Montpellier, France

“I soon realized that no journey carries one far unless, as it extends into the world around us, it goes an equal distance into the world within.”

-Lillian Smith

After leaving Venice, my plan was to take a train to Geneva and another train from Geneva to Barcelona.  Upon arrival in Geneva, I discovered that the overnight train to Barcelona was fully booked.  If I wanted to make my flight to Marrakech, Morocco, the only option was to take a train from Geneva to Montpellier.

The train dropped me off in Montpellier at 10 p.m.  Another train to Barcelona left Montpellier at 7 a.m.

Montpellier is beautiful by night.

I tried to find a hostel in Montpellier, but everything was booked.  After eating Chinese food, I resigned myself to another night in the train station.

After an hour in the Montpellier train station, the police arrived and kicked everyone out.  Many train stations in Europe close in the wee morning hours because there are no inbound or outbound trains.

I explained to the policeman that I had tried to find lodging unsuccessfully and had no where else to go, but he assured me that a few policemen stand outside the train station at night, so I would be safe sitting (or sleeping) out front.

I walked outside the train station and started to play my 44th game of Klondike of the day...on the curb. 

IPOD Klondike is the shit, even though I suck at it.

Then I just sat, and sat, and stared at the pigeons flocking around my feet, and stared at the pigeons flocking around my feet, and stared at the pigeons flocking around my feet, and sat some more...

It was nearing 2 a.m. and I was getting tired, and the more tired I got the more fantastic the pigeons started to look.  Some strange thoughts started running through my head.  This is an actual transcript:

Oh...beautiful pigeons...look at the pigeons swirl and spin, swirl and spin...  They are swirling.  They are spinning.  Oh, I love pigeons.  L-O-V-E them.  Their feathers look so soft.  So soft...  Like a feather pillow.  I wish pigeons were as big as me so that I could crawl on their back and wrap my arms around their fat neck and bury my face in their soft feathers...  Soft, soft pigeon feather pillow...  And take a nap on the back of a pigeon... For hours... 

Right as I was fantasizing about a pigeon piggyback ride through the streets of Montpellier, a voice said, "Hey girl, would you like to sleep at our apartment?  We have an extra mattress."

I came to, and saw three 20-something females standing above me.  They told me that they were Swiss students studying in France, and that they shared an apartment five minutes from the train station.  

Traveling has made me more street smart.  Obviously, if this had been Franz, the answer would have been an emphatic "no."  But I figured three, well-dressed ladies of my own age could not be too dangerous.  Plus, a mattress was preferable to a pigeon piggyback ride. 

I followed the Swiss girls to their apartment.  They made me tea.  We exchanged life stories.  They asked me if I'd ever considered couchsurfing.  They explained that couchsurfing, like hostelworld, has a way for guests to rate and comment on their hosts (so you can screen out the losers).  They said they've all used couchsurfing extensively, and safely.

Then I fell to sleep on their mattress, still wearing my street clothes.

The next morning I left Montpellier at the ass crack of dawn and headed to Barcelona.

Venice, Italy

“Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we may even become friends.” 

-Maya Angelou

I've spent the last few days living on trains.  Since there are no direct trains from Croatia to Spain, I rode from Dubrovnik to Zagreb to Venice to Geneva to Lyon to Montpellier to Barcelona to Madrid...whew.  Transit is exhausting.

Stopping for one day in Venice was a welcome treat and a welcome rest during this period.

The tourist portion of Venice is actually an island.  Or a series of islands (117 to be exact).  A bus took me from my campsite on the mainland across a bridge to Venice Island, the largest and most visited island.  In addition to being a tourist hot spot, Venice Island is also home to about 60,000 people (another 176,000 people live on the mainland, and 31,000 live on the other 116 islands).

Like New Orleans, Venice Island is currently below sea level, making it particularly susceptible to the ravages of climate change.

Venice Island is crisscrossed by canals.  The canals are actually natural waterways that were enhanced by the Venetians with pilings and dredging to make them navigable.  The largest canal is the Grand Canal (pictured below).  I did not take a gondola ride on the Grand Canal because the price was exorbitant.

  Bridge over the Grand Canal.

Here are some more Venice pictures with captions:

 The streets of Venice are a maze.  Navigation is a challenge, especially on a cloudy day when the sun is not visible.  Bring along a map.

 Venetian masks are everywhere for sale.

Venetian breakfast.  Yum.

Venice Naval History Museum.

If you walk long enough on Venice Island you will reach the Adriatic Sea.

 There are some beautiful buildings on the strip along the Adriatic Sea.

 And more.

Oh, I wanted to tell you that I stayed at a campsite in Venice.  I have seen campsites advertised on hostelworld.com before, but I always assumed that you needed your own tent to take advantage of the facilities.  Not the case.  The campsite in Venice (there are several on the mainland) had its own tents set up on concrete slabs.  Here is what they looked like:

Camping village.

The tents.

 Set on a concrete slab, you do not get wet or dirty in these tents.

 There are bathroom and shower facilities on the premises.  And even a mini market that sold alcohol.

The campsite was clean, secure, and comfortable.  And for only 11 Euros per night, camping is certainly something worth checking out for the budget-conscious traveler.  

I would recommend going the hostelworld.com route for booking since campsites, hostels, and other accommodation are customer-rated on the website.  Since ratings are everything, I've noticed that the staff at these places usually go out of their way to cater to guests.

If you see lodging with bad reviews and ratings it is easy to stay clear.  (As a rule of thumb, I usually pick lodging with an 80% or better rating, though lodging with lower ratings is sometimes cheaper.)  I have had no problems with any of the accommodations I booked off of hostelworld.

Art in front of a Venetian gallery.

Rocking the Army PT cap for the first time since I slept on a park bench in Prague.

After Venice it was more train travel for this girl.  Check back soon for updates from Montpellier, Barcelona and Marrakech.

Dubrovnik, Croatia

Have you ever wanted to hit a child?

I did, today.  Yep, child abuse was almost committed on the beaches of Dubrovnik, Croatia.

 Beach bum.

That "child" was 10-years-old.  His gang of friends started playing ball five feet away from my towel.  After getting splashed, trampled, and hit with their tennis ball at least 12 times in an hour, all humor and tolerance was gone.  The next time that tennis ball struck me in the noggin' and came to rest a few inches from my shoulder, I rolled over on top of it.

 Hoodlums with tennis ball.

When I woke up 10 to 15 minutes later, a small crowd of 10-year-old hoodlums were clustered around my towel talking nervously in Croatian.  If I had been a man, there would have had no qualms about reaching underneath me and retrieving the ball.  But since that ball was now wedged under a female chest, they did not know what to do.

After a few minutes, I started to feeling like a bonafide a-hole, so I relented and returned the ball.

Since that encounter in Dubrovnik, children have been everywhere...

Annoying child # 78

Screaming in the surf.  Throwing temper tantrums in the street when Mama won't buy them a lollipop.  Squabbling over who gets to play with Teddy Bear.  Stomping their feet.  And generally making me thankful that I don't have any kiddos...yet.

I don't feel like a "real woman" sometimes because, right now, I'd rather travel and write than be a parent...

On my list of Eight Things I Wish I´d Known When I was 18, I list as # 2:  "There are absolutely no rules to the game of life."  But living life by your own rules, by what feels right for you can be difficult.  There are days when being a childless woman nearing 30 makes me feel weird, even though I know I am following my dreams.

Living a less conventional life is something I ponder often on this trip... 

But, more on Dubrovnik.  It is a city in southern Croatia along the Adriatic Sea.  With a population of only 44,000, Dubrovnik has a rather laid back feel and is a great place to wile away a couple of days as a beach bum.  The city is known internationally for the Dubrovnik Summer Festival, a 45-day cultural event that features concerts, plays and athletic events.

Harbor in the Dubrovnik Old City.

 Another harbor picture.  That is Lokrum island in the background.

Besides a vibrant beach scene (nude and non nude variety), the other thing to do in Dubrovnik is visit the Old City.  It's a seaside fortress filled with churches, art galleries, restaurants, cafes and so much more.

It is time to head to Venice so I have to cut this short, but more to follow...

Entrance to the Old City.

Street in the Old City.

Church in the Old City.

Beautiful views abound.

Me carrying a bottle of vino to the hostel.

Random Road Revelation # 891

I've had this intuition lately that fear is an illusion.  Love is the only real thing in this world, even though love is intangible, even though we can't prove that love exists.  If you tell me that you love a person and I say "prove it," there is no way for you to prove it.  You can try to prove love by your actions, but I will counter that you are acting that way out of dependency or to to make yourself look or feel better.  Only you know if you love a person, and you know it because you feel it.

Some people say that "God" is love.  Or that "God" manifests love.  Or that "God" is the greatest example of love in the universe.  Since love and "God" are practically synonymous, isn't it interesting that you can't prove love, just as you can't prove "God"?  And isn't it interesting that you can't think you love a person, you can only feel that you love a person...just as you can't try to think "God" into existence, you can only feel that "God" exists?

It is a great irony that we can think up atomic bombs and space travel, but we can not think up love.  And by extension, we can't think God into existence.  "God", whatever "God" is, can only be felt.  If you are looking for "God," you will never find "God" through thinking.  You will only find "God" through feeling.

Dispatch From A Nude Beach

"Make sure to apply sunscreen to your nipples!"

That was the advice I received when I told a lady at my hostel that I was headed to Dubrovnik, Croatia's nude beach on Lokrum island.  Armed with that piece of advice and a bottle of 34 SPF sunscreen, I departed.

My ferry ticket to Lokrum island.

I'm not going to lie.  I've always wanted to visit a nude beach.  For a number of reasons...  Premier among these reasons is the ability to ditch the tan lines.  Moreover, a nude beach implies 18 and over.  I'm sick of being sandwiched between children flinging sand at one another and screaming.

Lastly, a nude beach is something new.  We don't have a lot of them in America.  I wanted to see what all the hype was about.  The writer in me figured that it would be a good story, if nothing else.

 Ferry ride to Lokrum island.

 View from the ferry.

Upon arrival, I followed the signs to the nude beach.

F.K.K is the European abbreviation for nude beach.  It stands for Freikörperkultur in German, which translates to Free Body Culture (a.k.a. nude beach).  

Random peacock sighting on the way to the F.K.K.

These gentlemen were also on their way to some nude beach action. 

Getting warmer...

Once at the F.K.K,. I realized it wasn't so much a nude beach as a nude cliff.  A series of rock faces jutted out into the Adriatic Ocean, and nude people were sprawled out on all of them.

I chose an unoccupied rock face that was out of the way of pedestrian traffic and set up my "base camp."  After getting situated, I took a good look around, and here is what I saw:

 

I think you would agree with me that the view on this F.K.K. was not particularly inspiring in any way, shape or form.

I didn't feel quite ready to take the plunge to fall-on nudity, so I played it safe for a while...

Me playing it safe on the F.K.K.

At long last I decided, what the hell, I didn't slather sunscreen on my nipples and take the ferry all the way from the mainland for nothing.

And I took it all off...

Being nude on a nude beach was disconcerting.  Ever so often, boatloads of tourists sailed around Lokrum island, and I could see dozens of eyes peering up at my naked body.  I cringe to imagine how many people were checking me out even more closely with telescopic lenses and binoculars! 

The other nude beach goers were terrific, however.  There was quite the libertarian, "Live and Let Live" attitude on Lokrum island.  Everyone kept to themselves, and to their separate rock face.  No one stared, gawked, or approached me for conversation.  Except one guy, that is.  There always has to be one, doesn't there?

The "bad apple" of the bunch was a well-endowed gentleman with red hair.  His rock face was below and next to mine, and he kept on checking me out.  I was wearing sunglasses and dozing, but every time I opened my eyes I would catch him looking up at me with an expression of lust and greed. 

At one point, he stood up and took a circuitous stroll up and around my rock face in order to see my naked body up close and personal.  I sat up and caught him in the act, standing behind a bush not five feet away from my "base camp."  He looked embarrassed, but managed a guilty smile and wave before he slunk away. 

Alternate view from my nude base camp.

The "bad apple" and boatloads of tourists aside, my opinion on the F.K.K. is mixed.  On one hand, I like the idea of it.  Nudity is not necessarily a bad thing.  Yet, I herald from a country where nudity is made into a moral issue and, in my opinion, a far bigger issue than is warranted.

In fact, America's view of nudity is scewed.  We've got 10, 20 and 30-year-old men playing video screens where they are rewarded for shooting the opponent in the head.   (Not only does blood splatter when heads explode in one game I observed, but a burst of confetti fills the air and cheering emanates from the speakers.)  But, yet, we think it's disgusting for a woman to expose one of her breasts while nursing her child in public.  I really don't understand my fellow Americans, sometimes...

F.K.K. food.

More F.K.K. food.

Would I go back to another F.K.K.?  Perhaps.  I didn't love it.  I don't even think I liked it.  I never felt like I could get comfortable. 

But it was OK.  And it was nice to get rid of the tan lines...