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"This is Africa, my friend!" warned the faux guide at the port in Tangier. "There be good people and bad people here, like anywhere." He wanted to give me a ride, desperately. "I'm sure you've heard about the hustlers." He had a badge tucked under his shirt, but whenever he pulled it out to show it to me, his eyes would shift to both sides real quick. At one point, he asked if we could step out of the sun because it was hot. Then it literally became a shady affair.

I kept count for awhile. Lost it around the twenty-fifth person who offered me help I hadn't requested. Most claimed to know the "big boss" of "best hotel in Morocco!" and could get me "best deal" because they liked my face. Right.

I went to a city painted all in blue. I'll upload pictures of that and the rest of Morocco someday, honest. For now, there's a few in the post below this one.

I also went to Fes. In my guidebook, Fes is described as "the largest active Muslim medina in the world today." I read that and took it in the spirit of "yeah yeah, largest ball of twine, tallest cathedral tower, whatever blah blah." This may have been a mistake. Despite my above-average sense of direction, when I crossed the castle walls, I became immediately ever-so-lost in the miles of slim, twisting alleyways crammed with markets and donkeys and people and awnings and "guides" and fruit stands (but no cars). There were hand-made goods for sale from fine rugs to instruments and many artisans crafting away in the backs of their shops, they only stopped to offer me - "best store in fes, right here! Prices like this, only in insane asylum! Or you need hotel? Taxi?"

Then I went back to Spain. Jenn and I dropped off her suitcases in Madrid with a friend. We saw a bullfight, which basically is a whole bunch of guys versus a bull trained to act a little aggressive but seems pretty under control. The bullfighters even have places to hide if the bull gets real mad. First, people actively try to make the bull mad, then people on armored horses stab it with spears, then guys run by and jam colorful fishhooks in its back then the Matador (literally, "killer") comes out. The Matador screwed up the first "killing blow" we saw about 12 times. We were confused at the whistles and noise of the furious crowd, subsequent bulls deaths revealed it should take only one or two stabs.

Then, uh, we took a 55 hour bus ride to Romania. It was cheap, we wanted to go to Eastern Europe... yeah. We're not really planners, you see. We braced ourselves for a two-day assault of awfulness... but it was pretty cool. I think it was a true "cultural experience," whatever that means.

In fact, here's a video. (Wow!)

Then we went to Transylvania, stayed with a Hungarian woman whose guest-house had no sort of sign at all (but was in our guidebook), did some hiking, hopped on a train to Budapest, which is where we are. Going to Slovakia and Austria in the next couple days, MAYBE. I think Jenn's chronicling more current events on the terminal beside me, so I'll let her fill you in on current events.