The Unknown Family

In recent months it seems that every time I log onto a social networking site, be it Facebook, Twitter or Instagram, I have to scroll through page after page of anti-refugee posts. In light of all the negative connotations floating around at the minute, I thought I'd share something I wrote on the train from Serbia to Hungary when I was confronted with a young family of migrants for the first time.

Initially I wrote this only for myself, as a way of processing the scene that played out in front of me, but now I feel the need to share my personal experience. I know that some people will feel differently than I do, but for me, this trip helped me acknowledge the faces in the otherwise faceless media coverage.



"Friday 25th - Train to Budapest

Sitting in the four seats in front of me is a family. I can see the back of the Mother and Father's head, I can hear the constant wails of the baby in her arms, and I can see the two young boys and their even younger sister squashed contently into the two opposite seats. Their presence however is made apparent not through sight, but through the smell. The heavy scent of stale sweat and urine fills the entire cabin and initially makes me wretch. With them are several large plastic bags of 'stuff', I can just about make out that one contains some clothes, but the others are a mystery to me.

The Mother and Father are dirty, their clothes, their face, their hair. Much like her parents, the little girl is dirty, she also has a tendency to wander and sprints up and down the isle giggling as she goes. She is the one who intrigues me the most. I would say that she is no older than three years and still has a small amount puppy fat that gives her a cute little pot belly. Clothes wise, it's not great, I am guessing that her jumper is supposed to be white, but the colour is far closer to a shade of brown, whilst her purple corduroy trousers are black and muddy on the knees and bum. She has enormously wide deep brown eyes that stare with innocent enthusiasm at everything, including myself, surrounded by gloriously long black lashes. Her beauty is obvious, and somehow manages to be the first thing I notice about her face, but when I look for longer the sheer grubbiness of her skin shocks me. Dark circles encase her eyes and a clump of mud has dried behind one of her ears, her short hair is matted to the point of dreadlocks.

The eldest of the boys, probably 11, has clearly taken on the role of ring leader. He commands his sister to sit down, and rewards her with a kiss and a kit-kat when she does. He too is laughing the majority of the time, when he opens his mouth I can see that his front two teeth are badly chipped and the rest are discoloured. I think it is his optimism that saddens me the most. Somehow the innocence of the three of them makes the situation worse, the fact that for them this is just another day of their childhood. From what I can make out, I think the father has fallen asleep, and the son has taken on the responsibility of his siblings, consistently showering his sister and the baby in kisses, whilst he entertains his brother with a series of animated hand gestures that makes them both howl.

I have the strange feeling that this isn't a journey that I will forget. In years to come when people talk of the 'migrant crisis ' I know that this is what I will think of. This exact point. This family, these people, this smell. I wonder where they will be in ten years time, what their future is, where they will call home.

This I will never know.

I can of course pretend that they make it to prosperous Germany or England, that they are given some sort of social housing and the children are provided with a decent education. That in ten years the bright eyed, dirty girl is stressing about her GCSEs and boys, her face clean, her hair long and smooth. That her brother is finishing university and is an annoyance rather than a carer. I can imagine that she has forgotten all about this journey that she is having to make, about the anguish which her parents must be suffering, about the filthy white jumper.

I can see it.

Unfortunately I also know the probable outcome. I know that the Hungarian border is closed for them, that they are not wanted here or anywhere else. I know that even if by some miracle they do make it to the West the life that is waiting for them isn't going to be what they imagined. An unskilled, minimum wage job - if any - for the father. A flat too small for the six of them, no money and limited schooling. It is hard to imagine a situation where this is the better option, where the unknown is still more promising than staying where they were. I can imagine that we both share the same fantasy scenario, that this chance, however small, is what they cling to.

Still the baby cries."



After I finished writing this the family quickly disembarked the train at the last stop before the Hungarian border. I will never know what happened to this family, but it changed my somewhat shallow view immediately. It is easy to dehumanise a situation when you only see it through a screen, to remove the individual cases and lump them all together, I know I did, but in situations like these the reality hits home with a blunt force.

I hope I never forget the face of the adorable little girl with the beautiful wide eyes.

Budapest, Bratislava and a Birthday

What I've learnt since staying in hostels is that your experience in a place is entirely dependent on the people who your'e staying with. I've stayed in some really beautifully equipped places, with gorgeous clean kitchens and bathrooms, but horrifically dull roommates, and for me that overrides the otherwise good experience. I've also stayed in some total dives, with really fantastic people, that make you not care about the fact that there's no locks in the toilets or hot water in the showers. This is exactly what happened when I headed north from Novi Sad to Budapest.

Budapest

As usual I had booked the cheapest hostel on HostelWorld - The Hangover. As far as drinking is concerned I haven't actually indulged too much on this trip, it's expensive and travelling on my own, I like to have some sense of what's going on around me. However Budapest provided me with the perfect set up to have a fantastic time, drink, hardly spend any money and feel completely secure in doing so.

My 8 bed dorm consisted of a group of four Australian guys, a Canadian girl, a Finnish girl and myself. Luckily for all of us we got on phenomenally. Unlike a lot of groups who travel together, and tend to keep themselves to themselves, the Aussies were more than happy to have myself and the other girls tagging along for the entire weekend. Our five days there were spent doing the typical touristy things, visiting the stunning Parliament building and castle, whilst our nights were spent in some of the 100s of bars and clubs that Budapest has to offer.

The highlight of the entire weekend for myself has to be the Thermal Baths. Sunday afternoon, all feeling slightly 'tender', the executive decision to actually leave the room was made. Definitely not by myself, I was pretty adamant that being hungover and going swimming was a recipe for pure disaster, but we trudged on anyway. Even the idea of an outdoor pool in late September in Central Europe made me shiver, and as our group headed out into the cold kitted in our summer bikinis and shorts, pneumonia was all that was on my mind. Yet as I sunk into the 40° water it felt like pure heaven. We spent all day there, only leaving when they closed the pools.

The nights out also proved to come in useful when by pure chance I bumped into a guy I'd met on my first day travelling in Venice, who lives in Budapest and offered to give me a little tour around! I adore being shown around by people who actually live in the city, there are so many things that Lonely Planet miss off or simply don't know about, and I'll be honest, at this point I still hadn't seen as much of the city as I probably should have. It was also lovely to see a familiar face, the whole 'it's a small world' cliche has always made me cringe. Yet here I am, using it. Because let's be honest, what were the chances of me deciding to leave a particular bar, just as he decides to enter this particular bar, in a city of 1.7 million people. Seeing someone again, especially after all this time, reminds you that maybe all the constant goodbyes that you say aren't necessarily as permanent as they might feel, and that's a little bit beautiful.

Outside the parliament building.

Post Thermal Baths.

Brent, myself and Katriina on our
 last night.

View of Budapest from the Liberty Statue.

Team Baywatch.

Bratislava

After my very full-on few days in Budapest I traveled North to Bratislava to start my new Workaway position in A Wild Elephants Hostel.

I was told by a few people about how dull Bratislava is, and that scene in Eurotrip didn't give me much hope, yet on my second day I was being thrown from a bridge and on my third we broke into a black tie gala event... Not quite as dull as I'd been warned.

Again I got tremendously lucky with my first group of guests staying in the hostel, who were a dream, and the team that were already working there made me feel immediately welcome. Something which I was slightly nervous about however, was my impending birthday. The thought of being away from home for my birthday didn't bother me as much as I thought it would, I've been having such a fantastic time I really don't need one specific day to do wonderful things or relax. I did feel slightly guilty for also missing my older brother's birthday (coincidentally also on 5th October) but other than that I was quite happy to have a nice day and let it pass without too much of a note.

I was working my first night shift (9pm-7am) into my birthday, which generally consists of letting drunk guests in, and when one of these guests found out that it was my birthday, he went out and stole for me: a bouquet of flowers, a pepper mill and a dining room chair. Gift originality at it finest right there.

A fantastically unique start to my 21st. The rest of the day was spent in the most hipster-indie-chic coffee shop Bratislava has to offer, and eating a disgusting amount of Slovakian food. Slovakian cuisine is quite similar to the other Balkan states, heavy and filling and fattening and delicious. Potato dumplings covered in cheese covered in sour cream covered in bacon - bliss.

And then came the shots. Dear God the shots. As a general rule, alcohol in this part of the world is horrifically pure, strong and frequently consumed. Despite drinking litres of pure alcohol, a good night was had by all. I think. I don't remember. I'm sure they did. Well I did at least.

Team IT gala.

The Wild Elephant (and Monkey).

My lovely carrot cake and chocolate muffins.

'Take it sleazy' Mark, myself and Lorna.

Birthday gift from my boss, 15 year old palinka.

Lorna and myself.

Selfie time.

Pain in an image,

Meeting The Serbs

For those of you who don't know, my Grandfather was Serbian, Yugoslavian if we're getting technical. Hence me having the not-very-British surname, Malbasa. Seeing as I am currently ascending through Eastern Europe I figured I'd take a pilgrimage to the homeland if only for a couple of days.

On discovering that I planned to visit Belgrade, the capital, my Dad decided to get in touch with some rather distant relatives who live there to see if they wanted to meet me. To my surprise they did, and a lovely time was had by all.

Now I'm not sure if it's a British thing, or if it's because I come from a pathetically small family (I have one cousin) but anybody who I don't see on Christmas is considered distant to me and therefore a polite nod and small grin is an acceptable greeting. However this is not the Serbian way. My knowledge of this culture is somewhat stunted and comes purely from my Father's God Father and his wife. Visits to them typically consisted of my face being squeezed and kissed repeatedly upon entry, then I would be force fed buttery biscuits and Ocean Spray until I thought I would ruin their nice clean floor with my (by that point no doubt very pink) vomit. Whilst I was being told that I was too thin and should eat more (what a great thing to say), my brothers were being handed plates of salami and glass after glass of Slivovitz, a plum brandy with a percentage ranging between 50 and 70. These were people I had known my entire life and so it was alright to skip the 'nod and grin', but I had every intention to resume said protocol when meeting my new relatives. I would soon discover that British formality is not allowed in Serbia, my initial intention to the bring it to the east failed immediately and spectacularly when I first met Duska.

But lets not get ahead of ourselves, first I had to get from Thessaloniki in Greece (a really fabulous city, far better than Athens in my opinion) to Belgrade.

The Night Train

If for some bizarre reason you were unaware, there is currently a migrant crisis in the EU and hopping between borders isn't as easy as it once was. The former ethos of "It's Europe, if you've got a passport come and go as you please!" has been replaced with several large fences, tear gas and water cannons. As a result of this, the first leg of my train journey actually took place on a bus. I didn't really mind, having read all about the Macedonian border controls, I had that sort of sick inquisitiveness to see it all first hand, like when you can't not watch a car crash. I had envisioned a sea of distraught looking families all pleading to get through the border, thousands of police pushing back this tidal wave of mothers and children in a vain attempt to protect their country from the flood.

This is not what I saw. In the half an hour it took for my passport to be verified I probably saw around 15 cars trickle through. The enforcement was somewhat lapse also, three bored looking men waving all the cars through, bar one, who's boot they searched (it was an old Fiat Punto, you can barely fit a weekly shop in there let alone a family of Syrian refugees). After being processed and deemed not to be a threat, myself and the other 13 people on the bus were dropped at the Macedonia train station.

CUT TO:

EXT. MACEDONIAN TRAIN PLATFORM - NIGHT
Several confused people huddle around murmuring quietly in the pool of light from a solitary street lamp.

CONDUCTOR

There might be a train in 10 minutes. Then again there might not be.

PEOPLE

*Sequence of obscenities*

Oh f...abulous. By now it's around 11pm, I'm three hours into my 14 hour journey and I have moved about 10 yards. And then it appeared. My golden chariot to Serbia. My bed for the night. My God it looked like something that Soviet Russia would deem 'too depressing'. The loud grinding noise that it produced was accompanied by an exterior coated in graffiti and a conductor who looked like he might *definitely* want to kill me in my sleep. I did find myself in the fortunate situation of having my own cabin, I assumed that this would mean that at least I could get some sleep, and dream that I wasn't on a train that had a very distinct smell of sweat and urine, but you know what they say about assuming. The hourly torchlight-in-the-face, passport and ticket checks impeded the sleep idea to such an extent that at 3am I decided to just quit trying and become nocturnal.

This is when I encountered my first (and only) group of migrants, accompanied by two police men. With the vast increase in numbers I assumed that I would have cabin partners imminently, and I did, but not how I imagined. After asking one of the officers for the time it was made immediately apparent that he spoke no English and I no Serbian, however, this didn't deter the officer from deciding that we were in fact now pals. Through various drawings, graphs and several metaphors involving my handbag, he managed to explain to me the current financial situation in Serbia, politics, religion and Germany's role within the EU. At around 6am he told me (through the art of mime) that I should get some sleep and he would watch my bag for me.

For me this little 'conversation' and hospitality more than made up for the fact that the journey took three extra hours and that the toilet was a hole in the floor.

After that very tiring journey I was more than happy to meet my extended family. At this point I'll explain how relations work in Serbia through the people I met. My Grandfather's sister, Anka, should technically be my great Aunt, but she is just 'Aunty Anka'. That one isn't overly difficult. Her daughters, Dragana and Milena, my first cousins once removed, are also my Aunts. Their children, Borjan and Iva, my second cousins once removed, are my brothers and sisters. Their children, Lukas and Mia, some sort of third cousin once removed (perhaps), are my nieces and nephews. This took far too long to work out and only exacerbated my sleep deprivation.

In addition to this I also met my 'aunty' Duska and her sons, (also my brothers) Stefan and Nikola. As I mentioned earlier, the greeting was one of traditional Serb style, I was invited to their house, kissed, face squeezed and fed. It was quite nice I'll admit, but the Brit in me will never admit this again.

Having lost my grandfather at a very young age a lot of my memories of him consist more of memories of photographs, so seeing a whole new set of images was like seeing him again for the first time which is something really priceless. As well as learning more about my family history, having people there who wanted to show me all of the city meant that I saw Belgrade in a very different way to most people, which I greatly appreciated.

I have since left Belgrade, with a very full stomach and very fond memories, and am currently in Novi Sad in the north of Serbia before I head into Budapest tomorrow.

I understand that this post is a little long so here's a nice little summation for you;

• I am a bit Serbian.
• Thessaloniki is beautiful and full of life. Go there.
• Serbians like to feed you.
• Only accept Slivovitz if you are prepared to get real turnt up real quick. (The link is there purely for my mum. There you go mum, hope that helps.)
• See John, I did listen in my film script classes.
• The night train smells.
• You can have meaningful discussions with anyone if you have a pen and an appreciation of mime.
• Everyone in Serbia is somehow your aunt or brother.
• Even if you are only distantly related to a Serb they will give you everything they have because they put family in front of everything.
• Also the Serbian Dinar isn't worth a great deal so you can live like royalty for zero money.

Suck it Nuneaton.

Sunset over a secret nature reserve
in the centre of Belgrade.

Thessaloniki nights.

My new 'sister' Iva and I.

Duska and I.

My Great Aunt, Uncle and myself.

My Little Skyrian Break

It's been quite a while since I last posted, partly due to me being pretty busy but mainly as a result of my non existent internet connection!

So, I've just arrived in the city of Thessaloniki after spending the past six weeks living and working on the tiny Greek Island of Skyros. 

With its tiny whitewashed buildings ordained with vibrant blue doors and shutters, the village looks like something straight out of Mama Mia. I however have been living in the minuscule farming town of Trachi, home to one taverna, a couple of farms and us. Which I must admit has been testing at times. 

Skyros is home to a rare breed of pony, and the farm where I've been staying is all about preserving and reestablishing the breed. The work it's self was simple enough, feed, muck and water three times a day. I can do that. Having been around horses back in England since I was small theses things were a breeze.

I was also fortunate enough to have some other fantastic volunteers staying with me, from spending my lunch breaks kayaking with Lucia, Spanish, and Iris, Austrian, to failing to make a beach bonfire with Elia, German, and Davide, Italian, it's safe to say I've had a pretty fun time and met some really lovely people. What I struggled with personally was the isolation that being on a mountainous island brings. 

Although the main village was only a stones throw away, the several large mountains in between prove to be somewhat of a hazard. Many people love this side of life though, the lack of wifi and people can be a real lure for the more reclusive type.

What I have learnt about myself is that I am not this type of person. I am a people person. I need constant social interaction with a host of new faces. I must admit this is news to me, at home I had my group of friends whom I adore and was more than content with keeping it just us. Not in a selective way, more as a result of the comfort that comes with a tight knit group. Since I've been travelling however, my eyes have been opened to the fact that there is an entire world of people out there with the same travel/life ethic, and it's wonderful! 

I can meet people from the other side of the world with whom I have so much in common, and for the past few weeks I haven't been meeting the constant flow of these guys, and I've missed it. I remember leaving the first group of strangers I made friends with in Venice, I was adamant that I'd been really lucky and wouldn't meet anyone else that I got on with. 

Of course I did, immediately.

Although I have had a really nice time having somewhere to call home, and learning about a whole new style of horsemanship, for me it was time to say goodbye. I'm more than a little excited to get my backpack on again and head off into Central Europe. Just in time for the cold weather of course... 

Arrivederci Roma... and Italy

After two blissful months I have finally left Italy and moved onto the next stage of my journey, Greece.

I really couldn't have asked for more from my last few weeks in Italy. The hostels in Rome and Naples were pretty much perfect, and I had the pleasure of meeting some of the most genuine people I could imagine.

Initially I was a little dubious about stopping in a hostel a short train journey outside of central Rome, but it worked out to be a perfect base. In 20 minutes I was in the centre of bustling Rome, mingling in with The Colloseum and The Vatican, keeping up with the pace of the capital in over 35 degrees heat. Yet on a day when I really just needed to rest the peaceful old town of Zagarolo was waiting with open arms, and more importantly, an open pool.

Of course I managed to fit in a decent amount of 'touristy' activities between the pool sessions, The Colleseum and the Roman Forum being particular favourites of mine. The Spanish Steps were more than a little underwhelming I'm not going to lie. It's literally just some steps.

I also have a confession to make, I kind of skipped The Vatican a little bit... It was a friend's last day and the queue was three hours long so we just left. In all honesty though I feel like it's something I should see, but not neccessarily something I really wanted to see.

After hearing a general consensus of horrid reveiews of Naples, and being only recently reuinited with my cards, I decided to yet again stay just outside of the city. Unforutnaly after some slight travel issues I ended up with only two full days to do everything! Day one was spent with one of the seemingly endless supply of Australians staying at my hostel, visiting Vesuvius and Pompeii. The views from Vesuvius's sumit are phemominal, and the sight of misinformed tourists attempting to climb it in flip flops and jeans is even better! At Pompeii we deceided to save some money and skip the audio tour. Terrible idea. I still have no idea of the things we saw...

Day two and yet another of the Australians had suggested renting a Vespa. Yes! We caught the train to Sorrento and from there rode down the length of the Amalfi coast. That has to be up there with one of the best experiences I've had so far.

After 35 hours travel via several busses, trains and one ludicrously long ferry journey I arrived in Athens. Here I met my parents and am now spending the week in Naxos, an island which my mum lived on when she was my age!

Day 49

As a child the thought of the six weeks summer holiday seemed like a lifetime, yet here I am, seven weeks into my trip and it has passed at an unbelievable rate!

To keep you up to speed here's a list of where I've been so far!

Venice - Bologna - Chianti - Florence - Pisa - Grosseto - Siena - Venice - Milan - Venice - Rimini - Perugia

I thought I'd do a slightly different post today, and share with you some misconceptions that I had prior to traveling, and the truths about these that I have learnt so far.

What I Thought
Keep all of your money and cards in one safe place, this way you won't lose track of anything.
What I Know
If/when you lose this holy grail of money, you are stuck. SPREAD IT OUT. Most backpacks have several different internal pockets, utilise these, hopefully this will prevent you being completely without cash or cards. 

What I Thought
I'll need a new outfit for everyday. Just because I'm backpacking doesn't mean this can't be a glamorous European adventure.
What I Know
It means exactly that. If I had but one word to sum up the trip so far it definitely wouldn't be glamorous. It would probably be sweaty. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, it just means that wearing a freshly washed and pressed ensemble everyday would bankrupt me in laundry fees. Also, the weight of carting around all of this stuff would no doubt cripple you.

What I Thought
Hostels are dirty and have terrible facilities, but they're cheap.
What I Know
Currently, I'm sitting with my legs dangling in a pool, in a hostel with the most stunning panoramic views of Perugia, for €15 a night. That's £10, less than what I'd spend on my lunch break back at home. Majority of the places I've stayed have been really lovely, granted there have been a couple which have left a great deal to the imagination, but to me a hostel means social. Yes you share a bathroom, a kitchen, and more often than not a bedroom, but it also means that you share your experience. I have met so many interesting and wonderful people who I would have missed had I stayed in a solitary room in a hotel. No its not the height of luxury, but what you lose in tiny shampoos and mints on the pillows, you more than gain in friendship. 

What I Thought
You need loads of money to travel for an extended period of time.
What I Know
In the past three days I've had nine delicious, filling meals and it has cost me €8.24 (£5.79). A bag of pasta that lasts five days costs me €1.20 and anything else is a treat. If you truly want to travel and experience as much as you can, for as long as you can, you simply can't afford to be picky about it! 

Unfortunatley I find myself yet again without a computer, meaning that a whole host of my photos are currently trapped inside my camera. As soon as I can I'll be sure to bombard the blog with them! 

Heading off to Rome tomorrow, and will post about all the wonderful, ancient sites just as soon as I can get my hands on an SD port!

Ciao.

What Grace Did

As I write this post I sit aboard the Frecciarossa train bound for Rimini, leaving the perfect serenity of Venice, where I have called home for the past month, behind me. 

Much like the first time I left Venice, I do so with a bitter sweet feeling in my stomach. I have heard nothing but good things about Rimini; sun, beaches and bars, yet I am still hopelessly in love with Venice and all it means for me. The start of my adventure, my first group of friends, my first job overseas, the first time it really hit me that I could actually go the distance with my travel plans. But I am leaving.

In addition to feeling a little low about moving on, this morning I waved my older brother, Jake, off after having him visit for the past week, and what a week it's been!  

I met him and four of his friends last Friday in Milan for a Libertines gig, and I was beyond excited. For them it was a music trip, for me it was a Jake one.
Back at home we worked within a two minutes walk from each other, so I would see him most days for lunch or just a chat, so five weeks without seeing him was a little odd to say the least! I'd be lying if I said I wasn't pleased with the reaction I got, being told that I looked like a "proper traveller" and how he hardly recognised me, made me realise just how much I have changed so far. 

I have always been a very dependent person, always having someone in my life who would pander to my demands of handbag carrying or lift giving. Although these things are initially done through love, it has meant that I had absolutely zero idea of what I am capable of. Although the change into a perfectly capable young woman has been a gradual one, all Jake saw was his helpless, insecure, little sister wandering across a busy train station carrying an enormous 70l bag wearing "sunglasses bigger than your shorts". 

The initial blissfulness of the reunion was cut short however, due to me discovering that during a quick hop on the metro my purse had been taken from my bag. I can't quite sum up the feeling I had, it was a mix of panic, anger and disappointment in myself. The confident backpacker of the past hour had been stripped back, and there stood the useless girl of before. To say I felt like a fool would be an enormous understatement. 

Putting the incident behind me, the rest of Friday passed quickly in anticipation of Saturday's concert. I know the Libertines, not to the extent of travelling to Milan just to see them like my brother and co. however I was not disappointed. The crowd sung passionately along to all the classics, with their Italian twang reminding us exactly where we were, while only the truly dedicated managed to keep up with the new releases. Watching Carl Barât and Pete Doherty perform together live there is no doubt as to how the band broke up previously. The performance is a constant battle between Carl attempting to lead and remain centre stage (literally) and Pete nipping at his heels, trying anything to steal focus, throwing guitars and microphones whenever possible. Despite the Lovers' tiffs it was still a thoroughly brilliant set, the new material slotted in nicely between the well loved oldies. 

After a weekend of over indulgence and over spending I was lookin forward to being able to spend a few days showing Jake my Venice. I showed him all my favourite places and managed to convey the image that I knew exactly what I was doing and where I was going most of the time. I'm glad to report that he loved it almost as much as me! 

So now I'm back on my own, after a month of knowing the town, people and places to go, I'm back to being a backpacker again, and honestly I'm not sure how I feel about this. I know that it's just a matter of time before I find my feet again but currently I feel like I'm starting all over again! Will hopefully have some photos to upload soon. 

Next stop Perugia. 

Ciao.

Settling In

Evening!

Sorry that I've been a little absent! The past few weeks have been really busy for me, finding my feet in this new job, moving into an apartment and still managing to explore Venice in any free time I get!

I haven't managed to write as much as I'd have liked, which has probably been a good thing seeing as I got pretty home sick for the first time last week. I know it's really ridiculous, especially considering how long I intend to be gone for, but it happened. I think it was a result of me actually stopping. Until now I've been moving so frequently, meeting so many people and just being constantly occupied. To then find myself actually living somewhere, without constant distractions and without any long term friends was a pretty big shock. A ludicrously long Skype session with my mum managed to reassure me that what I was doing was in fact quite amazing and I should just suck it up and realise where I am. I was also fortunate to have kept in touch with some people from my first trip to Venice so having people to meet up with has helped no end, making me fall in love with the city all over again!

Another sizable development for me has been moving to somewhere semi-permanently, bringing with it the ability to unpack! Such simple delights as being able to actually select what I'm going to wear for the day, rather than a lucky-dipesque way to dressing has improved my days ten fold. Having somewhere to go that I know is just for me is really lovely as well, and being two minutes away from where I work means I don't lose out on any valuable sleep. The apartment itself is what we call a 'work in progress' but it's free and in the centre of Venice, so I can deal with some peeling paint!

It's been so nice knowing that I'm here for more than just a couple of days, up until now I've felt the need to cram as much sight seeing into as little time as possible and it has really worn me out. Being able to take my time and enjoy the city at my own pace has been a real blessing. This past week I've spent my days off visiting the islands; Lido, San Michele, Murano and Burano.

Lido has a beach! Coming from somewhere where the nearest sea is 2 hours away, brown and cold this is by far one of the best developments. It's June and I can not only sunbathe but actually swim in a sea that won't give my hypothermia. Such wonders do not exist in England and I have a feeling I'll be spending a decent amount of time there over the next few weeks.

Murano and Burano come as a sort of pair, famous for it's glass, Murano fully embraces this. Every shop is packed full of stunning hand made pieces, most of which with a price tag staggering enough to make you to choke on your gelato (of which I am consuming an inordinate amount). I visited here and Burano with a really lovely guest from the Hostel where I work. We stood for at least half an hour watching an ornament being created from scratch which was really amazing, It was interesting to see the mundanity with which the tasks were performed, I suppose that even the most elaborate of jobs become routine when done enough.

Burano has somehow managed to create tourism purely through painting their houses. There is literally nothing else there. Don't get me wrong, it clearly works, that's why we went there, and why we stayed all day! It looks like it was designed by a child, each house a brighter, more vibrant version of the last, the colours complimented perfectly by the clear blue sky. Eating a picnic surrounded by all of this gorgeous scenery I realised I couldn't be further from homesick!

So that's what I've been up to. I'd be lying if I said it isn't strange having to work again, but I get every other day off to go and explore more of this wonderful place, and I can genuinely say that I lived in Venice now (even if it was only a month!)

There are worse views to have whilst waiting for the bus!

From the top of San Marco tower.

Glass crafting in Murano.

Glass crafting in Murano.

Perfectly blue sky and sculptures.

Even the walls are decorated in glass!

Shop front in Murano. 

Burano in all it's colourful glory.

Burano.

Possibly the best gelato in all the world!

Day 14

I've survived two whole weeks! A little part of me doubted I'd even get on the plane, so 14 days really is an achievement!

What have I been up to then? After leaving Venice, with a very heavy heart, I travelled down to Bologna for the night. Personally, it wasn't my favourite place in the world. Such a massive contrast between the easy going pace of Venice and the rather "in your face" atmosphere of Bologna was a bit much. After then I headed (by accident) to a small town in Tuscany called Tavarnelle Val di Pesa, I thought I'd booked into a hostel in Florence but I was mistaken. This was however a very happy accident and what was supposed to be just a one night stop turned into three. My days were spent cycling around the Tuscan hills, having barbecues, picnicking in fields and wine tasting.
From there I actually managed to make it to Florence, where I met up with some of the people I'd met in Tuscany. Florence was utterly breath taking. The scorching heat certainly helped, but the historical surroundings would look stunning in any weather. Watching the sun set from Piazzale Michelangelo is an experience not to be missed. On my last day some girls from my hostel and I visited the top of the Duomo. A LOT of stairs, but you can see all of Florence and then some.
After four days there I moved slightly west to Pisa, purely for the tower, as there isn't a lot else there. It really is something to behold, it's slightly disorientating and I have absolutely zero idea how it's still standing!
With the intention of heading further south to Rome I decided to stop off in a hostel in Grosseto for a couple of nights. This hostel in Grosseto turned out to in fact be a tent in Le Marze. Le Marze was lovely, and the beach was a much appreciated bonus, the tent however was not very Grace friendly! For anyone who doesn't know me, camping isn't really my thing, and having to walk through woods just to go to the toilet is my personal idea of hell! I somehow managed to survive (despite the spiders and mozzies) and this is when my plans changed rather drastically. After firing off a quick email to a Workaway host in Venice about a possible vacancy in July, I was told that I could start as soon as I could get there! So that's exactly what I've done.
Two weeks to the day that I first started my adventure and arrived in Venice I'm back, and really couldn't be happier about it! In exchange for some cleaning and looking after guests, I get to stop and eat for free in a stunning boutique B&B right in San Marco square.
So overall life's going pretty well! I will still hopefully go down to Rome and Naples, but for the time being, the ability to stay rent free in my favourite city really is an opportunity I couldn't afford to pass up. Fortunately for me there is a computer here so I can share with you some of the photos of my trip so far.

Ciao!

The view whilst wine tasting in Tuscany.

Outside the Uffizi Gallery, Florence.

Giardini Boboli, Florence.

Giardini Boboli, Florence.

Sunset from Piazzale Michelangelo, Florence.

View from the top of the Duomo , Florence.

Leaning tower of Pisa.

A Venice Fish

Well, I am totally and completely in love with Venice. I love the city, the people, the hostel, the food, everything. Part of me is unsure if it's just a result of it being my first stop, but then there is also a massive part of me that knows it's jut because it's fabulous! 

It is amazing how quickly you get used to there being no cars, and noting associated with them. The traffic, noise, polution, and just the general sense of haste that all of these things bring. Day to day life seems so wonderfully relaxed and leisurely. 

The scenery is of course spectacular, canals flowing freely through the city adorned with beautifully ornate gondolas, the sound of street music everywhere you turn, vast historic buildings, sheer bliss. 

My stay was improved vastly through the hospitality of the hostel I was lucky enough to be staying in, A Venice Fish. With it being my first location I was more nervous than I'd care to admit about not meeting people and ending up on my own. However both the guests and staff were so keen to help, making dinner for everyone, taking us out at night and showing me some of the sights. I think if it weren't for this imediate warm welcome I received it would have been difficult for me to persevere with doing this trip solo. 

So thank you Venice for such a truly   wonderful first experience. Unfortunately I am yet to find a computer to transfer my photos onto, but as soon as I do rest assured you will be inundated with shots of this beautiful city! 

Ciao. 

Day 1

6.30am BST- Plane

I haven't slept in just under 24 hours, for those who don't know me this is unheard of. I need sleep. And yet I've done it, not only have I managed to stay awake, but also my first solo plane journey! I think I'll survive as long as I have something to do, aimlessness is not my friend. I'm slightly worried about the weight of my enormous backpack and how I'll repack it considering mum did most of it for me. Independent traveller as ever. 

11.30am Italian Time- Compo del Ghetto Nuovo

Managed to navigate my way to the hostel like a boss, however dressed for rain and have been greeted with glorious sunshine, not complaining, just super warm! Currently sitting on a bench opposite Museo Ebrairo eating my lunch. Very surreal. I am in Venice. In Italy. On my own. 

2pm- Scuola Grande di San Rocca

Attempting to get some culture. Found this by pure chance, rambling around I I followed the sound of guitars and here I am, sitting in a great hall full of Venetian art. Worry it's wasted on me though, trying very hard to appreciate the skill involved in all of these intricate paintings, but knowing absolutely nothing about art makes it difficult. Need to check into my hostel soon as I'm totally shattered, been awake now for 29hours. Am I allowed to have a little nap or is that wasting being in Venice? Praying the hostel has wifi. 

5pm- A Venice Fish Hostel

Just woke up after a little power nap. Thank god. Been invited for dinner with the hostel staff and other guests but that's not for another three hours. It's been a long day. Exciting yet long. The hostel itself is very 'Eat, Pray, Love', a gorgeous old building but in need of a lot of love and a vast infusion of money. The paint has all but peeled off the walls and the structural integrity of the bunk beds is very questionable, but it does the job and I feel like I'm in real Venice. 

My Mum

Last year I wrote a piece about my mum's travels for my journalism course, here it is...

Theresa Chuter finished school at 16 and went to work in a factory, as it seemed all of her town did. By 21 she had progressed up to a bookkeeper/wages clerk at a local engineering company. It was at this point that she became “disillusioned” with life. “One day I was walking down the tiny little corridor that I walked up and down so many times and just thought, ‘how many more times am I going to do this?’ and I thought, ‘this is my life. I need to do something with it.’” And that was it, she quit her job and bought a one way ticket to Greece.

She had planned for a two month trip, with £400 and no immediate plans she aimed to get a job in Athens that would pay for her accommodation and return when she got fed up. “The first three weeks were just absolutely horrendous. I was lonely and homesick. ‘Go to Greece. Get a job.’ And then you get there and it’s a different thing all together. Nobody needed anybody. So I spent days and days wandering around looking for work.”

The reality hit home pretty quickly that running off and exploring wasn’t going to be as wonderful and idyllic as she’d have liked. The mundane job that she had been doing day in day out back in England looked a lot more appealing from 2400 miles away.

“And then I managed to get a job, and I met a fellow backpacker, my confidence was growing by this time so I went off to the islands, did a quick tour and thought ‘no. I am not ready to go home now. I can do this.’” With this new found love of Greece and confidence in herself growing, she returned to the islands, secured herself a job, and stayed there for five months.

By this time it was mid-October, England is freezing cold and Christmas songs are already starting to prematurely creep onto supermarket shelves and into our brains. Many of her high school friends had settled down and started families; my Mum however was heading for Egypt.

In today’s world, where I spend £30 a month on my phone bill, £60 on a haircut and £££ on dinners/nights out, I couldn’t understand how she could afford to not work for a month. She said that she had left with £400 and came back with £100, and that to survive she was ‘very, very skimpy with money’ and worked when she needed to. The freedom surrounding this idea is almost incomprehensible. Here my mother was, hopping about between continents without fear of the unknown, just a need to explore, I think that there’s much to be admired about that.

“The plan was to do Egypt and then come home. We were sitting on the roof of this hostel one night with other travellers, and people were saying where they were going and there was an American guy. He wasn’t event part of our group, he was just sitting on the roof reading, and he looked up and said ‘yeah, everyone seems to want to go to Bethlehem for Christmas’ and I thought ‘yeah. That’s a plan.’ Because by this time I was well into it, there was no way I wanted to go home.”

In under a year the experience had already changed her so much, the girl who was pining for home comforts now barely gave England a second thought, the girl who couldn’t wait to go home was now preparing to spend her first Christmas away from home. The more of the world outside of England she saw, the more she needed to see, there was not a chance that she could return to the confines of working in an office after experiencing the freedom of travelling.

                                                                                                                                                       

“I managed to get to Bethlehem for Christmas Eve. I secured a place on a kibbutz first, a tiny, tiny kibbutz with very, very few people. It was right on the Jordanian border, which at the time there was quite a few terrorists who came over from Jordan into Israel. Our first night there was spent, being told ‘Don’t cross the barbed wire, the gates lock at night so you can’t get out, if you see anything on the floor don’t pick it up, whatever it is you don’t know”.

Ten months into her two month trip she fell completely in love with Israel, her visa for Israel was valid for a year, and she saw it out to completion.

After this she moved to the south of Israel, “it looked like the end of the world, like if you walked any further you’d drop off, absolutely nothing at all. It was the back end of nowhere. At the time the Sinai desert, was being handed back to Egypt because of the peace talks. Over the months before I arrived people were slowly moving out and there was very few houses or anything left at all, but now it’s actually a thriving holiday resort called Sharm el-Sheik. It was called that when I was there but there were no hotels, or holiday complexes. It was just a lot of sand.”

By the time the second Christmas had rolled around her Israeli visa had ran out and she saw this as a good time to return home. She had been gone for two and a half years. During her time away contact with home had been sporadic at best, during her first lonely weeks she had written home every couple of days, then as she began to find her feet it altered to weeks, months and eventually when she could remember.

After catching up with her old friends, of who she now had very little to say to, she packed up and left again to do some “proper backpacking”. Starting in France she travelled across Europe to Belgium, The Netherlands, Austria, former Yugoslavia and Italy. She then found herself back in Athens where, through pure coincidence, she came across a girl who she had met on the bus from London to Athens years ago. Together they travelled to Istanbul where due to the heavy military presence they didn’t stay long before moving on back to Israel. “Then I think I got tired, there wasn’t really anywhere I wanted to go, apart from India and Australia and I wanted to go overland, but there was a lot of trouble between Iraq and Iran, so it wasn’t really safe to go overland for anybody. So after four and a half years I decided to go home for good this time.”

The time that my mother spent away changed her life forever, it gave her confidence, a passion for exploring other cultures and showed her how vast and diverse the world really is. She has always told me that she doesn’t want me to look back on my life with regrets from opportunities passed. She never has, and never will.  

It Started With an Australian.

“Admit it. It would make for a great story in ten years’ time. The night you spent in Prague on the Charles Bridge talking to that sort of cool, a little bit handsome Australian guy.” His words spun through my mind on the way back to airport. Nick and his wide grin and sparkling eyes, my friends' horrified reactions to the suggestion and insistence of me to stay, me pacifying them and declining the offer. Nick left. And I had no story for ten years’ time.

The anticipation built in the taxi on the way to the airport as talk of English Breakfast tea, hair products and other such home comforts circled me. The girls smiled and laughed whole heartedly at the idea of home, and I became aware of a shifting within me, an agitation building, starting low in my stomach like a deep hunger. All through security checks, passport controls and the endless isles of duty free my mind wandered, unable to focus on any one task at a time. The hunger pangs had continued to grow, feeding off one and other, infecting my bones right through to the marrow. It wasn’t until the need had grown so large, filling my entire body and expanding to the utmost corners of my soul that I could even pin point what the sensation was. Agitation, with life, with wasted time, with lost opportunities. What would I say in ten years time? What stories would I have to tell? None.

With this realisation I grew more and more fractious with every growing moment, life was on a timer and twenty years had already slipped by. At that point I couldn’t get home fast enough, couldn’t waste any more moments, any more potential adventures.

I need to start my life properly this time, no time for waiting, no need for anyone else.

With this new found lust for life I have planned my great escape from the mundanity of my current situation. Starting in Venice I plan to work my way down the east coast of Italy before heading over to Greece and hopping around the Sporades Islands.

Wish me luck - I fear I’ll need it.