We've all woken up hungover having bought something we didn't need online, right?
This wasn't the first time my friend Judith had brought over two bottles of wine and we ended up booking a random flight. This time we went with the cheapest one we found, which sent us to Katowice, a small town close to Krakow in Poland. To make up for the cheap flight we also booked the most expensive hotel in town, obviously.
I grew up in a house filled with “treasures” my parents bought at Moroccan markets in the 80s. While other families had nice IKEA living rooms, we had a sparkly golden lamp, fluffly carpets and golden plates they had brought home from Marrakesh.
All my life, I was questioning this design choice and was curious about the place, my parents had loved so much, that they brought actual carpets (plural!) on an airplane.
So this December, I decided it was time to see this magical place for myself.
I've prepared a quick itinerary for you guys, stating our favourite things in each place, plus some useful information of what's good to know before going to Morocco.
Donkeys squeezing through tiny alleys, scooters buzzing around them, sparks flying around a blacksmith welding and a group of boys playing football right in between. I loved the Marrakesh Medina at first sight. At the second sight, I was pretty exhausted. We had spent the last weeks travelling through different Moroccan cities, and had constantly been surrounded by this hustle and bustle.
So for our last stop, we decided to treat ourselves with some peace and quiet just outside the Marrakesh Medina.
Last year I went to Taipei to visit my friend Doug, where he took me to his favourite restaurant and told me that he was thinking about starting a blog about colonial architecture. I loved the idea and we spent the evening brainstorming what he could write about. Here we are, twelve months later with his first guest post, which obviously had to be about the exact restaurant, where I heard about his blog "Going Colonial" for the first time:
If you get the chance to start a story with a real fairytale, you have to do it, right?
What I'm interested in is meeting local people, hearing stories about weird customs and simply walking around looking for markets, small restaurants or street art. The problem is, that it's not that easy to always meet the locals, who are willing to tell me their stories or to show me their neighbourhoods. I guess, they also have something else to do.
Therefore, I was hooked right away when I heard about the Free Original Barcelona Alternative Tour. These guys specialise in street art and Catalunyan culture, which they will show you in the neighbourhood of le Raval.
On my last trip to New York City I was 18 and had just finished school. My friend Lena and I spent the week shopping at Century 21 and looking at all the touristy things there are to see in Manhattan.
So this time I decided to take it all a bit slower and to look at the New York High Line, which had been built in the meantime.
I'm usually not a big fan of driving, but in Croatia we found so many spots, that are just easier to reach this way, that J and I decided to rent a car for our entire trip.
It ended up being the perfect choice, as we were able to go to secluded places and travel at our own pace. We spent ten days in Croatia, but our itinerary could have been easily spread over two weeks or more.
We were sitting on a bench in front of our hostel in Zagreb, while our new friend Iva zoomed in and out on my phone on Google maps: “The Zeljava air base should be here. Don't accidentally cross the border to Bosnia”. Seeing my confused stare she added “Exits one to three are in Croatia, exit four is Bosnia Herzegovina. Don't take exit four. And bring your ID, the police will come, but you will be fine”.
"Are you going in?” a girl sitting in a lounge chair asked, as I was holding the tip of my toe into the water. It was cold, but I was determined. This was my first time in a European hostel with a pool, and I was going to use it, no matter how cold it still was in May.
An hour earlier, we had arrived at Swanky Mint Hostel in Zagreb. It has been built into an old dry cleaning factory in the centre of the city, which now houses the hostel's rooms, two bars, several terraces and the pool I now was standing next to.