstep of our villa. Absolutely exhausted, hungry, and in desperate need of showers. Our over night train to Zagreb was an anticipation-induced sleepless night fueled by cheap wine and pretzels. I think I nodded off for about thirty minutes before realizing we were about to miss our stop and end up in Bosnia (this is ironic, as you will read). Okay, so we made it to Zagreb. Next order of business; catch a bus to Dubrovnik. As we walked several kilometers loaded down with our massive backpacks to the main bus station, I started to reconsider the amount of crap I deemed necessary for a few days on the coast. Upon arrival to the station we were informed that the next bus to Dubrovnik would be in nine hours, yet another overnight transport. Fail. We were missing an entire night in our villa. Fail. We now have an entire day in a city we know nothing about. Fail.

Yet to be honest, Zagreb wasn't so bad. We wandered the capital in a zombie-like stupor, laughing at the insanity of the situation and hazily accepting that this was all just a part of the adventure. We ate lunch, wandered around, ate some more, caught a movie, stumbled across a great outdoor market, and eventually found ourselves boarding our bus with renewed excitement.

After more than 24 hours of practically no sleep, getting on a cramped and crowded bus for another eleven hours was not looking promising for getting caught up. I was fortunate enough to get the very back seat with an extra space to stretch out. Nice. I took a "tylenol pm" and was out. I woke up at one point practically curled up in some poor guys lap. The bus had filled to capacity throughout the night and I was using four seats, one of them occupied, for my own selfish slumber. In my defense, I was practically unconscious. The guy was nice enough, he even offered me his jacket to use as a pillow on his lap and encouraged me to go back to sleep. But I had to pee. At the next stop I jumped off and raced to the bathroom, only to return and find my bed, I mean, seat, occupied by a new stranger. The bus was really full now, and my actual single seat designated for me by my ticket that I bought with my krowns, was now taken by some big dude staring at me, daring me to say something.

So I did.

"Sorry, that's my seat".

"No it's not."

Pause. "Um, yeah it is. Please?"

"Not anymore. Sorry."

I was fighting the tylenol, disoriented and now a little upset. "Please can I sit there? All my stuff is there. I just got off to pee."

"I don't care. I was born here."

Uh-oh. Throwing in the native card. Fortunately my friends jumped to my defense as the bus rattled to a start and continued on. I held on as the bus swerved, listening in disbelief as the guy basically told my friends to let it go, he was not moving. And I had nowhere to sit. Fantastic.

The argument continued on.

"Come on man."

"No."

"She just left for a second!"

"No."

"That's messed up."

"This is rude."

"I don't care."

"Give me her stuff."

The man continued on; "I have not slept in more than 24 hours."

Neither have I! I turned around, searching for a new seat, fighting off frustrated tears, I was not going to make a scene. We were defeated, the argument died.

"Hey girl." I ignored him, asshole. "Girl! Look girl, I'm just kidding!"

What? I faced him again. He was laughing. I was confused. He got up and motioned me to the seat. After introducing himself to my friends and I, he found a new seat at the front of the bus.

"Welcome to Croatia guys!"

Gee thanks. What the hell just happened? I sat down. Everyone stared at me just as perplexed as I was. Several times the man, still laughing, turned around to shout an apology. Um, okay then. I made myself comfortable with my pillow friend and passed out until morning. Maybe that was all a dream?

Morning came, we arrived. Finally. Our taxi's dropped us off at the entrance to the old town and we made our way to the villa. We met our renter, Paula, at the door and she helped us in and showed us around. The villa, our villa, was better than we could have ever hoped for. As we have all agreed, it was one-hundred percent worth the journey. Paula led us up the winding staircase through all five floors. Each bedroom was pretty and more than comfortable, the living/dining room had big open windows overlooking the city, and the kitchen, get this, had an oven, toaster, microwave, and stove. My little hot plate in Prague seemed so far away. But all of this was nothing compared to the single deciding factor that had us all agree over the place; the terrace.

From the kitchen a tiny door opened outside to narrow stairs leading up to the terrace. THE terrace. The place that was to become the heart and soul of our time in Dubrovnik, an area of the fondest memories and purest joy, a place that seemed to have magnetic control over us all, leading us there constantly at any hour day or night, the terrace was a near magical place where life suddenly makes sense and your thoughts run clear. The Terrace. There is no exaggeration here, this place was unreal. The Terrace consists of a table and five chairs arranged on top of smooth tile and surrounded by a combination of flowers and plants. From The Terrace you can see all of Old Town Dubrovnik, every rooftop and church, from the land behind you to the Adriatic Sea stretched out in front of you. It was perfect. Enough room for all five of us, with space to breath and stretch and absorb the sun. Yes, there was plenty of sun.

The "Old Town" is a cluster of bronze-roofed stone buildings circled by a massive stone wall. It was a fortress, perched mostly on a cliff overlooking the sea. At one point the wall breaks in the water, creating a protected harbor. It's absolutely beautiful. The sun was shining, the water sparkled, and the light reflecting off the bright rooftops made it impossible to feel the exhaustion. It looked almost fake, like a picture from back in time or something. It is small enough that from the entrance to the fortress you can clearly see the entire wall and what it encompasses. A little village, perfect and pristine. Just as it has always looked in it's entire existence.

From the entrance the Old Town slopes down towards the sea, creating long narrow alley's of stairs between the buildings. The buildings are all about five stories high, with plants hanging out the windows and laundry stretched across the passage to dry. The entire Old Town is stone, there is no clear piece of land. Because of this the streets overflow with potted plants and flowers. Even trees stand in big pots, ready to be re-arranged into a new design. I'm guessing thats the only change the town sees, a new floral arrangement in the streets.

Placa Stadum is the central street in Old Town, a big wide-open square that stretches the length of the town. The main bell tower stands at one end, a white and gold cathedral at the other. In between are little shops and cafes, a few restaurants and an ice cream stand. It's the most spacious part of town, occupied mostly by tourists and pigeons. We enjoyed coffee here the first morning, but mainly took advantage of the complete kitchen to cook for ourselves. Each morning we enjoyed a big breakfast on The Terrace, watching the city wake up and listening to sporadic ringing bells. There are three or four church's in the Old Town, as well as the big bell tower. After thorough analyzing and observation I have come to the conclusion that Dubrovnik is on it's own time zone. The bells ring, it's 4:12... hmmm. Again later, it's 7:53. Once again, 11:20. I realized most of the ringing is for mass, but what explains the bells from the giant clock tower going off at 1:38? And the church bells at 2am? Even the sound of the city is beautiful, especially from The Terrace.

During the days we roamed the alleys and chased pigeons. We soaked up some serious vitamin D and dipped our toes in the Adriatic waters. We made sangria. We enjoyed cold drinks from a bar cut into the cliff and tasted fresh seafood in the harbor. But mostly, we stayed on The Terrace. We played cards on The Terrace, went through a dozen bottles of wine on The Terrace, listened to music on The Terrace and simply sat in silence on The Terrace. The view never got old, the company never got old, The Terrace never got old. Dubrovnik provided to perfect relaxing break from break.

After our incredible few days in Dubrovnik the group separated. One to Andorra, one to Switzerland and two to Italy. Me, I went to Montenegro. The bus from Dubrovnik to Budva was, up until that time, the most amazing bus ride I've ever taken. It sticks to the coast the entire time, passing picturesque seaside towns and squeezing close to steep rock walls. It circles the entire Bay of Kotor, surrounded by alp-like Montenegrin mountains. I had no idea what to expect from Montenegro, but I was not disappointed!

After arriving in Budva and checking into my little hostel, I called my connection in Montenegro and set up a time/place to meet. My friend Alex from home has family in Montenegro, conveniently near Budva. His cousin, Aleksander, met me on the beach for drinks and an overview of what to do. Alex made it very clear that I stay away from his cousin, he doesn't want any Irish in his family, but I see where the concern came from. The men in Montenegro are something else!

I was adopted by a couple of Aussies traveling from Germany to Greece. Budva is nice, but probably much more lively during the summer/tourist season. There wasn't much to do besides walk around Old Town and eat at the seaside restaurants. One day we decided to take a bus back to Kotor and hike the giant fortress wall there. It's similar to that wall in China, except it basically just stretches straight up one of the huge mountains. We made it though, struggled the entire way up the never ending stairs until reaching the top step high above the town. The Montenegrin flag waves from the top and you can see the entire bay and surrounding mountains from the top if the world! The Aussies became good friends of mine, we made dinner in their apartment each night and drank wine over great conversation. That's the best part about travel. Meeting genuine people.

Eventually I had enough of Budva and needed somewhere new to go. I still had a few days of break before I had to begin the trek back home. I didn't want to go anymore south, that would just extend the train/bus time even more. So, as a last minute decision while I examined the departures at the bus station, I chose Bosnia. Sarajevo to be exact.

As I said before, the bus from Dubrovnik to Budva was the best bus ride up until that time. The bus ride from Budva to Sarajevo stole that title. I fell asleep at first and woke up looking straight down to a bright teal river kilometers below me. We were in a canyon on a road cut out of the cliff. The road disappears into dark tunnels and back out to a new amazing view every few minutes. It was wild. We crossed the canyon on a skinny little bridge that made me feel nauseous for a moment. It was a single narrow lane, looked about three inches thick under us, perched up between two rocky mountain sides, over the raging river below. Wow.

Shortly after crossing the Bosnia and Herzegovina border the landscape became more countryside. Tiny farmhouses dotted the terrain all throughout the fields and hillsides. I managed to get a bit of reading in on the bus to catch up with the situation in Bosnia. I knew the recent war there was complicated and brutal, but it was hard to imagine while looking out my window. The landscape almost looked like a scene out of the Sound of Music with the countryside and distant mountains, however realistically eight years ago it would sound more like;

"The hills are alive with the sound of... heavy artillery?"

As I entered the city the whole siege I had read about became much more clear. The city is nestled down in a sort of basin between hills. It was easy to see how Sarajevo was surrounded by troops in these hills, providing a constant shower of sniper attack for four years. You can see the damage on the buildings that didn't fall to the ground. Bullet holes and damage from shrapnel cover every inch of them!

It was pouring rain when I finally made it to my hostel. Not exactly prime conditions for exploring a new city. I ended up taking refuge inside with the rest of the hostels occupants. I took the opportunity to read more about the siege and war, and to make new friends. I met the owner of the hostel, Asim, and got talking about hostels in general and what makes/breaks them. He wanted ideas for improvement of his hostel, and for a new hostel he hopes to open. The conversation turned to him offering me a summer job at the hostel, something I have been trying to do anyways. I wasn't sure about Sarajevo though, it was still so foreign to me! The next day my new friend decided that I needed to go on a tour of the city, this way maybe he could convince me to stay this summer. He arranged for me to go on the 25 euro tour for free, and asked me to meet him once it was finished.

The tour was amazing! I was picked up in an ancient jeep and driven around the city to start. I saw where the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand took place, starting World War I. I also got a great view of the city from the river, and learned about all the buildings that had been reconstructed after the siege. My guide drove me out near the airport to see the famous Sarajevo tunnel. When the city was under siege the UN occupied the airport as a supposedly neutral zone. The airport blocked the only passage from the city to the free zone, and it was not allowed for people to cross it. Someone came up with the idea of digging a tunnel under the airport so supplies and weapons could be brought into the surrounded city. The idea worked, and for four years the tunnel acted as the lifeline for the entire city. You had to apply for access through the tunnel, and I learned later that Asim had used the tunnel four times during the siege because his uncle was involved in it's management. I thought the whole concept was really incredible, the tunnel started in a tiny house in the middle of a little neighborhood, and no one ever found out!

After the tour I met Asim and he took me to his favorite restaurant. This guy is really trying to convince me, and it's working. We had great food, great wine, and more conversation. It's funny how those three things seem to go hand in hand. Later he took me to a hooka bar, then again to eat, and then out to a local club. All his treat, what a guy. I realized after awhile how truly important it is to Asim to show off his city and prove how wonderful it is. It really is like nowhere I have ever been before. The first morning I walked outside I had to laugh to myself for a second, I heard the "call to prayer" and bells from a nearby cathedral at the same time. In five minutes I passed two Mosques, a Church and a Synagogue. Although it isn't actually the case, at that time it seemed like a place where everyone could coexist in peace.

Asim and I hiked up to the top of one of the hills overlooking the city. The river runs through it, lined with buildings of all different kinds of influence. One thing I noticed was the cemeteries. There are so many of them. Naturally there are three different styles of cemeteries in Sarajevo, each are clearly distinct from each other. The Muslim ones stick out the most, the tombstones are beautiful white stone with the unique characters scrawled across the top. Long and thin, they line up neat and perfect. Everywhere you turn there are cemeteries, I imagine it's hard for the locals to ever forget what the city has witnessed with such a constant reminder.

I do love Sarajevo. It's the best random decision I have ever made traveling. I would love to go back again and have more time to know the city better. Another entire day of travel eventually got me home to Prague where I have been recovering in peace. My little vacation from vacation could not have gone any better. Besides the crazy man on the bus in Croatia.

It's cold, what was I thinking?

It's really cold here. So cold, in-fact, that my eyes water when I step outside and almost instantly the tears freeze to my cheeks. It's so cold I lose the feeling in my fingers and feet before I even reach the end of my street. I live on one of the shortest streets in the city. It's so cold my ears start to ring and it hurts to breath. It's so damn cold it's painful to enter a warm building after an icy trek, my whole body feels as though I've been set on fire as it thaws out.

What was I thinking, coming to Prague in the middle of winter?

The inside of my tiny, cozy apartment at 3 Anezska Street compliments the cobblestone Siberia outside cruelly; It's sweltering. The process to get into my place is almost comical in it's ridiculousness; it takes four keys and about twenty minutes. The process goes something like this;

Key number one unlocks the little red door next to the landlords wine bar (yes, I live above a bar), enter, lock again from the inside. Cross the dark hallway stacked with crates of empty vino bottles and broken furniture, give the resident mutt a pat (we still can't figure out her name, we call her "dog"), through the glass door that never shuts, into the courtyard. Key number two opens the steel gate that leads from the courtyard to the stairwell. The rusty gate takes a few minutes and some toying with to swing open. Unlock, enter, lock from inside, ascend the chipped and crumbling spiral staircase, past the creepy staring statues, reach apartment door. Key number three unlocks the top deadbolt. Key number four unlocks the bottom deadbolt, enter, lock both deadbolts. Not the easiest system, especially when it's dark and you have to pee. Oh, if there's a fire... we are screwed.

Anyways, once the apartment my body immediately begins to sweat even though I still can't feel my face. Like I said, it's a painful "thaw process" every time you escape from the outside air. It's so hot I sleep in my underwear with no blankets and the window open. How does this make any sense? My roommates and I discovered we have no control over the temperature in the apartment. We decide the transition from our inside tropicana to the outside arctic is just too absurd, so we go to Karel.

Anezska Street

Karel is our landlord. He looks somewhat like Santa Claus without the beard; he's a bit round, white hair, probably in his eighties, always sporting the same little sweater and bright rosy cheeks. It's my theory that the rosy cheeks comes more from the luxury of owning a wine bar, and not so much the jolly-laughing-ho-ho-ho thing. I'm just saying. He's the friendliest Czech I have met, always willing to help and more than willing to drink. He delivers us new sheets and towels every two weeks, and pours us a shot of plum brandy if he catches us in the hallway.

The language barrier between myself and Karel is as solid as a brick wall. The only English he knows is "I speak no English" and the only Czech I know is "Dobre den" (good day). Every encounter with him is an adventure, wether I need the heat turned down or want to pay rent. After attempting to explain that the apartment is too hot, using wild hand gestures to signify "sweating" and "fire", I admit my defeat and accept a glass of white. That's what I love about this guy, he knows every interaction is going to be a struggle so he leads me to the bar before I can mimic a "broken light" or "clogged toilet". Win or lose, you are sure to get free drink out of it. I'm thinking of paying my rent in $20 installments from here on out, it would be like a semester-long wine tasting of the Czech Republics finest.

Inside my oven-like apartment (that does not have an oven) I share a room with one other girl, while the second bedroom is also shared by two girls. The bathroom is split in two parts, toilet reached from the entryway, shower practically in the kitchen. Seriously though, I can stir a pot of spaghetti in between shampooing and conditioning without even stepping off the tile. We have exactly one hot plate, one mini fridge, four shelves, and three- count them- three sinks. No microwave, no toaster, no dishwasher, no stove- but at least we have three sinks. I am amazed at what we have been able to cook up in such a tiny space with one hot plate, trust me, you would be impressed. We have a tiny dining area with a wooden bench, and a small living room area with a TV that does not work. We also have an organ. It doesn't work either.

I am not complaining though! Living like this is truly forcing me to realize how spoiled I am to have such luxuries at home, and how little I can actually get by on and still be more than comfortable. Plus, I can't play an organ anyway.

Let's backtrack a minute, back to the cold. What am I doing in Prague, in the middle of winter?

Easy. I'm delaying the real world.

Ok not exactly, in fact I am actually progressing in my studies here in Prague. I'm doing a semester, meaning I kind of have classes that I kind of go to. My classes are two days a week, Tuesday and Wednesday, for a grand total of about 12 hours. All classes are in the same room, taught in English, and as far as I can tell... all about the same subject. I am taking "Image of Prague", "Modern Czech History", "Art and Architecture" and "Gender Studies". Each class consists of half lecture and half field trip. Every day. Usually to the same place. I'm serious though, I love the Prague Castle and all, but if I have to make the trek up there one more time I might kick a guard in the balls so I won't be allowed in anymore. Good excuse. Sorry King Charles.

I spend my free time mostly taking refuge inside. It is just too cold to spend any significant amount of time outside. I have read more than half a dozen books, visited all the main museums and galleries, seen several movies in the cinema, and regularly participate on self-guided pub crawls. My apartment is located within a four minute walk to many of the cities best attractions. Old Town Square, with its incredible astrological clock, is basically around the corner from us. The square and surrounding streets are crammed with restaurants, bars, cafes and random shops. Not surprisingly, being inside all the time ultimately means we're always eating. The food here is about as international as it gets! Thai, chinese, afghan, italian, irish, mexican and french can be found on a single street. In fact, our neighborhood has about every cuisine imaginable- except czech. I am perfectly okay with this. If I never see another potato again...

So speaking of food... It's easy to be tempted inside a cozy food joint, especially if you happen to get blasted by warm air and and an impossibly appealing aroma as you pass by the entrance to such a place. BUT, in an effort so save money and eat healthier I did something I've never done before... I learned how to cook for myself. Okay I'm not exactly "top chef" material or anything- yet. I can make just a few simple dishes with chicken and veggies, several different types of crepes, and all kinds of breakfast plates (usually not for breakfast though). Give me some credit, cooking my own chicken (and so far, not getting salmonella) is a HUGE stepping stone for someone who generally lives off top ramen and Beach Hut Deli. For those of you who have seen me attempt to cook before, do not be afraid. I am almost always under supervision.

On the rare occasion that the sun does come out, or the temperature does not begin with "-", I do everything possible to try to get out in the fresh air and enjoy the city. Our advisor has stacks and stacks of hockey skates, pucks and sticks stored in his office. On one not-so-miserable day a group of us laced up on a little frozen harbor and attempted to participate in one of the Czech Republics most beloved pastimes; ice hockey. It was entertaining, to say the least. I consider myself "decent" because I made two goals and only knocked the wind out of myself once! I slipped and hit the ice so hard I thought my body became two dimensional. Splat. I was feeling pretty confident until our advisors 11-year-old son came out and completely schooled us. I called it quits.

As I mentioned before, I have class two days a week. This means I have a five day weekend, every weekend. I could not ask for a better schedule! Being finished with class early afternoon on Wednesdays allows all kinds of potential for overnight trains or red-eye flights landing me in stunning cities across the EU on Thursday mornings. Berlin for the weekend? Why not. I'm feeling some tapas, how about Madrid tomorrow? Sure. Spring break is coming up and I'm thinking a beach in Croatia. Let's do it...