California Dreaming, Ramallah Reminiscing

A year ago today, I wrote the following while sitting in the Stars & Bucks (yes, you read that correctly) café in Ramallah. I had been in the West Bank for four months at that point and decided to write a little blurb about how I was feeling. In third person. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Somewhere in the Middle East, a young American woman sits at a cafe (a blatant and hilarious rip-off of a well-known American chain) contemplating the day's events over an iced latte. 


She looks out over the scuttle of taxi cabs and pedestrians. The soldiers lean apathetically against the beige stones; flicking cigarettes to pass the time. Trash swirls in tumbleweed fashion amid the vendor stalls where fat tomatoes sit in stacks with dirt still clinging to their taut flesh. 


It is noon. 


The call to prayer bounces off the hills and hangs in the air for a moment before falling on the ears of the dutiful and the not-so-dutiful. This young woman falls into the latter category and pulls her sweater self-consciously around her shoulders. But even with this gesture of insecurity, she thinks with satisfaction that she feels comfortable in this place. 


Jostling through crowds and swinging from buses and taxis like an over-confident kid on the monkey bars has now become a familiar routine and adds a confident swagger to the spectacle of her blonde hair in a crowd of brunettes, shiny raven locks and brightly colored hijab. She is an outsider, but she is an outsider who is learning how to belong. 


She can march past the gawking teenage boys in their tight jeans; their crude phrases falling a foot short  as she glares with a ferocity that silences even the most rambunctious of them. She knows to examine the wares of the vendors while shaking her head with disinterest and murmuring "ghralli, ghralli. expensive. expensive." Her palate has learned to crave warm pita bread drenched in spiced olive oil, washing it down-oddly enough--with buttermilk. 


But today is special. 


Today her heart has nestled into the foothills of this place. 


Today she knows she will never escape its hold and her heart will always beat a little faster when she sees the flag bearing the red triangle with the three stripes. 


Today she sips her latte and knows that whatever chaos this place might hold, she belongs to it. 

Painting on a building in Bethlehem

Painting in Tel Aviv

(Sorry for the quick post of old material, but...getting ready to head to Italy for a few weeks, then to the UK, and then home to California for the holidays. Possibly Spain in-between. Chaos. The best kind of chaos, but nonetheless chaos.) 


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Special price for you, my friend: the art of haggling

I rarely buy souvenirs.

Partly because I live out of a suitcase, but mostly because I'm broke.

These days I have to budget in a cup of coffee.  And no, I don't go to Starbucks. Otherwise this would be a legitimate thing to do. $8 a latte adds up.

British guy doesn't really buy souvenirs either. British guy just prefers to do his day-to-day shopping while we're traveling. Which is why I am very familiar with the menswear shops in Turkey and Morocco. If you want to know where to get the best deals on boxers in Casablanca or Istanbul, let me know.

This is what British guy purchased on our recent trip to Morocco:

• One leather satchel 
• Boxers
• Ceramic spice container
• Argan oil 
• Postcards
• Cell phone case

This is what I purchased:

• Postcards

As you can tell, I'm a real shopper. Not that British guy is either. He wears the same pair of North Face pants every day (ok, fine, "trousers" for all you Brits giggling in the back row). I'm pretty sure he just can't be bothered to shop for things he actually needs unless he's traveling. Depending on where you're traveling, this is not such a bad idea. Shopping in Morocco and Turkey is a lot cheaper than shopping in Europe. But you have to know how to haggle. 

Haggling can be intimidating if you're not used to it. Often Westerners just want to be told a price and then--depending on the price-- either hand over their money or walk away. End of story. Haggling can seem tedious and many people approach it with a bit of trepidation. Here are some steps* to help streamline the process and make sure you get--if not a good price--at least not an over-the-top price.

Let's say you're in Morocco and you want a leather satchel.** You find one that looks nice and you enquire as to the price. The guy asks 800 dirham (roughly 80 euro or 100 USD) for it. That sounds like more than you should be paying, but you don't really know for sure. Here's what to do:

1. First off, halve his price. Whatever the asking price is, chop it in half. In this case, counter him with 400.
2. He'll probably come back with 600.
3. Sigh heavily.
4. He'll say 550.
5. Make a face.
6. He'll drop it to 500.
7. Shake your head and make a sound that conveys you still think it's too expensive.
8. He'll drop it down to 400.
9. Walk away and repeat until you have a sense of what a reasonable price is.

The best thing to do is to shop around. This will allow you to gauge what the market price is which can be one of the intimidating things about haggling. Often you've been in the country for less than 24 hours. You can barely remember what country you're in, let alone what the standard price is for a leather satchel. Go to other stalls in the market places that sell leather satchels and go through the same thing. If you can't get any of them lower than 400 dirham then chances are that's a pretty standard price for it.

Don't worry about haggling for food or hotels. DO haggle with taxi cab drivers and when shopping for anything other than food or other basic items. Basically anything you find in a grocery store, you won't need to haggle for.

If haggling really intimidates you, having a friend along to go back and forth with can make the process a little less painful. See below.

British guy: What do you think about this satchel?

Me: It's alright. I guess.

Vendor: It's 800 dirham.

British guy: 800? Hm, what do you think?

Me: I don't know. That sounds like a lot.

Vendor: Ok, ok. For you, 600.

British guy: 600?

Me: That's pretty much 60 euro. Do you really need to spend 60 euro on a leather satchel?

Vendor: It's handmade and lined with camel skin. I can give it to you for 500, but no lower.

British guy: I do like the look of it. It's perfect for carrying classified documents around.

Me: ::makes disapproving and unconvinced face::

British guy: Well, how much would you pay for it?

Me: I don't know. Probably not more than 300.

Vendor: Ok, ok. Student price. 400.

Et voilà. Or keep haggling if you're still not satisfied with the price.

A good haggler is somewhere in-between the individual who accepts the first price and the individual who will stand for hours arguing over pennies.

If you still think haggling really isn't your thing, you can always hire a personal shopper. 

And of course, it goes without saying that you should always purchase items from shops that have been previously endorsed by President Obama.

Egyptian Spice Market, Istanbul, 2009

*These steps are from my own experiences living in the West Bank, Palestine and traveling through other areas in the Middle East and North Africa. It's not meant to be a comprehensive guide to how people haggle around the world. Just the regions I've been in. If you have any stories or tips from your experiences in these or other areas, definitely post them in the comments section or drop me a line and I'll include them in the post.

**With leather bags in these areas, I would recommend choosing one that is a little bit more expensive. Often the local tanning process uses a urine-base which is fine in an arid climate, but when you get it home you'll start to notice that it smells like something died. The smell can also result from the hide being poorly preserved before the tanning process. So with leather products, I'd invest a little bit more time and money to make sure you get something that won't have all the passengers on the plane ride home looking at you in disgust. 

Rabat, Morocco

Of all the places we visited in Morocco, Rabat was my favorite. It was like San Diego with a Middle Eastern twist. Here are a few photos:

We wandered around the medina for a bit and walked along the old city walls.

This little kid was spying on us. Can you see him? 

Then we walked along the coast. 

Found a café at a surf school. 

I watched some kids body board for awhile. 

British guy took advantage of their free wi-fi to get in contact with M.

And...the sunset. 

Alpe d'Huez: 21 turns is still 21 turns too many

If you will recall, my first encounter with Alpe d'Huez did not go very well. When I finally made it to the bottom, I was pretty sure I was not cut out to be a cyclist. Fortunately I have short-term memory loss and was back on my bike within a few days. Last week I decided to give Alpe d'Huez another try.

I didn't factor in the new pedals.

My spiffy new pedals. 

It all started a few weeks ago when British guy was in a cycling shop. He called me.

British guy: So I'm at the shop and they have pedals on sale. Which color would you prefer?

Me: Hot pink.

British guy: Your bike is blue.

Me: I want hot pink.

British guy: They don't have hot pink. And anyway, you should get pedals that match your bike. Do you want dark blue or baby blue?

Me: Do they have anything with glitter?

I ended up with baby blue pedals, which I put on my bike right before we set off to spend a weekend cycling in les Hautes Alpes.

It was crisp and clear upon our arrival in Aspres-sur-Buëch and British guy and I set out to get in a quick evening ride before meeting up with the others for dinner and drinks around the campfire.

Eager to try out the new pedals, I jumped on my bike and struggled to get into my newer (and much stiffer) pedals. After a bit of maneuvering I finally clipped in only to realize that I was now incapable of unclipping my feet from the pedals. Panicking, I wobbled to a stop and gracefully fell off my bike.

Up until that point I had the feeling that I was becoming a more accomplished cyclist. However during this entire saga, British guy hardly even looked up from fiddling with his bike which made me realize that since he's so used to the wobbling and clattering that ensues whenever I come into contact with my bike, I'm probably not as accomplished as I thought.

Oh well.

British guy loosened my new pedals as much as possible, but I still couldn't get in and out of them very easily.

In spite of this, the weekend went well with at least one long and beautiful ride in les Hautes Alpes. I managed to do the first climb without falling too far behind. Unfortunately I didn't know that it was the first climb. I was under the impression that it was the only climb. This was not British guy's fault. He explains everything in detail before we set off. The problem is that while he's explaining the route, my thought process is doing something like this....

That's a pretty map. I wonder where I can get a map like that. If I had a map like that I could be super hardcore and do lots of cycling tours on my own. There's so many squiggly lines. Oooh, a cat is pouncing on butterflies outside. That's cute. I wish I had a cat. Once I almost had a cat, but my dog tried to eat it and my Dad said we couldn't keep it so he got me a goldfish instead. And then a water snail. Andy. That was his name. 

British guy: Does that sound good?

Me: Yes. Absolutely. Let's do it. Did you know that I had a water snail named Andy when I was growing up?

British guy: Did you see on the map where we're going to cycle?

Me: Yes. We're going to cycle along one of those squiggly lines.

And that's why when we get to the top of the first pass I am under the impression that it's the only pass and then am confused as to why I find myself climbing yet another pass when there was only supposed to be one.

The top of the 2nd climb.

At any rate, we had a lovely weekend with some very cool people and the following Monday we set off for Morocco. It was two weeks before we returned to Grenoble, which was long enough for me to completely forget about the pedal incident. So when British guy suggested that we head up to Alpe d'Huez to get in one last ride before the snow hits, I eagerly agreed.

British guy decided to take a longer route going up to the top via another road while I tackled Alpe d'Huez. The plan was that we would meet up at the top and then cycle down together. British guy set off. I did a nice easy 10 kilometer warm-up and began my ascent up Alpe d'Huez. I got about 0.5 kilometers up before I remembered that I had had a really difficult time getting unclipped from my pedals. The road got steeper. Cars roared past me. I pushed and twisted as hard as I could on my pedal to see if I could unclip it. Nothing happened. I tried again. Still nothing. I decided to give it one more try before officially panicking. It unclipped, but now I faced another problem. I couldn't clip back in. I toppled over onto the side of the road just as a car came zipping around the corner.

Not wanting to seem like an idiot, I quickly pretended that I was lying on the ground  on purpose. The car slowed down. I waved them on with a cheerful smile that said, "Don't worry. I'm on the ground because I'm supposed to be on the ground. I am an accomplished cyclist. Just fixing my bike. In the middle of the road. On the ground. Like accomplished cyclists do."

The car rounded the bend and was quickly out of sight. I tried to get back on my bike in the middle of a 9% grade. It was impossible. I decided I would push it up until I reached a flatter section of the climb where I could more easily get back on the bike without looking stupid. When you're cycling there is only one cool position. It's on the bike. Otherwise you just look like an idiot wearing a helmet with foam shoved down your neon spandex shorts. I had to get back on the bike as quickly as possible.

There was only one little problem. There was a lot of traffic, and I didn't want anyone to see me pushing my bike up so every time a car rounded the bend, I quickly bent over my bike and pretended I was adjusting the brakes. Not surprisingly my progress was slow, and by the time I reached a reasonably flat section of the road, I had had enough. I descended Alpe d'Huez with my tail between my legs.

When British guy descended an hour and a half later, he found me sunbathing in the parking lot.

British guy: What happened to you? Is everything alright?

Me: Oh yeah. I just made it up to the top so quickly that I got tired of waiting for you and decided to descend. It was pretty windy up there.

British guy: Had some trouble with the pedals again?

Me: I don't want to talk about it.

I spent the entire car ride home sulking while British guy tried not to laugh. I had intended on sulking for the remainder of the evening, but British guy strategically stopped by IKEA on the way home to pick some things up for the apartment. It's impossible to sulk in a place that has reindeer shaped pasta and free refills.

Travel Advice: items you should never travel without

Since I've traveled a lot, I thought I would include a list of items that I've found absolutely invaluable in my travels. Hope it helps.

Item #1: British guy
Indispensable for looking at maps, actually reading the guidebook, doing math, carrying everything, fixing things, and taking pictures. Speaks Italian, French and English. Is also good at being tall and therefore easy to find in a crowd. Lends jacket in cold weather. Knows a lot about geography.

British guy is reading something sophisticated.
He's holding up the "games" section for me. 

Downsides: You might find yourself spontaneously signing up for a marathon or cycling through the West Bank. Might possibly be a spy. Steals french fries.

Item #2: Running shoes

You never know when you might stumble across a marathon and feel compelled to sign up for it. 

This is how you should tie your running shoes to your pack to ensure that
they don't fall off while you're racing to catch a train in Germany. 

Downsides: You'll have to actually run the marathon. 

Item #3: Petzl Tikka Headlamp
Strobe setting. Enough said. Also you can be that annoying person reading on the plane while everyone else is trying to sleep. Go ahead. Set it on the highest setting.

I didn't have any photos of just the headlamp.
I tried to find a funny photo. I even googled "cats wearing Tikka headlamps."
Nothing

Downsides: It's really hard to look sexy with a headlamp on. You'll inevitably blind people while trying to talk to them.


Item #4: Scarf
Useful for covering oneself while visiting religious sites, shielding off the sun, and escaping out the window of your hotel (I've never done this, and if I did I would probably use sheets because that's what they do in the movies. But you never know. Maybe a scarf would work). Can also double as a towel. 

It was windy. 

Downsides: Sometimes gets caught in taxi cab doors.


Item #5: Passport
Customs officials get irritated when you try to enter a country without one. Also it's no fun to travel without at least 2 or 3 items that you absolutely 100% cannot lose or you're screwed. 


For added excitement to any trip, try this: 1. Leave passports in hotel safe; 2. Forget about passports; 3. Check out of hotel; 4.Start to get on bus going to another town hours away; 5. Remember passports; 6. Sprint through town to hotel, retrieve passports, sprint back; 7. Leap dramatically onto bus with passports; 8. Spend next 10 minutes sweating profusely on parked bus while bus driver has 2nd cigarette break. 

This is what a spy's passport looks like. 

Downsides: Completely screwed if you lose it. For U.S. citizens: Hard to pretend you're Canadian while carrying travel documents emblazoned with USA on them. 



Item #6: At least 5 books
Plenty of reading material. You can finally catch up on the entire collected works of Dostoevsky.

I just wanted an excuse to reference one of
 my favorite contemporary writers

Downsides: You won't read them. You won't even look at them during the trip. You'll wonder why you even brought them. The answer to this question will elude you until you're packing for your next trip.

One of those annoying "vote for me" posts. I hate those.

So there's this contest, right? It's called "Blog Your Way Around the World." I really want to do it. Really, really want to do it. Per the contest requirements, I wrote a short essay about why people should vote for me. You can go here to vote for me or you can just enjoy the read. Either way. It's cool. Every time you vote for me a baby otter gets tickled. But if you don't want baby otters to be happy then that's your prerogative. I understand. But just FYI, this is what a baby otter looks like when it's getting tickled.  Do the right thing. 

Blog Your Way Around the World

By Nikki Hodgson   October 21, 2010

You should vote for me because I'm a famous travel writer. 

British guy (my traveling companion) said that I shouldn't exaggerate.

Fine. 

I'm an almost famous travel writer.

British guy said I'm still exaggerating. 

OK! I am a not-remotely-famous-at-all aspiring travel writer. But! I have other redeeming factors. 

Such as my amazing talent for getting myself into ridiculous situations. You know that friend that you keep around because she's always getting herself into some ridiculous scrape that is so unbelievably awkward that it's hilarious? Yeah. That's me. I'm that friend. 

Here are 5 titles from my blog (http://www.neveradullmoment-nikki.blogspot.com) to prove it: 
1. Alpe d'Huez: Why 21 turns is 21 too many
2. Toubkal: Why spontaneously signing up for a marathon is not a good idea
3. The Negev: Where there are --in fact-- no rabid coyotes
4. How Istanbul gave me an elevator complex
5. Camels: Not as cool as I thought

I also make people laugh. They're not usually laughing at the same time as I am, but these are exactly the sort of details that you should overlook. The question of whether it’s "at" or "with" me is really just a prepositional technicality. 

My last redeeming factor is that I have an Internet addiction. British guy feels that this is most decidedly not a redeeming factor. I disagree. My Internet addiction means that whether I'm running up North Africa's highest peak or not enjoying myself on a camel ride in Jordan, I always find a way to blog about it. And because I love to make people laugh, I'm always willing to make a spectacle of myself. If there's a story, I'm in. 


Also I run really fast. I know that this talent isn't really related to blogging, but it’s the thing I do best and I just want to make sure I put all my cards on the table for this one. Other talents include: eating, baking cookies, otter impersonations, showing up at the airport on time, and speaking German (and really bad French). I kayak too. And I'm really good at falling while skiing. 

I'm pretty sure that the above talents are what every travel writer needs to succeed. If you disagree it's probably because you haven't seen my otter impersonation.

Hotel Horrors: A night of TENTation

After spending a few days visiting Essaouira, Safi and Oualidia, British guy and I made our way to El-Jadida, a small town on the Moroccan coast well-known for its beautiful Portuguese port (as in boats, not wine). Upon arrival we checked into the Hotel Bordeaux.

It was cheap and cheerful and all was going well until about 11:00pm when we were getting ready for bed.

Me: What is that and why did you use my CHACO FLIP TO SMASH IT?!

British guy: It was nothing.

[I wasn't going to be deterred that easily.]

Me: Was it a mosquito?

British guy: No...

Me: Was it small?

British guy: Yes. Sort of.

Me: Why are you still looking for it? Did you kill it? Oh my God. Was it a roach?!!!


It was. I tried to be philosophic about it. Really, I did. Instead of screaming and fleeing the scene I sat on the bed with my knees up to my chin and compulsively scratched every inch of bare skin. But the problem with roaches is that there is never just one. Never.

Sure enough they suddenly started surfacing behind the curtains. We went through our stuff and found them skittering along the sides of our backpacks. I suggested that we burn everything, but British guy said that was a ridiculous idea. Sometimes he feels threatened when I come up with good ideas. Or maybe he's just so used to my ideas being ridiculous that it was an automatic reaction. Or he's just attached to his Karrimor pack. It's 15 years old. He had to super glue it back together on this trip.

Anyway.

In reality I am certain that we only saw a total of 6 or 7 roaches. In my head however it was Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. There was no way I was going to sleep that night. I planned to stand in the middle of the room all night armed with one of British guy's shoes (I'm not killing them with my shoe. That's gross) and whatever pesticide spray I could find at 11:00p.m. in El-Jadida Morocco. Nevermind that I am an environmentalist. These are roaches we're talking about. Roaches. I don't care what sort of chemicals are in that spray as long as it results in a dead bug. And there was no way I was turning any of the lights off. That's when they get you.

Our original intention had been to camp along the coast, but the pouring rain had driven us to this hotel. The roaches as well it seemed. It was a nice enough hotel, but it was a budget hotel. At 13 euro a night for a double room we could hardly complain and the admonition "you get what you pay for" rang in my ears.

I bemoaned the fact that we wouldn't be sleeping safely in a 0.5 person tent far away from roach infested hotels.

British guy suggested pitching the tent on the bed in the hotel room.

Sometimes he has really good ideas.

Except that two people in a 0.5 person tent with only one little mesh panel in a tiny hotel room in a very warm climate is only slightly more comfortable than sleeping in a bed with no sheets in a roach infested hotel. It was the equivalent of sleeping in a sauna wrapped in non-breathable nylon. This particular tent is not a stand-alone tent and despite the fact that we tied it as best we could (well, British guy did. I stood in the center of the room and made sure that no roaches touched me) the tent kept sagging lower and lower until it was basically a bivy sack. And then there was the TV stand. Personally I would gladly have foregone a TV (it was the only hotel we stayed at that had one) in favor of a roach-free sleeping environment, but it seems that the hotel management did not share this sentiment.

Once we (British guy) had the tent set up, we climbed in and it was only then that I realized we were sleeping directly below the TV stand protruding from the wall.

Me: Do you think it's safe to be sleeping under the TV stand?

British guy: What?

Me: Well what if it collapses. We'll be killed instantly or severely maimed at the very least.

British guy: I don't think the TV stand is going to collapse.

Me: This hotel has roaches. Anything could happen.

At this point British guy got up and out of the tent to check to see if the TV stand was securely fastened to the wall. It was. But I still had nightmares about rogue TV stands falling out of the sky while being chased by rabid coyotes in the Negev (There aren't any. But it never hurts to double check).