Shanghai Noon

OK, in reality, it's just after 10am as I get ready to post this, but Shanghai Ten doesn't have quite the same ring to it.

I'm in my hotel room on my last morning in Shanghai, after a few days here for work. Before I arrived, several of my colleagues who'd been here before gave me advice and warnings from their own time in China. It was all over the spectrum, including one guy who loves Shanghai so much that he's trying to move here, and one at the opposite end who said I'd definitely get sick from the food and probably also get scammed. Most of the stories were somewhere in between, though, from lost luggage and no Chinese clothes fitting, to being afraid to wear sandals in the dirty streets, to getting fat from all the great meals. Seems everyone has a different time here, including me.

After all the fun advice, I was much more apprehensive than I usually am while travelling, but when I arrived, it was... fine. I landed Monday afternoon to a beautiful day. Hot, sunny, few clouds, but low humidity and decent air quality. I checked into the hotel, looked at the gorgeous view, and decided this place was going to be just like any other travel of mine. I showered off the residue of the long flight, sat down to look at my guide book, and... became incredibly tired. Given that I had to train people all week for work, I needed a good night's sleep, and put off the sightseeing.


Unfortunately, for the next 3 days it rained and rained... evidently this is the rainy season. Add that to this being a very busy work trip, and my sightseeing wasn't so much delayed as cancelled. With long days of work and crosstown commutes between flying in and out of town, my view of Shanghai has mostly been from the windows of the office, the hotel, and taxis. But I did see a fair bit that way.

The day before I came here, I finished the book How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed by Slavenka Drakulic. In one of her essays she talks about laundry, how in every Eastern European country she'd visited in the Communist days and shortly after, people still washed things by hand and hung them out to dry. But in all these places, when people moved into the flats in tall buildings of cities, they had no balconies for hanging the clothes. So the solution was to mount bars outside the windows and have their clothes dangling many stories above the sidewalk, dripping on the heads of passers by. As we zig-zagged through Shanghai in various taxis, I saw the same here, in so many buildings, all across town. A true Communist universal!

Speaking of the taxis... the traffic here is crazy, and every cab ride ranged from a bit jerky to mildly terrifying. Cars, trucks, buses, motorcycles, mopeds, bikes, and pedestrians are everywhere in the streets, going every which way, all of the time. The traffic lights and standards of driving seem to be general guidelines, more than hard and fast rules. But I was here working with a guy from India who said compared to his hometown, the Shanghai roads are well organised. I guess that means if I ever take a taxi in India, I should spend my time covering my eyes and praying to Elvis.

Anyway. So mostly I've spent my time here working, or being tired and going to bed early before another work day. But the local team here was very hospitable, and fed me well on Chinese food. The first day we went to a Shanghainese restaurant for a big family style lunch, and they asked if I was okay with chopsticks. When I said could manage, but wished I was better at using them, the team all cheered me on for managing to eat 99% of my food without dropping anything, and said I was a chopstick master. So they were clearly liars, but very nice people. They also took me out last night, to feed me coffee, pizza, and cocktails after a tour of the big Starbucks Roastery.

That was the extent of my tourism until this morning, when I was determined to do some exploring before heading to the airport. I got up early, had my breakfast, and headed out  for a wander. People's Park, People's Square, and a couple of museums are right near my hotel, so they were all on my agenda. But even leaving at 7:45am, it was already 28 degrees C and 77% humidity, with smog visible in the sky. As one of the locals told me yesterday, "Shanghai in summer is like a big steaming pot." So I got as far as strolling in the park for about 45 minutes -- amidst the groups doing Tai Chi or taking photos of the lotus flowers -- before I was sweaty, getting a sore throat, and wanting AC back. So I went to one of the museums, which didn't open for another half an hour. I gave up and came back, and am waiting for my ride to the airport indoors.
 
My biggest worry was that my generally cranky respiratory system would act up here, but until this morning it's been okay. My sinuses have been slightly problematic, but that's just typical travel allergies. I can't say I'm sad to be leaving before the air gets to me, but I do wish I'd seen more while I was here. Maybe another time...

Robbie Williams Live in Las Vegas, the Sequel: Once More, With Feeling!

Last time I wrote, I had just gotten home from seeing Robbie Williams Live in Las Vegas, and said maybe I should come back again... take advantage of the shorter flight and small theatre while I can.

And here I am 3 months later, for the second leg of the residency.

I was looking forward to the show even more than usual, since I've had rough times in life of late, and knew a couple hours of Rob's "showing off" would be just the thing for it. I landed in Las Vegas Thursday afternoon, checked into my hotel room, and went straight back out for a Starbucks visit and a wander around. But after getting blown in the face with a hot wind (it was 39 degrees C and windy, WTF is that about?!), I went back to the Wynn in search of more swag featuring my friendly neighbourhood pop star, and air conditioning.

On the way over to the gift shop for said swag, I walked past 4 of the guys from the Robbie Williams band, and started to feel a little bit more amped about the gig. Then when I bought stuff, the woman working at the store was all aglow telling me about her interactions with Rob and that "He's SO NICE!!" which made me feel even more excited about the upcoming show, as I headed back to my room. And then who should be riding up the elevator with me? None other than Poppa Pete Conway himself! We didn't talk... because I don't normally speak to strangers in elevators, and couldn't think of anything clever to say to Pete anyway. The only things I could come up with were Hey, I follow you on Twitter  and Your son's a good fella, which didn't really seem worthy of bothering the man. But after 26 floors standing next to him, I was beyond impatient for the show to get here, and I still had 24 hours to wait!

When the hour finally arrived, I got all dressed up -- making sure I wore heels I could stand in for the entire 2 hour show -- and headed downstairs to the theatre. Some of the other superfans were meeting up in a bar at the Wynn beforehand, and I was planning to head over and maybe make some new friendly friends... but when the time arrived I was stricken with anxiety and skipped it.

By the way, I could write a whole other piece about the annoying return of social anxiety that I thought I'd beaten over 20 years ago, and maybe I will. Later. For now just know that I'm irritated that it keeps getting in my way and we'll leave it at that.

Where was I? Oh yeah, showtime! This time I got a much better seat: orchestra left, 5 rows from the stage. Of course I knew it was way closer, but I still had that WOAH moment when our boy came out and it really hit me. The gig, as always, was beyond description. Rob changed up the set and the banter a bit this round, and put on his usual incredible show. I danced around. I lost my voice from singing and cheering. I put one hand in the air, two hands in the air, bounced, bounced, bounced bounced bounced bounced. I took way too many pictures, but I also remembered to put the phone down and enjoy it for real most of the time too.

I'm beyond glad I came back.

I also happen to be in London just in time for the Hyde Park show next month, which will make it a record 3 Robbie shows in a year. If I'm super lucky, maybe I'll even get to go to a fourth...

I realised a while back that I bought my first Robbie Williams CD in 1999, so this is my 20 year anniversary with the man. I think I'm definitely spending it the right way so far.

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Another incredible night with @robbiewilliams. Greatest show you'll ever see.

A post shared by Sarah Anderson (@wheresgirl2) on Jun 21, 2019 at 10:58pm PDT

Robbie Williams Live in Las Vegas!

There was a time in my life when I went to Las Vegas a lot. For any occasion that needed a serious party, Vegas was a relatively short / cheap flight away, and provided plenty of debauchery. So my friends and I spent many a long weekend dressed up as our Woo Girl and Douche Dude alter-egos, drinking copiously, wearing sunglasses indoors, dancing at the club until all hours... just generally being awful human beings, but having so much fun. Luckily for my liver, that phase didn't last long, and for the past several years I thought the next time I'd be in Vegas would be 40 years from now, when I'm a crotchety old biddy looking to play penny slots in a climate warm and dry enough to ease my aching joints.

But then Robbie Williams announced a residency at the Wynn. Just six nights in March.

I bought my ticket at the earliest moment my presale code would allow, booked a flight a few minutes
later. The shows sold out, so more were added in June and July, which also mostly sold out. I normally wouldn't do more than one show per tour, but after the experience on Friday, I'm now considering going back for one of those as well.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

After flying home from London and taking a day to adjust to my old time zone, I got back on a plane and arrived in Las Vegas on Thursday afternoon. That gave me over 24 hours to fill until the show, and given my lack of interest in all my previous Sin City activities, I didn't know what to do with myself. I stayed at the Encore, putting the theatre that provided the whole point of my visit less than 5 minutes walk away, without even going outdoors. So it's not like I needed to do a lot of exploring to find my way around. I (no exaggeration) went to bed at 10pm Thursday night, and filled my free time Friday before the gig shopping, and enjoying the slot machines at the Wynn. No big wins, but I did get 2 hours of entertainment and left the casino with $3 more than I brought in... which is a good deal, considering the Fashion Show mall got plenty of my money, as did the gift shop selling exorbitantly priced Robbie Williams Live in Las Vegas merchandise.

After gambling successfully and exchanging much cash for goods, as I was walking back through to the Encore, I thought I walked past someone familar... was that Rob's mother-in-law (Instagram star) Gwen? Nah, couldn't be. But it was, which I confirmed at the concert when she came out the VIP door to find her seat not far from me with Ayda Field (her daughter and fabulous woman, who happens to be married to Mr Williams). And their daughter. And Robbie's mom. I am a total Williams family dork, I think they're all fun and entertaining on social media, but I'd never bug them for photos like some others did. I don't remember where I read this line the other day: In the future, everyone will want to be anonymous for 15 minutes. So yeah. I'd rather enjoy the public postings and give them some of that of anonymity when they walk past me. But I'm just Gen X like that, I guess.

As for the show itself... Awesome. No words to describe how good he always is live. It was my 6th time at the Robbie Williams experience, and the Encore Theater was 1/10th the size of the smallest previous venue. The official website says the Encore's capacity is 1,845; the other arenas ranged from 18,000 to over 50,000 seats. Given that Rob could easily fill those giant stadiums with his showmanship, I was almost afraid it would be too small for such a big personality -- the opposite of the way some bands can't grow their performance to fill larger spaces -- but it was perfect. It was just as much Robbie without going over the top. I still got totally into it and put my hands in the air when instructed to -- as did all the people around me.

Rob mentioned online that 70% of the tickets were sold to people coming from the US, and the set list seemed to assume people didn't really know the music, because of that. He only played a few of the big hits -- which everyone did know -- mixed in with lots of covers and standards from the swing albums. If I had my way, the show would have included more of the originals, but the song selection didn't make me enjoy it any less. It was a great time, and I'm still buzzing two days later.

At the end of the gig, Robbie said he might do "a pointless tour of the US," not promoting anything, not even sure if an audience would turn up in any given city. It has been a topic he's brought up a few times lately, half joking, but I really hope he gives it a try. I've taken many long haul flights to see him in massive venues, and will happily continue to do so; he's the best excuse for a trip out of town that I have, and the shows are always incredible. But that being said, spending just two hours in the air to go to a small theatre gig is pretty damn good. So if the Robbie Williams Pointless Tour of North America doesn't get announced in the next couple of months, I just might be back in the desert again this summer, taking this rare opportunity once more before it's gone.

A Tourist in Edinburgh

Finished my latest trip to Edinburgh today. In my few days there, I did the usual stuff: rugby, shopping in the usual stores, eating food from the usual restaurants. 

The only new place I went was to Edinburgh Gin, for their Gin Connoisseur tour, which I highly recommend. For £25, and the foresight to book months in advance (they're always full), I got a history of gin, details on what goes into their particular formula, a close-up view of distillation, a tasting of 6 different gins, and a small bottle to take home. What a deal!

But what was really new was the way I was visiting Edinburgh. It was my first time in almost 6 years staying there like a tourist, instead of like I live there -- spending leisure time, staying in a hotel, eating out. Rather than shopping to fill a kitchen and make my own food, being domestic, and working 8 hours a day. But I still felt like I lived there. It will always be some kind of home to me, and it's going to be difficult to adjust to not spending 1/4 of my life being there. 

Recently there was a British Isles dialect quiz going around, and since I pick up words and pronunciation everywhere I go, I took it just for fun. The result was that clearly I'm not from here, but my dialect was similar to people from the areas highlighted in the map... a map with red blobs not in Edinburgh where I spend all my time, but in the areas where my ex-fiancé has lived, and where his family comes from. It was a pretty big reminder that my experiences here since 2013 have been inextricably linked to him, and so the place has been as well.

But my connection to Scotland started long before I met him. My interest in the country started when I was a tiny child, called out as a true McCorkindale by my grandmother's visiting relatives. My relationship with Edinburgh was born a decade ago on my first visit. I've been supporting Scotland rugby since the 90's, going to Highland Games since the 2000s, followed Aberdeen FC for 7 years... and the list goes on. 

So I will continue to love all things Scottish, and miss Edinburgh when I am away from it. I will continue to include it in travels as much as I can, and probably still feel like I'm coming home when I see the Forth bridges from my airplane window. Maybe I will still end up living there one day. 

But for now, I'm working on separating Scotland from the Scotsman, and getting back to knowing Edinburgh on my own terms. I just might need a few more visits...

Forty Hours in Lisbon

I left Lisbon this morning, after spending less than two days there. My original idea back in around 2016 was to spend 5 or 6 days touring across Portugal, but then I wasn't able to take the time off when I had planned to go. So that got postponed to the next year, and then the next, until I finally settled for just a quick detour to Lisbon on my way to Edinburgh.

Of course, with so little time to spend, I arrived right in the middle of bad weather. Well, bad for Lisbon. When I landed, it was 16 degrees Celsius, cloudy off and on, raining now and then, with a gusty wind. The locals were all bundled up as if a blizzard was on its way, telling me I'd missed the normal (hot, sunny) weather by a day. Given that I've lived my whole life in places where clouds, rain, and wind are the standard, my general attitude was shrug, at least it's warm.

The weather wasn't the only less than welcoming moment I had Tuesday night. Fresh off the plane, I approached the woman at passport control in the airport with a smile and a 'hello.' She didn't respond or even look at me, just scanned and stamped my passport without saying a word... to me... she was busy chatting on the phone the whole time. Then later, when I got to the hotel, there were two guys working the front desk; one helped me, while the other checked in an older Englishman who'd arrived before me. During this process, the Brit said something that I didn't hear, but which I gathered was something inappropriate about me, because his desk clerk glanced at me and chuckled in that awkward you're terrible but I have to be nice to the customer sort of way, and my desk clerk gave the Brit the side eye. After Mr Creepy had gone off to his room, the guy checking me in gave me my key and said, "You'll be staying away from the gentleman, in room 405." I joined him and his colleague in a little relieved laugh, and wished I'd heard the questionable comment that started it all.

I can't say it enough these days: I am so fed up with straight middle-aged (and older) white dudes, and all their bullshit. Over. It.

Anyway. Back in Lisbon. After an entire day of travel, I did nothing but sleep Tuesday night, and set out to see everything I could on Wednesday. It didn't quite turn out to be as much as I'd hoped, but I think it was enough to catch the spirit of the place.

Most of the things I found interesting in my guidebook were close to each other, in an area pretty much straight down the main road from my hotel. For my money, the weather was perfect for a wander -- sunny, few clouds, warm but not hot -- so I walked the 25 minutes or so to my first destination, the Museum of Design and Fashion. Which was closed for renovations.

No matter, I kept walking past it, through the very picturesque Arco da Rua Agusta and down along the water in the vast open space of the Praço do Comércio. When I'd soaked up enough of that, I took a walk over to the impressive Ingreja de Santo Antonio da Sé. I love a Cathedral, and stopped to photograph a couple others in my wanderings, but the Sé was by far the most impressive. It was originally built in 1150,  so it very much looks of its time, but has been restored and improved over the years. Despite the belief of many that I'll burst into flames upon crossing the threshold of Jesus' house, I checked out the inside and came out unscathed. With photos, even!

After my foray into the realm of the holy, I decided it was time to head back into the shopping area for wine and lunch (in that order). Right as I was considering how perfect the weather was for all my walking, a cloud broke open and bucketed down for about 10 minutes, then went back to sunshine as quickly as the rain started. The local solution seemed to be to find an awning and wait it out, but I just put up my umbrella and kept moving, not sure where I would end up. As it turned out, right as the rain stopped, I found myself at the Elevador de Santa Justa, which I marvelled at but didn't visit, and then a circus-themed sardine shop, which I marched straight into.

By the time I finished the uphill hike back to the hotel, I'd walked over 5 miles already, and the rain was coming more than going, so I wasn't too keen on doing any more sightseeing. My only further excursion was to get something to eat later in the evening, then early to bed for my morning flight.

My general impression of Lisbon is that it's exactly the right time to visit for people like me: who like visiting cities that make it easy for you, but hate the flash and price gouging of places where tourists are their primary cash flow. Portugal is still an up and comer in the tourism game, which means that businesses have made adaptations like adding English translations to menus or selling a few souvenir trinkets. But they haven't gotten to the point of making every run down store front into a tourist attraction or hassling you on the street to buy something you don't really want for twice what it's worth. Lisbon's very inexpensive to visit, relative to other Western European cities, with plenty of amenities and gorgeous scenery to take in. In short, go. Go now, before it gets ruined.

And if you don't dig cities, I was told by a local that the beaches outside Lisbon can't be beat. Just don't go there in summer, he told me, unless you love a crowd.

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A post shared by Sarah Anderson (@wheresgirl2) on Mar 6, 2019 at 7:03am PST

Our Last Wah-Ohhhhh - Goodbye to Scott Hutchison

While my musical interests and obsessions go far and wide, over the course of my life there are three particular musicians who have become essential in my life. Whose work has always been there for me. Who have provided the words that took me through my best times, my darkest days, and most everything in between.

The first to come along, way back in my teen years, was Henry Rollins. Then the college era brought the second in Robbie Williams (and if you’re someone who thinks Rob’s just a vapid pop music egomaniac, you’ve never listened to anything coming out of his mouth).

The third, who I came across several years ago via his band Frightened Rabbit, was Scott Hutchison, who we lost earlier this week.

When you’re so intimately connected to the art that someone produces, they become a part of your daily life, and you feel like you know them. Scott was always very open about his battles with depression, so when I read his tweets Tuesday night that indicated a rough mental state, I became worried. I thought, I really hope someone is with him, helping him out of this. And when I woke up to news Wednesday morning that he’d gone missing shortly after what he put on Twitter, I was sure he was gone, that the depression had won. Then I tried to remind myself that we didn’t really know anything yet, and tried to become hopeful. I spent all Wednesday and Thursday checking for news that he’d turned up just fine, but always with the terrible gut feeling that a happy ending wasn’t coming.

Meanwhile, a virus or sinus infection was taking over my body for those same two days, and I woke up Friday unable to battle it any longer. I fed the cat, called in sick to work, and went straight back to bed. It was only when I woke up again a few hours later that I checked the news and saw that Scott’s body had been found. Between my feeling unwell and the pain of the loss, I set about wallowing and started trying to find the words to explain how I’m feeling.

As usually happens, I remembered that Henry Rollins had perfectly explained what’s going on in my head now, back in an LA Weekly column after the deaths of Prince and David Bowie. Because he says it much better than I ever could, here’s an excerpt (deletions are only to remove specific references to those two artists):

Obviously, everyone will eventually be gone, but sometimes when they’re extraordinary and you know them only through their output... the sadness you feel can be profound. There are none of the mere mortal speed bumps to impede the impact of loss. You have heard the wisdom of hating the sin but not the sinner. It’s a way to go but hard to do. If we were able to love music without loving the musician, the passing of [the musician]… would be a lot easier to handle. It’s just not how we’re wired. The music is real, so then is the sorrow of its creator’s passing.

These artist-fan relationships are so perfect, in many ways they have nothing with which to compare in “real” life. That’s the thing, though, how you relate to the music you like, that is real. It’s as real as anything.

So as you can guess, I took Scott’s death pretty hard. It is a genuinely heartbreaking loss for me, and leaves something missing from my life. But I also think there’s some benefit to having a relationship with someone you’ve lost through their art. If a person you see and talk to every day dies, you’ve completely lost your way of connecting to them. But if your primary way of relating to someone is through what they created, that relationship can live on. It still hurts, I’m still mourning the loss of any future work he might have created, all the other times I might have seen him play live, and the fact that he’s just flat out a great person who’s not around anymore. But someday, when that passes, the music will still be there. His artwork will still be hanging on my wall. And with that, he can still continue to speak to me in the primary way he always did.

Of course, when I told Jody the much more shell-shocked and less wordy version of that right after getting the news yesterday, he agreed, but added, "It’s still someone you essentially followed over two continents.”

Good point.

Like Henry and Rob, Scott and Frightened Rabbit quickly became an excuse to travel. They’re not coming to Seattle this tour? No problem, I’ll go to them. I didn’t keep meticulous logs of all the FRabbits shows I attended, but I think the final tally was 9 live performances, all in different venues, across 5 cities in 4 countries. The last one was less than 2 months ago. I loved those live shows. I couldn’t get enough of them. And that will probably be what I miss the most: seeing Scott up there with his bandmates, belting out a sad song, cracking wise, seeming truly touched that the crowd knew all of the words he’d written and sang them right back to him.

Since Scott’s disappearance, many people have said how much his music, and his openness about his own mental health, helped them out. I have dealt with depression and anxiety to a greater or lesser extent at different points in my life, and in most cases, music is my saviour. Because of some tough life circumstances these last few years, both have snuck back in and tightened their grip on me once again. But I’m lucky, because even on my worst days, I don’t get deep into the kind of despair that many others have to fight. I do, however, know how hard it is to get out of bed in the morning when depression is telling me I can’t do it, or how impossible it feels to go out in public when social anxiety’s insistent that I shouldn’t. So I can’t even imagine how difficult it must be when that You just can’t do this depression voice applies to going on living.

So if you are someone who gets to that place, I beg you to remember that we need you. The world is a better place with you in it. And if you don’t think that’s true, please go talk to someone who will remind you that it is, that depression lies. Scott, in his personal connections and his work, was that person for so many people. He helped to pull so many out of their darkest places. It’s beyond heartbreaking that he succumbed to it himself.

So please, everyone, be there for each other. If you see someone struggling, reach out.

And the rest of the time, do your best to live by one of Scott’s simplest, but most profound lyrics: While I’m alive, I’ll make tiny changes to Earth.

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Krakow

Of course, I'm not actually in Krakow. I'm sitting in the Lufthansa lounge in Frankfurt Airport en route to Edinburgh as I write this. Turns out there are direct KRK - EDI flights, but only on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I couldn't really make my schedule work for any day but Tuesday, so here I am, trying to use up a nearly 4 hour layover.

Hotel view of Wawel - so close, so far

But never mind all that. Krakow was cool, and pretty much exactly as I expected it to be. I chose it as my one stop in Poland, because it has more of the stuff I'm interested in -- castle, cathedrals, old history --  rather than the more recent war history that draws people to the rest of the country. I chose my hotel because on the map it was a short distance across the river from the Old Town and other attractions. Unfortunately, it was actually placed right on a highway with limited pedestrian underpasses, 10 minutes walk from the nearest bridge across the river, meaning 20-30 minutes from any of the places I really wanted to go.

When I arrived on Sunday afternoon, I had plenty of time to go out and do some sightseeing, but given that the weather was still terribly hot, I decided to wait and give it my all on much cooler Monday. I did need some provisions, though, so I found a supermarket just behind the hotel and took the very short walk to do some shopping. Google maps automatically pulls up a few reviews for the places I click on my phone, and the ones for this grocer all said things about how slow the service was, and how the miserable employees seemed to hate every second they spent having to do their jobs. I figured it couldn't possibly be that bad, and well... I was wrong. After spending a few minutes picking up snacks and sparkling water* (sodastream at home has ruined me), I went to the cash desk, which had a woman waiting there and no lineup. She proceeded to start cleaning the inside and outside of her checkout lane, very pointedly ignoring my existence. A few minutes later when all had been thoroughly polished, she finally started ringing up my purchase. Then she realised that I didn't speak any Polish, and she didn't speak any English, which just made her exponentially more annoyed by my presence in her store. In the end I paid and headed out the door with a feeling of accomplishment: within my first few hours in Krakow, I'd not only found the city's grumpiest cashier, I'd managed to make her even grumpier!

Per my trusty guidebook, the normally paid places I wanted to see within the Wawel Castle grounds (specifically the Cathedral Museum and the Armoury) are free on Mondays in the summer, but that's partly because it's the day they close early. If you don't get your tickets before noon, no soup for you. So I set my alarm to start the day early Monday morning, and despite oversleeping somewhat, I had made the walk from the hotel and ascended the hill (another damn hill!) to the Wawel ticket office by 11:15... only to find that they'd already given out all their free tickets for the day, and I was stuck just wandering the grounds. It was still a lovely place to wander, and I did get to go inside the Cathedral, but the uber religion nerd in me looking forward to the museum and my Viking genes that love weaponry were a bit disappointed.

After exploring the castle, I walked down the other side of the hill to Old Town, where I found myself surrounded by lovely architecture. And so many churches. SO many churches. I would go to take a photo of one, and check what it was called on the map, but there were so many close together that I couldn't tell one from another. I also saw loads of nuns walking around, probably more than I've ever seen in all my previous travels combined, and was reminded that Pope John Paul II was Polish at every turn. Man, they really love that guy in Krakow.

After a semi-traditional Polish lunch and 6-7 miles of walking, I decided I needed a break and went back to the hotel for the afternoon. Which was where I stayed for the rest of the day, going no further than a brief trip downstairs for dinner, and to bed early enough to deal with my 7am wake up call today.

I've had a great time exploring central Europe, and I do enjoy my solo travels, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't most excited to get to Edinburgh today. Lazing around with Jody for a few days sounds like the best vacation ever. Just a few more hours to wait...


*This reminds me. I've always been a big proponent of drinking good old tapwater, and that's exactly what I fizz up at home, unfiltered. So whenever I travel, if there's no obvious sign saying not to drink out of the tap, well, glug glug glug. Jody, on the other hand is certain that all foreign tapwater is going to kill him somehow -- which I've learned since is a common British belief; they all bring 9 cases worth of products on every holiday because everything non-British will definitely contain poison. I believe nothing of the sort, but because Jody has harassed me about it so much, now I do a quick search on the tapwater for anywhere I visit, and if there's no warnings in the top 3 results, back to the glugging. Which led me to find something interesting about Poland online: a recent study showed that the water is some of the purest in Europe, but none of the locals will drink it because they believe it's polluted. People in the country would rather have muddy well water that only flows 3 days a week, and city folk have at least 9 brands of bottled water to choose from in every corner shop. Apparently it's so bad that the government are now running a campaign called something like clean water, straight from the tap! to convince folks that they can trust their municipal water supply and get them off their environmentally unfriendly bottled water habit. Fascinating.