Europe Blog

If you're flying with frequent flyer miles you're allowed one layover in a major hub (ie: New York, Houston, Cleveland), but if you're extra super nice and bring them a plate of freshly baked cookies you can talk them into flying you from Seattle to Vegas to New York to Frankfurt for free.

SEA: It's a good idea to begin your trip in Seattle because there are plenty of casinos to practice winning at... and you want to be an expert at winning so you can afford your trip to Europe.

LAS: There's something to be said about a city full of ATMs that only offer increments of $100. I can't get ATMs in my hometown to give me enough cash for a car payment, but Vegas has no problem overdrawing me.

NYC: The bad reputation is undeserved -- everyone we met in the city was so nice. Next time we'll stay long enough to do something other than pick up our mail.

Two brilliant ideas for money this summer:

1. Good old fashioned begging: One random Sunday in high school, my friend and I had four hours to kill so we went downtown Frankfurt and begged for money. We used several methods and kept tabs on what was the most profitable. We ended with about 50 Marks ($30).

2. Roofies on our tits: As we all know, men are idiots.

Posted by meg at 05:01 AM | Permalink

From the moment we crossed the border to Eastern Europe people began trying to rip us off. The waiter in the train cafe tried to steal our passports. The burly Hungarian passport control guy demanded to see my tits. People from the "tourist agency" were very persistent that we stay at one of their "discount" hotels. When we ordered water at a restaurant the bottle had a broken seal. I mean come on -- do we look like morons?

It's not just the Hungarians... We met this American on the train. I introduced myself and he said he had a daughter named Erin. Then what do you know? He happened to have a daughter named Meg too. He wanted us to stay with him in his hotel. He said he'd be there for three days. We said we'd be in Hungary for a week and his trip miraculously extended by four days.

We must look naive. The sweetest Hungarian woman got to talking with us. She told us about the city and things we should make a point to see but she also spent a lot of time warning us. "Don't trust anyone... don't leave bags unattended... don't don't don't. There must be 'dick us over' signs on our foreheads.

Posted by Erin at 05:06 AM | Permalink

You're never supposed to take a taxi in Eastern Europe, but if you do you're supposed to make sure it has a meter and/or negotiate a price upfront. We weren't sure how to get back to our hotel from the multitude of places we'd been, so we opted for a taxi. We'd seen taxi signs earlier that said 4500 lei/kilometer ($0.25/mile) so we figured that even if the asshole drove in circles around town it wouldn't be too pricey.

I didn't see a meter in the taxi so I asked the guy how much it would cost to get to our hotel. He said 80,000 lei ($3.00). Sure, why not. When our hotel ended up being 2 km away, Erin and I were a bit pissed. It should have cost 30 cents. Then as if we weren't angry enough, he uncovered his meter and showed us the price 198,000 lei. Bastard had a meter the whole time. He explained in broken English that 80,000 lei had just been an estimate and 198,000 lei was the real price.

I really wish I had told him to blow me and paid nothing. I know it's only a couple dollars, but the point was that we were being ripped off. Unfortunately I suck and handed over the agreed upon $3. I hate tourists like me.

Posted by meg at 05:07 AM | Permalink

In case you were wondering how a casino in Romania operates, here's how... You have to give them a photo ID and they xerox it. Then you must sign in, get photographed, subject your purse to a search, and walk through a metal detector. Don't even think about trying to bring a camera. All this for $3 blackjack and no free liquor. I miss Vegas!

Posted by meg at 05:09 AM | Permalink

Things got interesting before we even left the station in Budapest. I went to the bathroom to freshen up. I was in there for a half a second before someone started yelling and banging on the door. I made some noise to let them know that the bathroom was occupied... I guess the locked door wasn't enough of a clue. The guy kept yelling and, wouldn't you know, got out keys and opened the door. There I am, sitting on the toilet, pants around my ankles and there is a conductor yelling at me. I slammed the door. I thought the guy would have been embarrassed by his mistake and gone when I was finished. Wrong. He was waiting for me. "Come pass now," he said. That meant show him my passport. He followed me to our compartment screaming about how this was his train, he had a name, he was president, or some shit like that. I'm not really sure. The guy was crazy. I showed him my passport and he left.

About fifteen minutes later the guy comes back with another dude yelling about our passports and our tickets. I couldn't help but laugh. He was pretty close to hilarious. I think it kinda pissed him off. "What is problem?" he asked me. Dude, if he couldn't figure out the problem, I sure as hell wasn't going to tell him. He continued to harass me the entire trip. I'm glad he did. It was really amusing.

The train ride got better. I remembered seeing two American guys in line at the train station. They pissed me off from the beginning because they held up the line asking the dumbest questions three times each. I thought the guys were assholes. Nonetheless, I wanted to give them a business card so I looked for them on the train. Come to find out, one of them was a best selling author. Dumb luck. We just found a connection. I went to get Meg and the wine and we sat with them for the rest of the train ride. These guys really liked themselves. They shared stories about how much money they had and how good their lives were. All I was thinking, was hell yeah, we just found the sugar daddies we were looking for in Vegas.

At the border from Hungary into Romania, in a drunken stupor, we thought our passports had been stolen. This caused major drama. Suddenly we were surrounded by about seven border guards, trying to assist us and figure out who stole our passports. Nice guys. One was particularly helpful. I decided it was a good idea to make out with him. Hell, you only have one chance to hook up with a Romanian border guard (I think), and you should definitely take it. Besides, he was very helpful. I kissed him for a couple of minutes then I went to the bathroom. When I came back the guy was waiting with his shirt off. I was like, whoa buddy, I don't know where you thought this was going, but it wasn't going there. As it turns out, American girls are not so easy, we are actually big teases.

I went back to the cabin with Greg and Bruce and ended up hooking up with Bruce. You only get one opportunity to hook up with a best selling author and you should take it. Besides, I really wanted a sugar daddy. What I got was some superficial loser that couldn't make up his mind between Meg and I, no expensive dinners, no five star treatment and no shopping spree. What a waste of time.

Posted by Erin at 05:09 AM | Permalink

On the train from Budapest to Bucharest Erin left me for a few minutes. When she came back she said she had met two American guys and one of them was a best selling author. What luck. We could use some connections and insight. We brought a three-liter jug of wine to their compartment and ended up chilling for the rest of the ride.

They told us how lucky we were to have met them. They only stay in five -- star hotels, only fly first class, only buy the best. The author talked about what it was like to be on every major talk show in America, how he played golf with President Clinton, how Anna Nicole Smith made out with him at a book signing, how he opened the National Airport, blah blah blah blah blah. Had we met them in Budapest we could have stayed in their five -- star hotel with them. Have we ever stayed in a five-star? Oh, we were going to love it. And we were going to love the Opera. We were going to love visiting them in Vegas and getting the hook up. Five-star everything. Blah blah blah blah.

Yeah, sounds like fun, huh? Not only were we in the company of men who flaunted money, but they had potential to further our careers. We should have been thanking our lucky stars and kissing serious ass, right? But all we have to say is: BRUCE, GREG: USE YOUR FUCKING MONEY AND BUY YOURSELVES A DAMN HOOKER. These guys (at least twice our age, maybe two and a half times) were pathetic.

Greg dropped out of the picture early. He didn't make it past the train ride. I was wearing a tee-shirt that said www.AmericanGirlsAreEasy.com and reading a book called Wild Girls Club: Tales From Below the Belt and I chose to sleep on the piss-infested floor rather than make out with him. What was wrong with me?

Brucey lasted a little longer. He met up with us in Bucharest for five minutes with some pathetic story about the Marriot being overbooked. His five-star accommodation shrank to the same two-star dive we were staying at. We went our separate ways but he came to our room at 3am when we were passed out. The necrophiliac five-star bastard went from me to Erin back to me back to Erin back to me back to Erin, trying to figure out which was more likely to put out. Uh, neither. We don't have time or patience for five-star losers.

Posted by meg at 05:11 AM | Permalink

We aren't the hostelling kind of girls (too much luggage), but we stayed in one last night (again). We ended up chilling in Transylvania with an interesting mix of youth hostel people.

Things I remember:

-- Pissing on the sidewalk and using Romanian money to wipe. (Yes, the money is that worthless.)
-- Two adorable boys from London.
-- Elliott.

Things I do not remember:
-- Inviting Morris to follow us around Europe for two weeks.

Morris (I think that's his name.) is some guy who stayed in our youth hostel in Brasov. He knew we were going to Istanbul so he figured out which trains we should have been on then took a taxi and a bus to catch up. After he invited himself into our cabin, we paid to upgrade to first class. He tried following us but the ticket collector took care of us and told him there wasn't space available. Morris lurked in the hallway of the first class car and talked about following us around Europe for the next two weeks. My God, kill me. We decided to jump off the train in Bulgaria in the middle of the night, endure a six hour layover, and travel five hours in the wrong direction to a city we had not intended to visit.
Yeah, that's a bit much, but you must understand we tried being subtle then we tried being not so subtle. In fact, we tried everything short of saying go away until we realized go away was the only way to go. We fought over who had to say it. It's a difficult thing to tell someone to go away, especially when that someone is your age and isn't a bad person. He was nice, just incredibly annoying and the thought of spending the next to weeks with him yapping at our heels was frightening.

Fortunately it didn't go that far. As soon as the train arrived in Istanbul we ran like cowards. We ducked into the first restaurant we saw... literally. The waiters didn't speak much English and probably wondered what in the hell we were doing, but when they noticed we were obviously hiding from someone they took off their shirts and covered our head like we were Turkish women.

We saw Morris circle around the train station a couple times. We're assuming he didn't see us because if he had he'd be following us around right now.

Posted by meg at 05:17 AM | Permalink

We are still puzzled by how a Will Smith song became synonymous for sex in Turkey, but a half hour after we checked into our hotel the phone rang. "Jiggy jiggy tamon." I wasn't sure what it meant, so I told him I spoke English and hung up. Approximately 45 seconds later there was a knock at our door. On the other side stood a skinny little man stroking his chin saying "Jiggy jiggy tamon." I shut the door. It seemed like the appropriate answer.

Thirty seconds (no exaggeration) after shutting the door, the phone rang. "Jiggy jiggy tamon." I hung up the phone and there was knocking at the door. Damn this guy was fast. We answered the door. (Sometimes you just have to.) "Jiggy jiggy tamon." This time he held up his room key. We shut the door and the phone rang again. Apparently no is not an acceptable for "Jiggy jiggy tamon."

At this point we had had enough and called the front desk to find out what the hell "Jiggy jiggy tamon" meant. The hotel receptionist came to our room immediately without explanation. He said he thought he knew the guy and would find him. The phone rang again... more "Jiggy jiggy tamon." The receptionist returned and when we told him the guy had called again, he said: "I am going to go to his room and fight him."

Five minutes later the "Jiggy jiggy tamon" man was standing in front of our door and apologizing. The receptionist kicked him out of the hotel... without any jiggy jiggy.

Posted by Erin at 05:17 AM | Permalink

Here's how shopping in Turkey works: you walk anywhere in the vicinity of a store and you hear: "Hey lady, you like tee-shirt/carpet/purse/random piece of shit trinket?" Then you enter a store and they start throwing everything in their shop on the floor. "You like this?" (Toss something on the floor.) "This?" (Toss more things.) "This? This? This?" And suddenly you're surrounded by a whole pile of junk and you feel guilty that someone has to pick it all up when you had no intentions of buying anything in the first place. They ask you where you're from to gauge how much to charge you. (America = multiply the price by three. Canada is a bit less. Romania is where you should be from.)

Then they give you tea -- and if you're extra special, freshly squeezed orange juice. Then they tell you how much they like you. They like you so much, they'll give you a special friend price. They paid $X for the carpet and they'll sell it to you for $X+50. You're the first person they've ever disclosed their buying price to. You're just that special. When you get to talking a little more and they realize your current income is negative $50,000, they open up. They tell you stories about how dumb Americans are (because of course you're from Canada or Romania) and how easy it is to rip them off. Once they paid $36 for a carpet, threw dirt on it, walked all over it, called it an antique and sold it for $1050. When you finally leave the store, one hour and six apple teas later, you're fending off marriage proposals and dinner dates... hopefully without a new carpet.

Posted by meg at 05:24 AM | Permalink

If you're going to be a girl in Istanbul, be a blond-haired blue-eyed girl. Apparently Turkish people have never seen one before, so Erin has been a valuable commodity. Here's how we've spent our entire trip:

We walk down the street alone for three seconds then some man (of any age) approaches us. He says: "How are you doing?/What is your name?/May I look into your eyes?/Jiggy jiggy?/May I hustle you?/You come to my carpet store?/We drink tea?/etc." Whatever the line is he says it to Erin. If there are two men approaching us, they fight over Erin until one gives up -- typically the more obnoxious, loser one -- and I'm stuck fending the reject guy off until we're able to ditch them. Then the cycle repeats. We're on our third day in Istanbul and I swear to God we've seen at least 500 cycles.

Don't get me wrong, Turkish people are great. They've gone out of their way so many times to help us. If we pull out a map on the street (during the three seconds we're not being followed) someone is quick to make sure we know where we're going. But by the middle of the day, my energy is drained. It's difficult fending off men and carpet salesmen. They come on so strong and don't accept no, even after the hundredth time.

Last night I told some guy to stay the fuck away because he was a pathetic loser and he still smiled and followed us, trying to drag us into a disco. I'm sure he understood my English, if not he had to understand the tone of my voice, or the fact that I slapped him.

One guy explained to us that Turkish women don't have sex until they're 22 so the men are all wandering around super horny. The rationale doesn't satisfy me though, because men of every age followed us around -- from teenager to grandfather. There is something very horny about this country. And somewhere along the way they lost their sense of pride.

Posted by meg at 05:26 AM | Permalink

We couldn't afford a room in Venice, so we left our luggage at a hotel in Vicenza and took a late train to Venice. We figured we'd party all night, see the city in the morning, then pass out on the train on the way back.

We wandered around Venice aimlessly for what seemed like forever. We covered so much ground and nothing was open. We passed a lot of people on the streets who looked like they knew where they were going but when we turned around we passed them all again walking the other direction. There was nothing to do in the city.

We remembered reading in our shitty Let's Go Europe book that there was a disco called Casanova open until 4am. As luck would have it, it was right by the train station and easy to find. To give you an idea of how cool this club was, it was also an Internet Cafe. Don't get me wrong, I love email, but an Internet Cafe with a night club is a little lame... and that's being nice.

Entrance into the club was "free." They gave us a card that we had to exchange for our first drink that cost 10 euros. With the drink, you get an exit card. No way were we going to pay 20 euros for two drinks to dance in a club with computers. There had to be a way out. We scanned the exits for future reference and they were guarded by bouncers, some with pit bulls. We decided to just dance and figure it out at 4 am.

We could have run relay races between the people on the dance floor, it was that crowded. We couldn't have been dancing for more than two minutes before we were pushing dirty guys that couldn't dance off of us. Apparently a good shove and walking away are too subtle of hints.

Dancing to bootleg Yugoslavian discount music and fending off horny guys gets tiresome so I decided to sit down and drink. Alone doesn't last long at Club Casanova and soon I was joined by some guy from Croatia. I talked with him until the wine was gone and the club was closing. When the lights began turning on they finally started playing music I could dance to. Go figure. They played one song that reminded me of last summer and I missed Mexico.

We remembered we hadn't come up with an exit plan and I decided to play ignorant and just walk out. It didn't work. The bouncer asked for the exit ticket I did not have. I saw some guy hand his over and I realized it was the same ticket they gave us to get in only smaller so I just ripped mine in half. Could they make it any easier?

Posted by Erin at 05:25 AM | Permalink

We looked through the German classifieds for an apartment in Munich. Since we only needed it for a month, we decided not to be picky and just take the first one we saw.

The entry that caught our eye said: "Two bedrooms in Schwabing, kitchen, balcony... but no lights. 500 Euros/Month." The price was great, the location was exactly where we wanted it, and no lights was a great excuse to lure boys back to an apartment full of candles. Erin called the number and said she was interested in looking at the apartment. The guy said he was interested in looking at an apartment too. After a brief conversation we reread the newspaper. It turned out the guy was searching for an apartment, not renting one out. What kind-of a weirdo searches for an apartment with no lights?

No matter. There were several listings in the paper so we had plenty of backups. We made a few more phone calls but people kept hanging up on us. Actually, everyone hung up on us. In Germany it's too much effort to say: "I'm sorry, it's taken."

We finally got a hold of someone who didn't hang up and he invited us over at 6:00pm to check it out. It was absolutely brilliant. It was within walking distance of the main train station and had a huge room disconnected from the rest of the apartment. I had visions of serious profit. Youth hostels are always overbooked in Munich -- especially during Oktoberfest -- and we could comfortably fit 10 people in that room. At $10 a head we'd make bank. The problem: we arrived at 6:05pm and the lady who showed up on time had first dibs. Since it was the only apartment available in Munich and a gem at that, we had no hope. We tried offering more money, but no luck.

We checked the student bulletin board at a German university and a language institute. All of the ads were for a single room in someone's house. We didn't want a room; we wanted an entire apartment. After two days of searching we came up with nothing. The guy we're staying with right now is so awesome that he offered to let us live with him for a month. It was very generous, but we figured we'd drive him crazy so we had to pass. Looks like we'll be hitting the road again rather than settling in Munich for a while.

Posted by meg at 05:28 AM | Permalink

When you are traveling around Europe with negative $50,000 you find ways to make money. Going out is expensive, but it's one of the necessary parts of life and must be done. Last night we did really well with our frugalness and actually came home with more money than we left with.

We started off at the Hofbrauhaus. Unfortunately it was late and the bar was closing, but we snuck in past the bouncers. Sneaking into a bar that's closing doesn't do you much good if they're no longer serving drinks. But that's the beauty of the Hofbrauhaus: the beers are so big that people drink a third of them, then leave them on the table. We can't stand to see good beer go to waste and they weren't giving us any of our own, so we helped ourselves to the two fullest we could find. It's a little (okay, very) ghetto, but it saved us approximately $12.

We headed to Kunstpark Öst, the home of 40 of the shittiest, most fun nightclubs in the world. Three discos in I was feeling pretty nice and when all I'm buzzed up I do things I wouldn't attempt sober. Behind the bar they had bottles of wine. I like wine and I love free wine, so I helped myself. When the bottle was kicked, I helped myself to another. I'm not sure how much they cost but I'm sure I couldn't afford it.

After discovering how easy stealing was I helped myself to the first bottle of liquor I could reach: tequila. Good, something we could shoot. I passed the bottle around to whoever would take it, which turned out to be nearly everyone. I realized I could make money from the deal, so I walked around the dance floor offering shots for one euro. I made five. I should have started earlier.

In total, we spent zero euros on drinks, I made five euros, Meghan found 10 on the dance floor then some guy bought us food. We also got three job offers. So if selling stolen liquor doesn't work out...

Posted by Erin at 05:27 AM | Permalink

Sometimes a certain word or gesture can change a situation or a person's attitude from bad to good. Take for example, the lady at Kinko's who made our American Girls Are Easy business cards. She acted like a total bitch for no reason at all. I complimented her on her nail polish and she warmed up considerably. She apologized for having a bad day and then hooked us up with free internet. This type of thing I understand... I was nice and the kindness was returned. But what happened at McDonald's the other night remains a little unclear.

In Germany there is some law that states that you can't bring food from one establishment into another. (It's hard for me to believe that any country would have such a problem with this that they need a law to enforce it.) In Munich there's this great little two Euro lasagna stand. It's fast, it's cheap, and it's damn good but there is no place to sit. Fortunately, there is a McDonald's right next door.

I saw a clean table outside of Micky D's and tried to sit down. I think I got to the point where you pull the seat out to sit in it and I was stopped. The guy working told me we couldn't sit down because we weren't eating McDonald's, so we ordered three cokes and a beer. Now we were customers and you don't kick customers out. The guy still wasn't having it. I fought with him for another ten minutes and somehow my fork ended up on the ground. The guy muttered something about me being a typical blonde and walked away.

He wasn't gone long... he came back and handed me a clean fork. Then, I don't know what got into him but he started to hook me up profusely. I had ordered a beer to begin with and then, I swear to god, he brought me a fresh one every twenty minutes for like three hours. I used to work at McDonald's and I never got hooked up like that... I think I even have a date on Saturday.

Posted by Erin at 05:30 AM | Permalink

Every female should walk through the red light district in the middle of the night alone... once. Four of us were wandering around and just before 1:00am I realized I needed to call my mom. I left the group in some bar saying I'd be right back. Well, I wasn't right back -- and then I got lost.

After 1am the red light district is a new place. The bars and coffee shops close and the only stores left are prostitute windows, porn shops and live sex shows. They're around all day, but after 1am there are 800 times more. And everyone on the streets is either a hooker or a junky... or a male harassing the hookers and junkies. And then there was me -- wandering alone in a dress. I had so many interesting encounters and offers. The most unusual (for me) was being offered sex by a woman.

For some reason I started running through the streets. I felt the need to exercise and I was in a hurry, so it made sense. A woman stopped me and asked where I was going. I was looking for my friends. She said she'd help and walked with me. I couldn't remember the name of the bar... Dead Rock or Dread Rock or something with a stolen Hard Rock emblem. She said they were bad friends and they had left me. Then she ran her fingers over my hair and stroked my back. She told me about the good time I'd have with her.

I blushed and released the most nervous, uncomfortable, handicapped chuckle I'd ever heard. The sound could've only been made by someone with a hunchback and severe overbite, but somehow it came from me. I had nothing clever to say, which is funny because earlier that day I told Erin I wanted to ask a prostitute how much. I was curious about the going-rate for females with females. Then when it came down to finding out, I had a hunchback laugh and couldn't speak.

All that I know about prostitution rates: Last summer a blow job cost 50 fl ($20). Now with the advent of severe inflation (courtesy of the euro), it's 50 euros ($50). And when you have sex with a prostitute, I'm not sure how much it costs, but I do know she has a timer. You pay a certain amount to have sex until the timer goes off. If it takes longer, you get charged more. I'm not sure how this compares with prostitutes in the states, so if anyone has insight, please share.

Posted by meg at 05:31 AM | Permalink

I don't think using drugs is that bad. Okay, I should clarify: soft drugs are okay... not the hard stuff that turns you into a crackhead like the people I saw in Amsterdam this time.

At 1:00 am everything shuts down in the red light district and everyone gets out quickly. At 1:15 the only people on the street are the ones who sleep on it and the ones who deal to the ones who sleep on it. At this time of night you look back on your D.A.R.E. classes and understand why they tell you to say "No." You don't want to end up like the lady on the corner with one eye begging for a rock or the guy who's so whacked he can't keep his balance and falls standing still.

"Hell" is what one local called it. At 1:20 am when we were standing on the corner waiting for Meg (who was God only knows where) a guy asked us what we were doing there. First thought was -- beats me, we shouldn't be. But rather than going into a lot of unnecessary information I told him we wanted to see what it was like. "You want to see what hell is like? Take a look around you, it's not good."

It wasn't pretty, but 'hell' is a little harsh. Yeah we were targets for everything, but I didn't feel unsafe. A guy selling tapes asked us to buy something. I told him to go away rather harshly and he said, "Sorry, I'm just working." I felt terrible for brushing him off so badly and was glad when he passed again. I called him over and asked if I could buy something. He was pleased. He offered me coke, heroine, ecstasy, crack, whatever I wanted. I asked for a tape. Apparently no one has ever bought one before.

Posted by Erin at 05:32 AM | Permalink

Kristin, one of my old friends from high school, is visiting Europe right now. In high school we took a class (Model United Nations) solely because there was a week-long trip to the Hague every year. For old time's sake, Kristin and I made a power trip to the Hague. The whole way there we reminisced about fucked up high school stories. And our high school was very fucked up, so there were a lot of stories. I want to tell one. It has nothing to do with Europe, other than the fact the school was in England, but it's really funny.

My chemistry teacher senior year told us about a prank he pulled in college. He stole a chemical, methanol blue, and put a few drops in someone's socks. When the guy wore the socks, the sweat made the blue dye run and when he washed his feet, the water made the chemical set. (Vinegar and lemon juice are the only ways to get it off.) So this poor guy had blue feet and ankles for two months until it finally faded.

I told Kristin I had a great idea. We should put some methanol blue on this guy, Roy's, dick. He was one of those guys who slept with everyone. He had like six kids and kept a log of women. I figured we could get him real drunk at a party or I could make him think I was going to hook up with him (he always tried) and then put a few drops on. Then we could write a warning, supposedly from the school nurse, and slip it in the pile of morning announcements. It would say something about a new STD where your dick turns blue then falls off.

Two hours later, Kristin came up to me in the hallway giggling. She had just finished Physics class and in her backpack she had: methanol blue, methanol orange, methanol green, methanol red, methanol everything. She stole one of every color.

It would've been hilarious had we followed through, but unfortunately this story is very anti-climactic... Kristin had a really big mouth and told a few people. I didn't want Roy to know it was me -- we were friends. So all that happened was I spilled it in my backpack, got chemicals all over me for the next couple months and wasted bottles and bottles of vinegar.

Posted by meg at 05:33 AM | Permalink

Drug use is on the rise in Amsterdam. I was in a souvenir shop the other day and stopped to look at a complete smoker's kit. It contained rolling papers, roach papers, a joint case and a lighter. This didn't surprise me -- I was in a souvenir shop in Amsterdam after all. What was next to it completely blew my mind. Sold in the same 'kit' style was a mirror, razor, spoon and crack lighter. Are you kidding me?

Posted by Erin at 05:34 AM | Permalink

When eating in a restaurant in Romania there are a few things you should be aware of. Most importantly, the prices on the menu mean nothing. They are either for decoration or for Romanians but definitely not for you. Despite what you order and how much it's supposed to cost there's a good chance your bill will be the three times that amount. The waiter will claim the price on the menu is per portion, not the entire plate, and the small amount you just consumed was actually six portions.

Unless you are fluent in Romanian or have some knowledge of French chances are you won't know what you're eating and it's probably better this way. Last night I ordered cow stomach soup, a Romanian specialty. The waiter assured me it was wonderful and that I would really like it... he lied. I'm not a picky eater -- I've even eaten out of trash cans -- but this soup was like bile. It reminded me of mornings I'd like to forget (probably mornings after I ate out of trash cans). The waiter was nice enough to offer me something else, then charged me for both. He also charged me for the three pieces of bread I did not order or eat. The bread was approximately $0.25, but still. Apparently, stealing is justified because the tips are small... and they have to make a living somehow.

While enjoying your meal you'll probably be offered various performances and trinkets by people on the streets. Some of our favorites were the lottery (which we won...hell yeah, we are $0.30 richer...only $47,999.70, until we break even!), the bird that picks fortunes, the drunk lady with the accordion, and the little boy handing out pictures of religious figures. We assumed the little kid with the religious pictures didn't make too much so we splurged $0.30 and got one, only to find out that everyone in the restaurant did the same. The kid made bank... why can't we get jobs like that?

When your bill comes be sure to check the prices and make sure it's correct. If for any reason you're charged $20 for a bowl of soup, tell them. If they tell you that you ate seven portions of soup pay them for one and leave. They may chase you down the street, demand more money and even threaten to call the police. Do what we did and give them your name, the name of your hotel, room number, and insist they call police. Chances are they will give up. We haven't heard from them since.

Posted by Erin at 05:35 AM | Permalink

There are a lot of wild dogs roaming around the streets of Eastern Europe and they scare me. I really like dogs, but I have to know they won't bite me first. The other night in Romania I was walking down the street with a dog I had made friends with. I was petting him and telling him how nice he was. Then we passed another dog who barked and growled at me. I said, "You're the reason I don't like doggies." That really pissed him off because he started barking real loud and called all of his other dog friends over. All of the sudden I was surrounded by a dozen barking dogs. Dogs are smart enough to sense fear, so I tried to stay calm. I don't think I fooled them... but I did manage to walk onto the slightly populated sidewalk and they grew tired of barking. Once on the sidewalk I realized I was surrounded by packs of men. I noted the striking similarities between the dogs and men and didn't know which was safer.

Posted by meg at 05:36 AM | Permalink

I have met a lot of people in Olimpos. One guy from Iran was particularly scary. I really enjoyed talking with him but he was very forceful and I didn't know how to handle it. How do you communicate "no" to a man who thinks women have lesser value? He didn't treat me poorly but he wasn't asking my opinion on anything. You come here, I go there, we do this. No questions -- more like a series of demands. I never acted interested or kissed him, hell, I wouldn't even let him hold my hand. I don't know where it came from.

He somehow found my tree house. It took me two days before I could find my own tree house, so I am baffled how he managed to do it after dark during the three minutes I was actually in my tree house. He must have somehow followed me... but that doesn't explain how he was able to find it again and wake me up in the morning. He wanted to buy me a cell phone. I said no thanks. I've managed to go this long without needing a cell phone, why start now? And more importantly, I don't like using people. And even more importantly, the only person who would have my number would be him.

Posted by meg at 05:36 AM | Permalink

The other day in Cappadocia, Meghan and I rented motorbikes. (By the way, screw you again, Kadir's.) The guys we rented them from were particularly nice... particularly nice to rent motorbikes from, not hang out with. They wanted to take us out for drinks and we arranged to possibly meet later that night. We didn't intend to hang out with them but they either ran into us coincidentally or spent all night combing the streets to find us. Either way, we ended up having drinks with them at the bar. They weren't annoying or pushy (as most Turkish men are) so we let them buy us drinks. The situation would have worked out perfectly, one for Meg, one for me... perfect, had we been remotely interested in that type of thing.

When the bar closed at 4:00 am we were ready to go our separate ways but then they threw marijuana into the situation. Meg isn't much of a smoker but I am. I decided to spend another half hour with the guys, get high and go home. Meg's guy tried repeatedly to hook up with her and when she declined and went home, wasn't too happy. The guy I was "supposed" to hook up with got pissed off that the "plans" were ruined and bounced too.

I was left with the guy who had been talking to Meg all night. And as he was "designated" for Meg, I figured we could just be friends and hang out. Unfortunately, I don't understand Turkish and didn't catch the trade off of women the two guys made in the hotel. So there I am hanging out with this guy getting high and he tries to kiss me. Hell no, was my response. I asked him if he was kidding and what the deal was. I had been talking to his friend the whole night and now here he was trying to hook up with me. He said: "But, one is the same. It does not matter if it is me or my friend, one is the same."

No, one is not the same... and in this case one is equivalent to absolutely nothing. I explained to him that I was not going to hook up with him and I only came along to get smoke. If he wanted he could take me home right then. He apologized for his advances and we continued a very pleasant conversation for a good twenty minutes before he tried hooking up with me again. You have got to be kidding me. On the ten minute ride home he tried approximately three more times. Was this a joke or something, because I wasn't laughing. He tried to convince me that I needed to try different tastes. He said Turkish jiggy jiggy was different from every other boy in the world. That's great, too bad I didn't care to find out.

Posted by Erin at 05:37 AM | Permalink

As I've mentioned before, there are no price tags in Turkey. Vendors gauge how much they think they can get from you then make up a price on the spot. We bargain, bargain, bargain and end up finding killer deals, but sometime it's exhausting.

We got a good deal in Cappadochia. We were shopping at a displaced souvenir stand on the side of the road and had our eye on a couple statues of a Turkish hero whose penis is bigger than his body. Every coffee table should have one.

Some jackass vendor tried selling the statues for $20 each. ($20 is an obscene price in Turkey.) Then he added: "The original is free." We tried to bargain but he wasn't having it. He kept asking why we wanted to pay money when we could get the original for free. I told him there was no way in hell we were having sex with him but he kept pressing. I even said it loudly to embarrass him in front of other tourists and vendors. It didn't work. We realized we weren't getting anywhere so we walked away.

We walked about 10 feet before the jackass chased us down. Somehow we were surrounded by five vendors and the 'sit on my dick' deal was still being offered. We asked him if we could get the statues for $3 each if we took the original for free. He started drooling. We had a deal.

He wrapped the statues in newspaper and put them in a bag. We told him the name of a hotel we weren't staying at and said we'd meet him in the lobby at 11:30. He gave us his phone number. Uh, sure. We never gave him the $6 we agreed on. We just took the bag, kept walking and made sure we were no where near the fake hotel at 11:30.

Posted by meg at 05:38 AM | Permalink

Spain used to be a deal. All the partying I can handle plus more for a matter of a few pesetas. Now the euro is around and prices suck. Our hotel room in Malaga cost $35. This may not sound like much for a hotel, but consider the fact that we've been spending money constantly for three months and consider even more that we're used to paying $7. $35 for a bed pissed me off.

We decided to stay at the bars all night and left our luggage in a moderately safe random place. But it's hard to stay out all night when you're sick. (Cough cough... I felt miserable.) Around 11:30 we saw a nice hotel and I was so tired I would have paid anything.

We stood at the front desk for a minute but the lobby was bustling and no one helped us. Then Erin walked to the elevator. I wasn't sure where she was going, but I followed. We went to the top floor and found two comfy chairs. We wanted blankets so we searched for a maid's closet... We found better. The room marked 'privat' was unlocked and after we dragged the cushions in we had a spacious bedroom.

We slept soundly until the door opened in the morning. Someone turned on the lights and saw us. They apologized, turned them off again and left. We figured it was the perfect time to leave but we weren't quick enough. When we opened the door half the staff was waiting for us. What the hell could we do but smile and say, "Hola!"

We tried to scurry down the stairs but they escorted us in the elevator. We smiled a lot and apologized for not speaking Spanish. When the elevator opened in the lobby I saw a pot of coffee and stacks of cups. I tried for a cup but apparently coffee is only for guests who pay for their rooms

Posted by meg at 05:39 AM | Permalink

I love Turkey and I love Morocco but I hate their toilets. About two hundred years ago a man named John Crapper invented this thing called a flush toilet. God bless him. I really can't thank him enough.

Unfortunately this contraption has not been culturally accepted in Turkey or Morocco. Rather than sit down, use toilet paper, then flush, they prefer to squat over a tiny hole in the ground, wipe with their left hand and hope the piss goes down the drain. Call me ignorant, but I just don't understand.

Meg has the whole process down to an art but I have been struggling for approximately three weeks now. For some reason I can't get it right. This has forced me to "hold it" for as long as I can possibly stand. I can usually last a good twelve hours, but then I gotta go... and after drinking tea and water for twelve hours, there is a hell of a lot of pee that needs to come out. To put it nicely: when the piss comes, it really comes. It comes at such rapid speeds that I might as well forget about aiming for the two inch wide hole in the ground. My bathroom experience usually ends with wet feet. Fortunately, there is a faucet in the "toilet." They use it to wash their left hand and I use it to rinse off my feet. As for going number two, forget it. We've been in Morrocco for ten days, my stomach is really starting to hurt, and I could really use a new pair of shoes.

Posted by Erin at 05:40 AM | Permalink

We have been busted for sleeping in random hallways and hotel lobbies and libraries and train stations and just about everywhere that has bed potential on this trip. It's been interesting to see that different cultures have different reactions.

In Spain we were caught in the 'Privat' room. They brought the whole staff upstairs to laugh at us.

In Italy the train station closed on us. (We weren't trying to sleep there, we were temporarily dodging the rain and they thought we were trying to sleep there.) They told us to get the hell out.

In Turkey we couldn't get a bus back to Istanbul until the next morning. A random guy on the street had just gotten off work at a hotel. He brought us to the lobby, dimmed the lights, provided pillows and blankets and his coworker gave us coffee in the morning.

In Morocco people we met wouldn't even take us to a hotel. They took us to their houses and gave us ultra comfortable beds after a yummy dinner.

My least favorite country to get busted in has been Germany. In this city, they raise the prices 250% for Oktoberfest and the rooms are gone two months in advance. Still, no sympathy from these people. The maid our first night busted us wrapped in blankets in the hallway. We told her we had had a fight with our boyfriends. She chased us down seven flights of stairs demanding to know our room number the whole way. We only got away because I waved goodbye to the hotel receptionist as if I knew her. The maid redirected the room number question at the receptionist and we kept walking. Scornful woman.

Posted by meg at 05:41 AM | Permalink

While Meg was on the phone in the Hauptbahnhof, I saw a guy standing alone. I asked some random question and we got to talking. He said he was on his way to Copenhagen. I asked if he had a good time at Oktoberfest and he said, "I didn't go, I just got here five minutes ago." I looked at him like he was on crack and said, "You're in Munich and there is this huge beer festival going on and you are going to miss it to go to Copenhagen? Are you retarded?"

He skipped his train and we ended up at Kunstpark Ost. We got some beers and started getting really pissed. About four hours later the guy looked at me and said, "I don't feel so right, can we go?" Sure, no problem. I thought maybe he was just a little bored, but then he started hallucinating. The lucky bastard got drugged and it wasn't ruphenol, which just makes you black out and throw up for twelve hours, it was some sort of drug that makes you trip. How jealous was I? I wanted to be the one hallucinating. We spent a good couple of hours looking at trees and bushes. I'm sure it was fascinating for him. If I hadn't experienced the feeling once or twice myself, I probably would have been annoyed, but I think it's really cute when someone can look at a wall for half an hour and think it's the coolest thing they have ever seen.

We got "home" to Hotel Flora at about 6:00 am. We made our bed in the hallway. (No, we didn't have a room there.) Even though the guy was tripping, I think he was still a little confused as to why we were sleeping in hallways of hotels we weren't supposed to be in. It was probably a little more odd when we told him we had a friend in Munich we could stay with but we enjoy sneaking into hotels and seeing how long it takes for them to kick us out. In fact, most people are confused by this.

We slept too soundly until 9:00 am when the maid and the manager woke us up. They asked what we were doing in the hallway. I explained that we had a room but we were locked out and it was too late in the night to bang on doors, so we just made a bed in the hall. They asked which room we were in and we said, "27." The manager offered to let us in, but seeing how room 27 had two American guys we had scared the shit out of the night before, we declined.

It was about that time I noticed my black bag was missing. I thought Meg had picked it up, so I didn't worry. When I ran into her ten minutes later and she didn't have it, I realized somebody had stolen my bag. This is the third time this summer that I have been robbed, and they always steal things they can't even use. Someone somewhere is the proud owner of my contacts, my glasses and my dirty laundry. How pissed are they? Had they been smarter they would have taken the bag beside it with the money, credit cards, and digital camera.

I went back to the hotel like I was a guest and asked the maid if she had seen the bag. She was so nice. She opened the door to every room on the hallway, said she was the control and let me open every closet and every suitcase. Most people were very compliant. The naked Italian guys weren't very amused and the lady we woke up wasn't too happy either, but everyone else was helpful. The bag didn't turn up, but what can you do...that's life. I'm not upset. I find it very amusing, not quite as amusing as when the guy stole my purse and drained my checking account and maxed out my credit cards at Toys 'R Us, but it's a close second.

Posted by Erin at 05:43 AM | Permalink

Apparently before you go to Africa you're supposed to get vaccinations and medical exams and all sorts of other responsible stuff. You're not supposed to wander around the Sahara desert in a tank top and shorts and sleep outdoors without a bug net. Unfortunately, I didn't start researching the topic until after I realized I was dying.
About a week after I left the Sahara, bumps just started appearing. All of the sudden my hand would start itching and I'd look down and there were three new bumps. My neck did the same, then my elbow, leg, stomach, etc. Every appendage had some bump formation. I didn't know what the hell was wrong with me so I went to the doctor.

The first doctor was a true Nazi. I asked how much a visit would cost and she told me $80. Now, I don't mind paying $80 but if I can pay less, I'm going to try. I gave her the whole sob story that I've gotten real good at... I'm a student, I'm poor, I slept on the streets last night, student discount?, pity discount?... I even spoke her language. She wasn't having it. She told me that if I could afford to be in Europe, I could afford to go to the doctor. She actually shoved me out of the door and slammed it in my face. Here I am dying of some crazy African illness and $80 dollars is more important than my life. She didn't even let me finish my sentence... I was in the middle of consenting to the charges.

So I tried another doctor -- this time a dermatologist. There were two and they didn't know what to do with me. They made me get completely naked while they walked around me in circles inspecting every bump with gloves and a magnifying glass. They told me that the bumps looked like bug bites. Yeah, thanks assholes, I told you that from the beginning... but there was no cloud of bugs following me around Munich. They gave me some anti-itching cream and told me to come back in a week if it was still there.

I did what any girl would do... I asked my mom. My mom is a smart lady. She started asking about other symptoms. I thought my fingers were swollen from carrying five suitcases back from Spain. I thought my neck and back were sore from sleeping in random places. I thought the first sign of the bumps on my forehead a week ago was just acne. Then I remembered how I had been complaining of bad headaches and ringing in my ears. I hadn't connected any of them.

I researched my possible illness online... if the doctors couldn't figure it out, I should start trying. As a note, if you ever want to be scared, start reading about incurable African diseases from a fly bite and recall how many flies swarmed around you. Anyway, I decided I had a real serious one and thank god for Fil or I would have cried the whole night. Instead, I thought it was real funny.

I went to the Center for Tropical and Infectious Disease in the morning and it wasn't funny anymore. I hadn't slept for two days and was on the brink of death, so I didn't even attempt to speak in German. I tried my whole student-slept-on-the-streets-last-night-and-help-me-I'm-dying sob story and it scored me no points. The secretary decided I wasn't sick and told me I was just having an allergic reaction to something. Now, thank you bitch, but show me your medical degree or let me talk to a doctor. I spoke with a bit more class than that, and it sounded more like: 'pout pout, pleeeease...' Anyway, she brought me to the doctor and explained my case to him in German, thinking I didn't understand. She said something close to: 'Pretty girl is worried because the rash isn't pretty... probably got it from sleeping on the streets.... hasn't slept in two days and is irritable.' Irritable was right, I started bawling.

The doctor decided I was having an allergic reaction to something as well and ran blood work to prove it. It came up negative. Then he finally believed me and passed me off to his colleague who knew about tropical diseases. Apparently I have Mediterranean Spotted Fever... I was somehow bit by a tick. But I am strong, so it is a weak case and should clear itself up on its own. They gave me a back up prescription for antibiotics just incase. So, yay!, it's not terminal...

Posted by meg at 11:03 PM | Permalink

When I heard that Oktoberfest shut down every day at midnight, I was a little shocked. When I was ready to pass out at 8pm on Saturday night, I was even more shocked. But I suppose that when you start drinking in the middle of the afternoon, it's tough to make it last... but I'm proud to say I didn't reach my bed until 9am Sunday morning.

I ran away from the beer tent around 8pm ready to find my way home. As my sense of direction is non-existent, I could have been walking all night. But I walked by a door and it opened. I went in. There was another door and I opened it. I realized it was one of those miniature rooms with an ATM and much warmer than walking outdoors in the rain. I curled up in a corner and put the human-sized cardboard fox in front of my head. I thought I was well hidden until three people in medical uniforms woke me up. Apparently someone called me an ambulance. I swear I was the most hilarious thing they had ever seen. German people don't laugh as much as these people were... They pointed me in the right direction home.

But before I got there I noticed the Hotel Flora. This lovely hotel is the same one where Erin and I crashed at the night before when we were homeless. They have comfortable hallways. But this time the hallway had people bustling around, so I locked myself in the bathroom and slept on the floor. It was a nice bed until 800 people tried coming in.

I was halfway home when a couple American guys started talking to me. I ended up showing them where the clubs were and staying out all night. I forgot how Americans dance, but was quickly reminded. It involves one in front and one behind, passing you off like a ride. One of them tried to buy me... I couldn't really understand what he was saying. I also couldn't understand why some Spanish chick tried stealing my sweater and why I didn't punch the bitch when I caught her. She was so drunk I had to take it off her myself. While punching a drunk chick would have been low, I should've at least taken off her scarf while I was undressing her... It was cute and probably not hers to begin with.

Anyway, I realized I couldn't go back to the guy's place I was staying at because it was too late. The American guys didn't have a hotel so I escorted them to the hallway of Hotel Flora. When I left it was still raining and a very nice taxi driver took pity on me and drove me around a bit. He dropped me off at my friend's apartment and I slept on the doorstep until I was too cold to stand it. It was 9am.

Posted by meg at 10:54 PM | Permalink

Being broke won't get you far in Munich. I had five Euros to my name and that's not enough to buy a bottle of cheap wine... so I stole one and made a lot of friends.

I met up with some Italian boys. We were going to go hit the clubs until they remembered they had lost their friend a day and half ago and should probably wait for him to show up. Are you kidding me? When I lose Meg for two hours and I don't find her in the closest Internet cafe I get nervous, especially when we are in a city we don't know. I definitely don't wait thirty-six hours to start worrying, especially when my train leaves in five.

Then there was Effie. Effie was this forty plus year old women who was so trashed she couldn't do anything but convulse. I told her husband who was equally drunk to take her to the hospital. He said they had already been. If they release people like that then I'd hate to see the ones they make stay. I hung out with her for a little bit and tried to get her to eat and possibly throw up. The most of I got out of her was a phrase that sounded like ''uhgkangkajfdkrluaskfmn'' and a lot of drool. I hope when I am forty plus years old I'm still going hard like that, just not dying on the train station floor.

At one point I left to go see what Meg was up to. When I got back all the entrances were locked and they weren't letting people in. I snuck in the side, but the station police noticed me. I bolted up the stairs and tried to blend with the other vagrants. I guess I stuck out because they found me. I tried to be cute and play dumb, but when I was surrounded by seven rent-a-cops I went for plan number two and decided to hand them our Americangirlsareeasy.com business cards. I brought one out to give to them and then they all reached into their pockets and showed me they already had them. That was my ticket in.

I started talking to this one guy from Prague about drugs and he said, "Do you want to smoke a spliff or something?" Hell yeah, I wanted to smoke a spliff. When don't I? So, dude went to his locker and got some skunk from Afghanistan. I know my country is at war with them and everything, but I doubt the pot was Bin Laden's so I got stoned in the middle of the train station with him and Steppenwolf 10 from the Hell's Angels. I didn't know there was a German chapter of Hell's Angels, but apparently there is. He was about sixty or so, and really cool, but then he tried kissing me. He lost a couple of cool points there, but overall I still like him. I got his phone number, so if anyone tries to take me down or kick me out of their bar, I can have them killed or something.

Posted by Erin at 05:44 AM | Permalink

Our trip is over. Due to dwindling funds and the fact that Europe started getting real cold, we called it quits...

Our flight: Frankfurt to Seattle with a five hour layover in Newark. When we arrived in Newark we were tormented at the thought of sitting on another airplane. Lucky us -- the flight was cancelled. We wanted to stay the night in NYC, so we came up with a little plan...

Continental Agent: "Let me pull your up reservation and see if they rebooked you on another airline."

Erin: "We only fly Continental."

Continental Agent: "That's very flattering. Thank you."

Erin: "Really, I'm serious."

Continental Agent: "Yes, they've already rebooked you on another flight. You'll be flying American Airlines at 7:00."

Erin: "Oh no. That won't work."

Then somehow we had a hotel room for the night, free dinner, a flight out the next day, and we didn't have to mess with our luggage. We saw a bit of the city, hung out with some friends from college during the night, and had coffee with another the next day. Then our luggage was waiting for us in Seattle. Good deal!

Posted by meg at 10:43 PM | Permalink