I spent about a week in Sarajevo, the City of Roses. During my time in the city, I fell in love with it. I chased Angelina Jolie for a story, I took numerous walking tours and learned about the dark past and vibrant present of the city, and I explored the juxtaposition of the battle scars from the war in the 90s to today’s positive and upbeat lifestyle.
While I was there, it was Ramadan, and each night a single firework would explode to mark the end of the observance for the day.
Benidorm, Spain is one of those places that seems to have simply sprung up between the crop-covered hills and coast of the Mediterranean.
With high-rise hotels jutting up from the flat shoreline, this town is about as non-Spanish as you can get while still being in Spain.
Sure, it still has the beautiful squares and old buildings, but around them are fish and chip shops and lobster-red tourists.
Regardless, I still really liked the town. Especially at night, when separated a bit from the tourist enclave, there was real Spanish flavor complete with late-night dinners, well-lit squares and charming areas like this, outside of an old church.
Living in Las Vegas means there is never a shortage of amazing dining options. From the five-star, AAA starred, Michelin-ranked to the small mom and pop holes-in-the-wall, eating phenomenal food is easy to do in Vegas.
Yes, there is always a Las Vegas foodgasm to be had. This little nugget of foodgasm comes from Wicked Spoon, the gorgeous buffet at The Cosmopolitan Las Vegas has it all: sushi, seafood, bone marrow, Mac and Cheese, Thai …
And the desserts. Shelf after shelf of sweet goodness, like these chocolate dipped strawberries.
For more on the Las Vegas buffet experience, check out this HostelWorld feature on the best buffets in Vegas.
I’ve been talking a lot lately about the beauty of America’s desert southwest. Maybe it’s because I am trying to soak up as much as I can before I embark on the next journey.
Regardless, I’ve been going through photos of late and find myself staring at the untouched beauty in Utah, the reds and blues of the Hoover Dam and the deep orange hues found in the Valley of Fire.
Another beautiful spot to visit near Las Vegas? Red Rock Canyon. The outcropping of red rocks from the sand-colored mountains and the mint green brush makes for some seriously remarkable scenery. That, and the cacti.
Whether staying in Arizona vacation rentals, Boulder City or Las Vegas, the Hoover Dam is one of those places that should be visited on a trip to the American Southwest.
On the border of Nevada and Arizona (and, depending on the time of year, also on the Pacific/Mountain Time Zone) is the historic Hoover Dam, also known as the Boulder Dam, which cuts across the Colorado River and created the Lake Mead National Recreation Area.
Built during the 1930s and designed to bring water and power to the growing southwest, workers lived in Boulder City and then worked on the mighty structure, which was considered an amazing feat of engineering.
The hydroelectric generators and colossal concrete structure also infuses some art deco into its design with four towers (two of which display the time on either side of the river).
In 2010, a massive bridge straddling the Colorado River was constructed.
Looking up at it from the dam, it scares the crap out of me. I swore I would never drive on it, but I accidentally stayed on the road too far one day, and nearly panicked when I saw the “welcome to Arizona” sign. I crossed the bridge and didn’t die. So, now, the bridge and I have worked out our differences, even though I’m not too eager to take anyone across.
For those interested, there are two tours which can be taken at the dam — the Power Plant and Hoover Dam tours. The Power Plant tour is $11 for adults and includes a 30-minute guided tour of the power plant and access to the Visitors Center. The Hoover Dam tour is $30 for adults (sorry, no kiddos allowed for this one) and treats guests to a one-hour guided tour of not only the power plant but also the passageways of the dam to see the inner workings of this immense structure.
Getting there: A 30-mile drive from Las Vegas, take I-15 to I-215 East, then take US-93 South towards Boulder City. The smart road planners take you through the quaint little Boulder City en route to the dam. Boulder City is a cute little town, stop at the Boulder City Brewing Co. for a blueberry beer (super tasty) or get a bit to eat and a glass of wine at Milo’s. Then, head to the dam. There is free parking, but it is a walk from the main attraction. Parking on-site in the garage is $7.
During my time in Morocco, I hired a guide. Even though I swore I wouldn’t. I just got so worn down, tired of pretending to not hear the calls, tired of being on guard.
When in Fez, and I met Sayid, I succumbed and let him take me around the old medina of Fez, which dates back to 793 AD or something crazy like that.
He took me to all over town, including to the coolest overlook in the city, a bath, and even to the leather tannery.The tannery dates back nearly 1,000 years and still processes hides of animals using traditional techniques.
Here, vats are filled with pigeon poop and veggie dyes to prepare the skin for leather production. On a hot summer day, you can smell it across the medina.
My foot taps to the beat of the band as I wait in the tiny outdoor area behind Interbar in Chiang Mai.
It seems like I’ve been standing in front of this dingy little mirror and dirty sink for more than five minutes.
I’m not drunk, but I’ve had a few drinks as I wait for the bathroom to free up. Whoever is in there certainly is taking their sweet time.
Finally, the powder blue door swings open and out walks a scraggly-haired guy with a silly grin on his face.
I stand there, confused.
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I’ve been waiting for the woman’s bathroom.
“Oh,” I stammer, looking to the men’s bathroom door, which is open. “Sorry, I didn’t realize …”
He casts a quick glance at me, then walks away. As I walk into the bathroom, I nearly collide with another person, who follows him out at his heels.
One of the bar’s cocktail waitresses.
“I’m so sorryyyyyy,” she coos to me, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Oh. My. God.
I am at a loss for words as I realize what has just happened.
Him. Her. A blowjob in the bathroom.
I go into the toilet, but the thought of what has just gone on in this little backroom bathroom has rendered me pee-shy. Instead, I head back to the picnic bench in the dimly lit bar to meet my friends, Katie and Adam.
It’s the second night I’ve been to this bar since I’ve been back in town from volunteering at Elephant Nature Park.
Two nights earlier, when I went from hut to haute and checked into the Rachamankha Hotel, I had been at this tourist hot spot located just outside Thapae Gate with some of the volunteers. Armed with a bottle of whiskey and Chang beer, we had sang along with the cover band and made friends with other travelers.
Tonight, it’s entirely different.
“You won’t believe what just happened,” I say as I lean across the wooden table to my friends. “That guy at the bar and the little server in the American flag shirt just came out of the bathroom together. She was wiping her mouth.”
“And?” Katie asks.
“I mean … I guess I’m just surprised. This place doesn’t seem like a prostitute bar.”
Katie and Adam both look at me and laugh.
“D,” Katie says as she takes a swig of her beer. “This is a sexpat bar.”
“A what?”
“Sex. Pat.”
“What does that mean?”
“Basically, creepy men come here to have sex with the pretty girls who work here, or who hang out here. They get drunk on the men, do whatever, and make money.”
I take a better look around me.
The cocktail servers aren’t like the prostitutes across the way, clad in too short and too tight dresses. But, they are cute. And the men, well, they stand around, beer clenched in hand, leering and looking at the girls like they want to eat them for dinner. One man, probably a grandpa in real life, has his wrinkled arm wrapped low around one of the girls waists as she sits with them at his table. She giggles, he pulls her in tighter, nearly salivating.
“Sexpats,” I say, toying with the word. “Well … OK.”
I know about Thailand’s sex tourism industry. I know there are prostitutes. Sex shows. But, at Inter Bar, it just doesn’t feel right. It’s backpackers. And then the slimy men standing around.
So, I guess it is.
I watch intently the rest of the evening, eyes glued to the single guys who come in and out. I follow the girls as they lead men out of the bar, into the back, and then back to the bar again. It happens a few times in the night.
By the end of the evening, we’ve made friends with our cocktail server. I’ve even oblige when she curls into me, singing “you buy me a shot, yesssss?”
They’re so cheap, I don’t even care.
When we get our check, I take a look at it. The shots are priced differently. Two are cheap. One is expensive.
I flag our friendly (and now drunk) server down.
“What’s this?” I ask, pointing out the price discrepancy on the bill.
“My shot,” she purrs, smiling. “You buy me shot.”
“Yes, I buy you shot. But I’m not paying more for yours. Make it the same price as the others or take it off the check.”
“Ohhhh … okayyyyyy,” she says, not in the least bit surprised I have made this request.
I wonder how many other people don’t even notice the higher price.
She comes back a minute later, the price now the same as mine.
“You so nice,” she says, wrapping her arm around me.
Yeah. But, I’m no sexpat.
We leave that night and head to a bar in the old city. One packed with backpackers looking to get laid. For free.
Tarifa, Spain. The sign at the edge of the beach says: “the southest town in Europe.”
The way the wind whips my hair and pushes the crashing surf, it definitely seems like a dramatic point on the continent.
This little beach town is the place where the Atlantic Ocean crashes into the Mediterranean, and where the narrow Strait of Gibraltar carries people from Europe to Africa.
My favorite part about Tarifa, other than the quiet beaches? Being able to see Africa across the water. Shortly after this photo was taken, I boarded the ferry to Tangier, which would lead me to the land of one-thousand welcomes and the marvelous colors of Chefchaouen.
Perched at the top of the gorgeous Granada, Spain(home to my special Spanish affair) is one of the must-see’s in the city, if not the country — La Alhambra.
The well-preserved 9th century Arabic palace, whose name means “red mountain,” is one of those magnificent spots in the city, which combines history with romance. Here, people can wander through the lush gardens, grab a seat on ancient stone to enjoy stunning views of the town below, and also learn about an important part of the region’s history.
La Alhambra’s intricate architecture is complemented by the remaining frescoes and original art. This flower can be found on the wall in one of the rooms.
It’s no secret my heart belongs to Spain. After all, it is the one country I spent the most time in during my long-term travels, bopping in and out more more than a handful of times before I risked deportation. In fact, Spain is the one place I can imagine myself staying long-term … it just feels like home.
While I only spent two days in Seville — and most of that time I was sleeping, thanks to being exhausted from five days in Rwanda — I did get to explore the gorgeous streets of the main town. Like most of Spain, the old towns are filled with vibrant colors, hanging plants and history.
D Travels 'Round