A Roman mini-break

Two days in Rome might not be enough to give a proper review and blog filled with tips, but I'm gonna try it anyway, because the other travelblogs I wrote on Russia, Thailand and Barcelona are well-ridden.

The good thing about Rome is that, even though on the map it looks quite big, two days is plenty to cross of most things on my to-do list.

Vatican.
I promised my mother to visit the Vatican, so I did. Having booked a ticket in advance online, I had a timeslot in which I had to show up. I had to hurry, but in the end, nobody checked my time, in fact, the lady at the booth didn't even look at me, period. This kind of behaviour was exemplory for how tourists are treated in the Vatican, when I asked a lady where to show my ticket, she told me to go back downstairs, because "how should I know? I just work here". After explaining that I just came from downstairs, and they told me to go upstairs, she yelled at me "I'm just trying to help you."
What I found hilarious at the Vatican, or more specific the Sixtene Chappel, were the guards. In a poor attempt to keep the peace, it's them who are the noisiest, screaming "Silencio!!", "No photo!!" and "Get down the stairs!!" every other minute at the admiring, quiet crowd. The other guards filled their time playing with their smartphones.

Market.
I found the Campa del Fiori highly disappointing (just sayin'), so do yourself a favour and go towards the indoor market of Testaccio. It's covered, there's some locals doing their groceryshops and they sell more than travelsize bottles of olive-oil and fun multi-coloured pasta. There should be a market at 'Porta Portese', but only on sunday, and my 48 hours did not cover that day.

Coloseum-area.
As soon as you walk out the subwaystation, you bump into the ruins of the Coloseum. I didn't go inside (I saw a Turkish style Coloseum last april and no offence, when you've seen one, you've seem them all), but the area is really nice to walk around in. Next to the
Colosseum is Palatine hill with the foro Romano; if you walk up the exit you see a lot as well. If you walk towards Via dei Fori Imperiali, you will notice some awesome historic grounds and buildings (red arrows).

Spanish steps.
If you have ever climed the stairs in front of the Sacre Couer in Paris, the Spanish steps should be a piece of cake. Now, I unfortunately missed it, but my friend suggested to go to Via Margutta, near the Spanish steps, in the Spagna area.




Hostel.
I stayed in the Zen House B&B, cheap, small and a personal touch. The host / owner is a former traveller himself and he basically started the hostel that he would have loved to stay in. This makes it like you're staying in the guestroom of a friends house. He cooks breakfast personally, gives you tips when you want to, or leaves you alone.

Cinema.
For those of you who are anything like me and always forget how tiresome it is to walk, walk, and then walk some more, while at one point desperately longing for the cool and quiet of a cinema; there is one at Metrostation Barberini, called... Multisala Barberini. And yes, they do original language as well. I will not comment on the movie I saw. Let's just say this: I find Brad Pitt combating zombies at fifty as sexy as when he cheated on either Thelma or Louise when I was 14.

Museum.
Missed the Vatican, Palatine Hill or the Pantheon? Don't worry. The whole city is one big open air museum, with plenty of historical buildings / ruins / statues / parks to look at. You might even get the accidental history lesson, like I did. I overheard an American fellow explain some good old Gods to his holiday-party:
"So he went out and hooked up with Venus. Cause that's what you did when you were really cool in those days. You bagged yourself a godess."

Other than young Americans on their gapyear 'doing Europe', be prepared for:
Sigarettes: everybody smokes in Italy, from police-officers, to students, from people preparing your food to the homeless beggars. Electronic cigarettes are up-and-coming in Italy.
Police-sirenes: every hour or so I was shaken by sirens, whether they came from undercover vehicles, firetrucks or proper police motorcycles: Rome was siren-galore. The undercover vehicles were the best, with one guy behind the wheel and the other one hanging out of the passenger-window, holding the blazing siren, the whole thing looked kindof cute.
Guns: every guy in uniform apparently is allowed to carry a gun. From the actual police officers, to museum-guards, to the trainstation personel. Very odd.
Religion: I realized Italy is pretty catholic, with the pope living there and all. But I didn't realize how big religion was, till I noticed all the nuns and priests in the wild, chains with crosses, people reading the bible on the train, making me feel kindof embarrased for my copy of 'Als ik auto had kunnen rijden...', but ah well. 
Transportation: Italians travel by scooter, Smart car or Fiat. This is great, but if you're depending on public transportation: the subway is fine and affordable, but the trains suck.
Dealing with Italians: so, this might come across pretty pityfull, but I found it highly gratifying to start talking Dutch when my English would just trigger angry stares, wild handgestures and a stream of uncomprehensible Italian jibberish. Just to return the mutual feeling of despair when dealing with ignorant Vatican-personal, train-conductors or other locals.

Additional tips:

Another friend suggested 'Il ritrovo del Gusto' for dinner. Unfortunately by the time I got this message I had already worked my way through a quatro fromagio pizza. Which, by the way comes out of the oven looking like a 'cheese fondue pizza', because non of the original cheeses are retrievable, but, who cares.
Same friend suggested a cornershop place at Piazza della Pace for coffee.

Put unused napkins from fast-food in your bag or pockets. This tip isn't limited to Rome, obviously. You never know when you gotta go and all you have at your disposal is a dirty Dixie at the side of the road without any toiletpaper. Or something.

You can find a proper tour-guide to Rome here, it's a pdf, and it will work on your e-reader as well.

Barcelona olae

It's been 14 years since I last was in Barcelona. You know how it is; you're on holiday in Salou, have to do something culturally responsible, ergo, a daytrip to Barcelona. Well, racing up and down the Ramblas, cut the queue of Segrada Familia, having a tapa and spending the rest of the day in a Mango flagship-store was my 19-year-olds idea of making the most of it. But here's some tips on how you could do it. The 'M' refers to the useable Metrostation.

1. Negroni

Here's what happened. Traveling alone is one thing, but going out by yourself is another one. But it's my last night and I wanted a cocktail. The 'all cocktails 3 euro'-joint around the corner of my apartment-style room in the Barcelona Rooms has formed a queue of students with free-drinks-vouchers. I don't queue for drinks, especially not on a monday. I also refuse to consume a cocktail, or anything else actually, in a shop with plastic furniture and bright tl-light. So in the next appropriate bar I asked if they did cocktails. "No," the girl covered in tattoos told me, before whispering "go to Joaquín Costas street. Negroni." And that was it. She turned to the bar to clean some more glasses. Negroni is hidden away behind one-way dark-tinted windows and takes some searching. The whole joint breathes mystery. I sit down and order a pina-colada at the man behind the bar. His clean, black shirt has two small red buttons on the collar and after a while I spot the black tie. He pushes the green-rimmed glasses back on his nose and asks me why I ordered a pina-colada. "I don't mind making it for you, I just want to know what you like about it." When I tell him I just really like coconut and sweet drinks, another girl joins in the conversation. In a heavy Catalan accent, or a cute drunk slurr, I'm not sure, she explains that this is the best bar in town, and that I should let the bartender just fix me a drink. A drink that he finds suitable.
When you are in Barcelona. In a dark bar called Negroni with a very, very good bartender who with the greatest care lovingly grates lemons, crushes ice and slices mint, you let the man fix you a drink.
And that's when I had my first Polynesian cocktail.

2. Montserrat

Highly recommended by a friend of mine. It's a hillside outside of town, but well worth the journey. Apparently Montserrat is an area with a lot of energy, like the Bermuda triangle. I lost a lot of energy whilst climbing the hills, but eh, it was nice, peacefull, people greeting each other with a lot of 'Olae's' and a smashing view. Wear proper shoes and take plenty of food and drink with you, because there are no hot-dog cars of mobile ice-cream vans along the way.

3. Get lost
Seriously. Just get lost in Raval and Born. As soon as you let go of the map, you will see so much more (keep map in bag, don't throw it away). Look up at the walls of the appartments, the balconies, the religic memorabilia, street art and mozaic tiling. Even the laundry hanging from the windows is well worth a view. Second hand lovers should accidentally find their way to Carrer de la Riera Baixa, but that's all I'm giving away.

4. Boat trip
My plan was 'there is no plan. Except I want to be on a boat.' And the fun thing about Barcelona is, it's by the water, so there's boats. On which you can just sit and relax, because there is little else to do than to just sit and watch the water. M-Drassanes

5. Parc de la Ciutadella
Forget Parc Guell. Seriously. If you want green grass, some fountains, flowers, statues, rundown buildings and proper orange-trees, go to parc de la Ciutadella, it's much more fun than the famous Parc Güell and a lot less tourists. On the downside: the conartists instead of the streetartists. So let this be a warning: if someone wants you to sign something, for the handicapped, then asks for a donation and then wants to see your passport to check your signature: you are being conned. Other than that: lovely parc. M-Barceloneta or Arc de Triomf

6. Beach
Because it's there. Nothing says 'holiday' more than sand between your toes and in your butt. Facilities are all present (showers and toilets), and if you're lucky there's a nice grandmother willing to look after your bag because you're desperate to swim in the ocean. That sea totally kicked my sandy ass by the way, with the biggest waves I ever encountered. M-Barceloneta

7. Indulge in Food and Drinks
Experiment with tapas. Please, there's a Buger King at home too. Try something you haven't tasted before. My favourites where the fried green peppers, but patatas bravas are always tasty too. I had mine in the shadiest of all places with locals at the bar sniggering at the tourist whilst ordering one cervesa after another. But, they had a handy menu with pictures, because, well experimenting is one thing, reckless ordering and risking foodpoisoning another. I also tried every zumo (fruitjuice) that had coconut in it, but I already explained my love for pina coladas, so I'll leave it at that.

8. Gaudi

I declared the sunday 'Gaudiday'. So I did the whole round, Sagrada Familia, Casa Batlló, Casa Milà also know as la Padrera and Parc Güell. What the guy did was awesome, introducing fairytale-like aspects in everyday architecture, that's why you should see it. In all fairness, there's no way of missing Gaudi's influence in the city anyway, because it's everywhere. Mainly in the form of calenders, books, cards, tiles, etc. The queue in front of Sagrada Familia turned me off, but I discovered the option of online buying (too late, but eh). Best part of Parc Güell were a superhappy Reggea band called Microguagua who made a complete party, but I'm jolly as long as there's beards and trumpets involved anyway.

9. Tarantos
Even if you're not a big Flamenco-fan, and I'm not, you should see a show. Heritage and respect for music and local culture and all that. Here's the easy option: go to Tarantos. It'll cost you no more than 8 euros and 30 minutes of your holiday and who knows? You might be surprised. I sure was, pleasantly. The music will never grow on me, and the rhytms are confusing at best. But the outfits are something to look at, the atmosphere in the venue is friendly and the dancers know what they're doing (or at least, it seems that way). Tarantos is located at Reial square, M-Liceu.

A big thank you to Tanja, Brigit and Tom who patiently answered my 'what shall I do in Barcelona' questions.

post-Hamburg

It's been a month since my last blog on 'meanwhile back home'. I've been neglecting it. Again. In my defense, I did write a lot for my criminology blog. Reluctantly I open up my journal, has really nothing interesting happened in my life, that is worth writing about?
I wrote a couple of application-letters, well, 6 to be exact, had a few coffee-dates and a dentist appointment, went to Hamburg. What the...? Did I not write about Hamburg? I guess I didn't. That's unfair, because my weekend in Hamburg deserves it's own blog.

When I saw my old Canterbury friends come up with a plan to meet in Germany on Facebook, I realised with a pang of jealousy that I wanted to be part of it. And my current situation allows for instant plan-making, so I booked a cheap flight.
Obviously it was really nice to see my Canterbury group, Evi, Jenny, Verena, Sandra, Nicolas and Yarin, again. They are a good bunch and I am proud to call them my friends. My weekend was calm and mellow. Just like life in a warm country slows down, the same goes for the freezing cold. With my limbs unable to heat up and my head suffering from a contstant brainfreeze, I was punished for packing wrong. Layering up might seem like a good idea to avoid check-in luggage, but when it's -5, you need proper snowboots and two pairs of jeans. Lesson learned.
But, we managed to deal with he cold and with an extra pair of Verena's legwarmers, I was even persuaded to do some ice-skating on a frozen lake. Along with the rest of Hamburgs inhibitants. My brave moves were rewarded with a nice plastic cup of mulled wine. Hot cocao might have worked when I was 5, but I now I need better bribery.
Other than that, it was the perfect weekend getaway that involved the right mixture of friends and food (lots of kaffee, kuchen and gewurst). Picking up roommates and boyfriends scattered throughout the city allowed for some interesting sightseeing. Watching a half-Turkish Yarin and a half-Greek Evi cook together in a tiny kitchen whilst listening to their ideas on politics and criminology, makes me believe in Europe. My meeting with Hamburgs nightlife was a one off. My cold limbs and tired body only allowed me to go dancing once, in a dark reggea basement. Dark because of the weedy smoke, not necessarily the lack of proper lights. Highlight must have been spending an afternoon on a boat, muddling through slushpuppy-like icewater, watching both the coast of Hamburg and the containerships pass by at a very slow pace. I felt truly blessed that I have been able to meet these guys and spent some extra time with them after my 6 weeks in Canterbury. I can't wait to see them again, and I hope they know that they are welcome in Rotterdam.

Stories from the North of the East (part 3)

For the final part of this trilogy I'm going back to St. Petersburg. On paper, not live. We did so much, it's hard to pick a few highlights. Celebrating Victory day on the 9th of may, when people dress up their cars as tanks, carry tank-balloons and real tanks are parked next to mobile toilets. Shopping for Converse, having a drink at the Spy-cafe (picture swings on chains instead of barstools), discovering Spaceinvader street art at Lennon street, visiting Peterhof's fountains and St Catherine's palace. Ana found the palace extremely dissapointing: "I thought it was much bigger, when I was smaller". The golden ballroom with mirrors, wooden floors and decorative ceilings did impress me, even at 32. Breakfast for 150 Rubl (3,70) at the Nevsky Grand Hotel, which to us included secretive giggles and an (illegal) lunch package. Watching 'Russia's next Top Model', from out bunkbed. Being surroundede and questioned by a bunch of schoolchildren who seem to have never seen an English speaking foreigner before.
Of course I also went to the Hermitage. It was beautifull, artsy, jadajadajada. I loved the ceilings and the floors, which are gorgeously decorated. But at one point, I was just done. Only 5% is on display, wich means that 95% is in storage somewhere, and a negligible percentage of the collection is abroad, hanging in other museums. The paintings, sculptures, murals, vases were bought in a time of war when the people of Russia were either starving or fighting for their tsars. People who would hardly see any food in real life, and not even on a painting by Jan Fyt (room 245) To me, it all just seemed wrong. The funniest part about the Hermitage were the old ladies sitting on the chairs, who were guarding the halls. Whilst praying, yawning, phone-checking and nodding off they were boring themselves to an early death.

Another unforgettable experience was grocery shopping, Sovjet Style. The first supermarket near our hostel had empty shelves. The only place I had seen so many empty shelves before, was in Ikea. The fridges didn't cool the goods, they seemed to be heating the 2 bottles of Coke that were left in them. Trying to buy anything was impossible, because even if you would find an item, the cashiers didn't have any change. This meant that the other supermarket in the street, had queues one can only find in Russia. The third supermarket had stocked shelves and no queues; so far, so good. I picked up a carton of orange juice, when Ana forced me to put it down. What went wrong?
- you choose the goods, which all have their own number,
- supermarketman tells you the number and you have to memorize it,
- you tell the numbers to the supermarketlady at the till,
- you pay,
- with your receipt you go to all the cashiers again, who give you the goods; one by one.
Cumbersome, right? But apparently it's good for your memory.

The trainjourney to Peterhof fountains was also eerie. It was delayed for obscure reasons and the last time I sat on wooden benches, I was in Thailand. But the craziest part was the men and women who kept walking by, offering us all kinds of stuff, in a variaty of combinations. Trainshedules (5x), ice-cream and water (4x), toiletrefresher, mini-footballs, pastry, tights, crisps, waterbottles, pens. A total of 12 people came by carrying, combining and selling these vendibles. Actually, the craziest part was the lunatic who kept warning fellow-travelers for Armageddon on the 21st of may, when all drunks and junks would be killed. To him this was enough reason to hoist up the lowcut jeans of a young girl leaving the train, who in his eyes was probably doomed with this public display of inappropriate behaviour.
Of course, the 21st of may came and went without any problems and I was already home, glueing holiday-pictures in an album of this marvelous journey to the North of the East.

Stories from the North of the East (part 1)

For a long time I wanted to go to Russia. "Why Russia?" people ask me when I tell them this. "Why skiing?/Greece?/France" I ask them in return, because, why not Russia? But I know the answer, ever since I saw a picture of the Vassily Church in a children's book, I wanted to see it in real life. Twenty-seven years down the line, I made it happen.
My journey started with a bonus-trip to Riga, since AirBaltic postponed my flight to Minsk with one day. Hotel, taxi-transfer and complimentary coffee at the airport were all paid for. Me being a sucker for freebees, was gratefull for the opportunity. Riga is Baltic for beginners; the capital of Latvia can be seen in a couple of days. The city centre is so compact, that I was able to cross of the complete map with places worth seen according to the sightseeing map I picked up from the taxi. So that's your basic churches, museums, (war)monuments, fountains, a bridge with locks, a sparkly Christmas-statue, parks, flowermarket, ghosthouses and a TGI Friday's. I know, but when this girl craves a burger, there's no way she's having a salad. The funniest thing was hearing the Latvian version of Marco Borsato's 'de meeste dromen zijn bedrog' on the radio before taking a half-empty Fokker 50 to Minsk.

Minsk was alright. My friend Ana lives there and we stayed in an appartment in an area called Shabany. That's not in the Lonely Planet. Minsk doesn't have many tourists visiting, the amount of red tape and paperwork might have something to do with that. The political situation isn't very attractive either; Belarus is known as the last dictatorship of Europe. Artists are called on to cancel concerts and boycot Belarus to avoid enriching the president. Also, the recent subway-bombing just adds sadness instead of security. Ana showed me the main sights worth seeing; the revolution-square, a lot of Communistic memorabilia, KGB building, state-run shops and fountains. The city is clean, wide and tidy. Minsk surprisingly had a good 'going out'-atmosphere, and it was in the Stravinski bar that I discovered the joy of 'hot cocktails'. We went to two supercute bars called 'Old Minsk' and 'London'. The funniest part about 'London' was the postcards from Milan on the wall and the lack of English translations on the menu. But if I have to choose one thing that was the most special of Minsk, it was attending the Chinese tea party.
Picture this. Me and my guide for one day, Alec, meet up with one of Alec's friends. A tall guy with a ponytail who doesn't speak English and eats his icecreams two at a time. We enter a post-war flat without lighting in the stairway, so I have to hold on to the wooden rail to feel where I'm going. The door is unlocked, maybe because the appartment looks out on the former KGB-building. But maybe not. Our shoes stay in the hall and I'm given a pair of mens slippers. The three of us sit down in a tiny, Sixties style kitchen where our teamaster puts the kettle on. An oldschool kettle and a brandnew MacBook Air in the same kitchen. I'm signalled to follow the two men to the living/bedroom where I see the sweetest thing I ever witnessed in a male house. It's a small table covered with everything one could possibly need for a Chinese tea-ceremony; small porcelain cups, small teapots, a bonsai-tree, Lu Yu (the Saint of tea), and pillows on the floor to sit on. For the next two hours we drink tea and watch our host pour water on leaves, turn cups upside down (to release the flavour), brush the pot (no reason, just to get our attention) and display more tealeaves than I have seen in an average Chines supermarket. It was awesome, but needless to say, I had to pee a lot in the nighttrain to Moskow...


source: http://www.data.minsk.by/belarusnews/032011/344.html
I plan on writing more about the situation in Belarus in my criminological blog www.therighttrace.nl.

To Flee (naar Vlie :) )

Vlieland gets lost in translation, so there is pun intended in the title of this blog. I was honored to be a part of the Easter-fest that took place on a tiny island in the north of the Netherlands. The young festival of 'into the great wide open' decided it was a good idea to spent the holiday weekend on Vlieland, in the appreciated company of good bands, splendid cooks, charming kite-builders and befriended volunteers. It's a seven hour journey (eight if you travel back via Meppel, Lelystad and Utrecht on your way to Rotterdam, but that's a whole other story), but as soon as you get on the boat (I said it was on an island, so yes, traveling involves a boat) even I relax. It forces even the most wound-up, busiest of people (like me) to chill out, feel the wind, smell the sea and drink some local licor. Vlieland can be seen as an escape from everyday life; to Flee or not to Vlie.
Now here's why Vlie is special, everything makes you smile. Example: when I was in the shower, two male campsite-workers where in the girls showers next to mine, singing. With chairs and cups of tea. I'm not sure what Rihanna and Jesus Christ Superstar have to do with chairs and showers, but to them it was a plausible combination. I could have gotten annoyed that my privacy was violated and that in their 40 minute water-waste they used up all the hot water, but instead I giggled quietly in my cubicle. I was blessed that my first shift was behind the bar and I got to see la Boutique Fantastique and Alamo Race Track while pulling pints. And dance till 3 to the sacred tunes of DJ St. Paul. The next day I was surrounded by children with blue ice-creams and bright pink headphones, whilst staring lustingly (sorry Hook) at Swedish bearded men in white suits who fill the stage.

Breakfast was taken care of. As was lunch and dinner. It's cold, so I buy an extra fleece-blanket (and thermo-socks). I feel like going to the beach, so I climb a small dune and there's the sea, ready to give you a pair of wet feet (een kletspootje halen oftewel pootjekletsen). Nothing is a problem. No tears for me this time. Even the last time, when the ex broke up with me on that very same island, it was still a good holiday. There's sunsets, campfires, home-made kites and bunny-ears sticking out of the sand. Plus fulltime boyscouts at ones disposal, unfortunately there was not enough room in my backpack to take those home (Hook also vetoed it..). But they will be there in september in their coloured heavy-armed-bunny t-shirts with the full-on episode of ITGWO 2011, as will I.

Bare essentials

If preparation is half the fun and sharing double the pleasure, I should use this equasion to write this blog and share my preparation on my 'tour de Thailand'. I'm not gone yet, my leaving date isn't even close, but I have started packing. Or rather; I'm making piles of stuff I should not forget.
I've asked around at more experienced travellers what I should do, don't and bring on this holiday, but all I get are hazy stares and mumbled words like 'jealous', 'ah Bangkok' or 'can I go with you'. But occasionaly I get a practical advise or a referral to a website. I found www.khaosanroad.com/firstfewdays (thank you Janou) and www.travelfish.org very helpfull. Also, the Trotter-travelguide I'm bringing has been to Thailand more than it's actual owner, so thank you Leyla, for lending me an experienced guide. (referral to 'Are you experienced?', geddit? Oh, nevermind)
I frowned when my friend Roxan suggested to buy a pair of shorts, because last time I wore a pair of shorts I was 19, size 10 and worked at Camp Summit, New Jersey. But apparently they prove practical when travelling or just sitting without showing too much. So I bought my first pair of shorts in 12 years. And once again, they will only we worn in another continent.
Should I bring a towel? Yes. Do i need a coat? Of course not! But bring a vest (thanks Jelle). Do I need a sleepingbag? No, but take this travelsheet (thanks again Roxan). Do I need a third bikini? No, my friend said. Ha! Luckily I have the final say in that one! From what I've heard the only size 14 goods made in Asia, end up in an H&M in Europe anyway. Another usefull advise: 'stop worrying, you can buy everything you need there, Apie' (thanks Vithya). And buy tie-rips to close your bag and duct-tape for unforseen repairs (thanks Mariska). Tie-rips I could see happen, but duct-tape? I felt like preparing for a robbery, not a holiday. Because everyone knows that tie-rips, ducttape, next to a balaclava and a black nylon sports-rucsac are the bare essentials for a robbery, so that just felt wrong. Plus... what Vithya said.
Of course my final preparation revolves around music; what MP3's to install on my phone. Ha! Didn't see that one coming, did you? But music is important to me, and this (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_zLOnDnFpw) will be my 'calm down song'. Knowing me, I probably need it.

Asia for beginners

Inspired by my traveling friends, I thought it would be a good idea to go ahead and book a holiday myself. After carefull consideration I crossed India of my list (for now). Mainly because eating a lot of chicken Korma, drinking mango lassies and watching Bollywood movies is not going to prepare me for the big cultural shock people keep warning me about.

So I booked a return-ticket to Bangkok instead.

After all, Thailand is like Asia for beginners. My friend Leyla went by herself last year, and if she can do it, so can I. And even though I'm very excited and reading in my Nelles guide about Buddistic history and Thai royalty, I think my environment is even more thrilled than I am. My mum for one, really likes that I'm going. My dad, well, he's still stuck on the image of me on a motorbike, but he'll just draw me a Saint Christopher and he'll be fine.

My colleagues love that I'm going to Thailand. They keep throwing tips, information and unpronouncable cities at me. One has started to look online for hooker-free Thai places, which proved more of a challenge than achieving world peace. Apparently Phuket is nothing like the Beach, infested with prostitutes (pun intended) and Ko Chang the place to be. Check, check and double check.

Of course I am worried about al sorts of things. Missing my flight, mosquitos, getting upset by seeing the ugly fat old men with the 12-year old girls, what to pack, what to wear and getting lost. I mean, I don't even know where Naaldwijk is, I thought the 'Afsluitdijk' was a tunnel and for years imagened that Rotterdam was in the geographical place of The Hague (and the other way around).. So how am I supposed to find Ko Samui or know where Chiang Mai and Ko Phangan are? Not to mention the languague-barriere, accidentally insult locals (by wearing flipflops or something) and getting stomachbugs.

But for now, I am going to stop worrying, keep on reading (currently at page 52: the Great Palace in Bangkok) and ask you, fellow-travelers and stay-at-homers for your help; what to do, where to go and what to definitely avoid?