Prague or HI I'M BORING AND NOT EVEN SORRY

You know these long weekend city trips, when you visit a great new place, and see all the sights, and learn all about the history, and drink excessive amounts of fancy alcohol with people who have fantastic accents? Yeah, I think hell will freeze over before I'm caught doing that.

Two weeks ago, I read Candice is visiting Europe. And since she's one of my favorite travel bloggers ever, I sort of withdrew the remainder of my savings and hitchhiked to Prague. Hi, I'm crazy!
Unfortunately schedules only allowed for one night of dinner & drinks (shout out to all the awesome bloggers & youtubers I had the pleasure to meet!) but it was still totally worth it.
You want to know what I spent the rest of my time doing?
NOTHING. And it was amazing.

After 4 weeks of hardcore adventure crazy cool badass backpacking in Ghana and ALL THE STORIES TO TELL, I realized there was also a different way I like traveling. Slow. And really relaxed. Like, to the point where people will probably judge me for it. My typical day looked something like this:

* Wake up around 10:30 or whenever, because I didn't care.

* Eat breakfast.

* Wander into town. Randomly explore neighborhoods that look touristically relevant on the map. Marvel at architecure that is TOO PRETTY FOR MY HEAD TO BEAR.

* Have coffee and cake in a cafe. Regain motivation to walk around. Decide that Prague is way too romantic for single people.

* Go back to hostel around 4.

* Nap. Have roommates return and think I never left the hostel.

* Wander around more around 6. Consider feeling bad for sleeping so much and doing so little but decide against it.

* Make dinner. Read. Daydream about awesome stuff. Fall asleep and nightdream about crazy stuff.

Repeat.

This I did that were outside of this schedule:

* Contemporary art exhibition. It featured a video exhibition that had explicit scenes containing carrots and mousse au chocolat. I am fucking traumatized.

A much less shocking art installation at the Contemporary Art museum.

* Run. Because I'm now at this point where "Meh, I have to go run" has become "WTF there is no way I'm not running today." Really, really contemplate the point of anything ever when you drag yourself up and down those hills because holy crap, there's not a single flat surface in all of Prague.

* Go out on the last night. Meet the wonderful Rebecca from Singapore and be randomly hit on by a Northern Irish bodybuilder whose accent you can't even begin to understand. Go to a lounge with Rebecca where the bartender mixes you a signature cocktail of his own creation because you want a special Gin drink. Best cocktail I ever had. Buy wasabi chips and pear cider and have a room party with Rebecca. Go back to Berlin the next day.

Tadaaah! I found out a lot about what I like on this trip. It was fantastic. It was relaxing and inspiring and something I did JUST FOR MYSELF. <3 <3 <3
I didn't check out a single monument. I still have no idea about Czech history and I haven't done one activity that had to do with Franz Kafka. Instead, I enjoyed the atmosphere of narrow streets in the Old Town, danced through the rain on my first evening there, and let my soul unwind a little.
And you know what?

The Greatest Visa Adventure Ever Part III - Of cabs chasing time, tension on the last few meters, and the real beginning of our journey

Read Part 1 & Part 2

So with a mouthful of bananas (this will become one of the most draining issues of the trip, wait for it) we talk to Daniel - who has, luckily, found out some stuff.

"So I called them at 9, right, and this woman tells me Oh, we're open from 9, but we don't start working until 10! I'M NOT KIDDING! Anyway, so I called them at 10 too, and then it took them until 1 pm to find my godforsaken documents. But, on the up side, my passport and visa are in Berlin - we just need to find a way to get them to Amsterdam."
Sounds easy enogh.
"And they have to be here by tomorrow morning, otherwise my flight will be cancelled and I can't afford another one." Ookay. Tricky but doable.
"Also, the embassy closes in 45 minutes."

Now THERE WAS ADRENALINE IF I EVER EXPERIENCED ANY.

I hang up. Dial up my Dad. "Heyyyy Ivy! Good to hear from you! How is Afri---" - "Listen to me. I need my landline number from Berlin. Hurry." Because naturally, I didn't have my phone with me, or anybody's number except my home phone. I call my roommate.
"Heyyyy Ivy! Can you call me back in like 5 minutes?" - "NO. LISTEN. GET A CAB. GET IN RIGHT NOW. I WILL EXPLAIN ON THE WAY." Now, I publicly apologize to my wonderful roommate for putting her through this. "O-o-o-kay what should I do?"
I explain the situation to her. She later described the following, profoundly Ghanian scenario to me:

My roommate arrives at the embassy a good 25 minutes before official closing time. There is a waiting hall, and nobody around. A window appears to be the reception, but the shutters are already rolled down.
She waits for a while, until an employee emerges from a room, whom she approaches with her concern. He yells across the hall and walks away. Another man appears to whom she explains the situation. He, also, yells across the hall.
The shutters are set into motion. They reveal a bored, heavyset Ghanian lady who had been listening throughout the entire time. Without even asking for any information, or a fucking ID, or a signature anywhere, she hands over Daniel's passport to my roomie.

Ok. The hardest part of the mission is completed. Now we just have to get the passport to Amsterdam.
Roomie tries to send it via overnight express at the post office - but they don't offer such a thing for outside of Germany within such a short time. They eventually find a messenger service, who actually only even charges about 80 Euros. Daniel gets his hands on his passport about three hours before his flight.

Then, Accra Airport. Frank and I place bets on who will see Daniel first. I spot him. He's wearing a grey wollen sweater (Amsterdam was coooold) and has mighty dissheveled hair. We jump at him before he even exited the gate. "Wait, guys, wait! I'm not even allowed in yet." WHAT?!?!?!
...He couldn't remember our hotel's address, or reach us on the phone, so he left his passport with the immigration officer and was allowed to run to us quickly to ask. Talk about tension on the last few... centimeters! I fill in the address on his immigration form, and he runs back.

This time, he emerges for good. The journey can begin. We have dinner in the pitch black night on the beach of our lodge, we look up at the stars, and proclaim that it was all SO TOTALLY WORTH IT.


...Events two weeks from then would make us seriously contemplate this statement...

The Greatest Visa Adventure Ever Part II - Of blatant ripoffs, guards with guns, and a good dose of WTF do we do now?

After Frank and I had let it sink in that Daniel wouldn't be joining us just yet, we proceeded to the exit to get a cab that charged three times the local price. Win us. At least it smells like fire everywhere, and Dude, we really are in Africa.

The next morning, rather than sleep in and enjoy our first day, we rush to the airport to see if there was anything we could do to get our friend a visa. A huuuge guy stops us at the entrance, pretending to be security, asking for our passports. (God, as I'm writing this now, I get so infuriated at those people... fake, fake, just out to rip you off.) We explain the situation. And our big new friend has good news for us! His company sponsors people into the country, as visas on arrival are only given to business travelers. Sweet!, I think, still convinced that "bribing" here would cost me a mere 20 bucks. "But we charge." - "Oh, sure, sure!" - "It's 500$."

I literally take a step back. That fuckwad. "Sorry man, that's our budget for the entire stay." - "Then I can't help you. Leave now." vcbjkvbjksd. Frank's luggage hasn't made it to Accra yet, either. We make our way back to the Lodge to call Daniel. He's comparatively upbeat, given the circumstances, and will take a train to Den Haag the next day to see if the embassy there can do anything for him. We decide to do the same. Needless to say, they were already closed at that point.

Another day later. Another taxi driver rips us off as he takes us to the German embassy. It's refreshing to hear some German, as we are both still deep in culture shock, but the lady doesn't care much for our situation. "Go to Ghana Immigration down the street, they'll be able to do more for you."
We'd passed Ghana Immigration on the way. It was a dark somber building with armed guns all over the place. I'm not happy.

So we make our sweaty, sweaty way to the office, debating which method I was going to use. Our host recommended the "I'm a white woman! Do as I bid!", which at the time just sounded even more repelling than it does to you now. I decide on "But I'm so cute! Please help me!"
And as Frank and I discuss how far I should go to get a goddamn visa, the door opens and we see --- three women at the desk. I glance at Frank who shakes his head wildly. So I still try my cuteness trick.
It doesn't work.
"You have to find a Ghanian resident to sponsor him." Oh yeah, that's gonna be easy! "It will cost 150$." Of course it will. I try to call our taxi driver, who is the only person whose contact I have. Thought to have - the number was wrong. We try to reach Daniel to discuss further steps, and whether he has a spare 150$, as a guard approaches us and tells us we can't just sit around outside - and sends us off the premises.

I buy some fucking bananas.

How Daniel Was Refused Boarding or The Greatest Visa Adventure Ever: Part 1 - It's Going To Be Ok, Right?

After my mildly distressting experience in Istanbul, I wasn't necessarily on an exact "travel high" anymore. I was supposed to meet Frank at Istanbul airport and fly to Accra together, and Daniel would join us there. Well...

I'm at the gate, surrounded by only black men. No white travelers. No black women. Only black men. I wouldn't think much of it hadn't I had my Near Rape Experience the night before, but given the circumstances it was making me a little uncomfortable. Especially when Frank didn't show up.

Boarding begins. I know that he has a tight connection, so I try to keep my cool. Until everybody is in the plane except for me, and there's no sign of him. Fuuuu. I remember how people think I'm a fearless badass adventure boss while my thoughts are somersaulting around the lines of... "WHAT THE FUCK AM I EVEN DOING HERE?! WHO DO I THINK I AM?! WHO DO I NEED TO PROVE THIS TO??? AND BY THE WAY I'M SCARED OF FLYING AS OF LATELY!! AND I'LL ARRIVE IN FUCKING AFRICA AS THE ONLY FUCKING WHILE WOMAN AND I'LL PROBABLY DIE IN A FUCKING TRAFFIC ACCI---" - "Last call for passenger..." - Oh damn it. Am I boarding this airplane? I board this airplane.

I'm uuuncomfortable. The man next to me is scanning me from top to bottom, and I wish I hadn't run through the rain in white pants. I try not to lose hope when I see everybody sit down. "Excuse me, is it possible to check if my friend made it onto the flight?", I ask the attendant. "Yes, we start very soon, yes." I despair.

Then, suddenly - yes!!!! A sweaty, dark red Frank stumbles down the aisle. Now, I hadn't known the guy for more than 2 hours that moment, but I was never so fucking happy to see his face. But the first thing he says is --- "Have you heard about that thing with Daniel?" - "No. Nononononono!" I knew he'd be in Austria the day prior and was really scared to miss his flight. "His visa didn't arrive. He'll try getting on the plane but he wasn't sure they'd let him in." Oh. Whew. "Whatever dude, it's Africa. They won't be that strict. Pretty sure they're bribeable, too." I would say a lot of white things like that on the trip...
Frank explains how they only re-opened the gate and airplane doors after an old Ghanian man showed his fresh surgery scar and begged them to let him on the flight. We proceed to laugh about everything going so terribly wrong already, and seven hours and a nap later, we land.

The air is thick and the heat punches us straight in the face. We grin like idiots. "DUDE!!! WE'RE IN AFRICA!!!!" We high five. Yes, we were blatant tourists, and we didn't give a crap.
Immigration is a little more somber and organized than we expected, but we spot a sign that reads "Visa on arrival", which pretty much blows all our worries away. I dance and hop around because DUDE WE'RE IN AFRICA. Outside the gate, we wait for Daniel.

"KLM Flight from Amsterdam has landed." Weehoo! People start to emerge. We twist and turn our heads, placing bets on who would see him first. The crowd gets thinner. Our smiles slowly fade.
I head over to the information desk to ask if they could check the passenger list, as I was afraid he might not have gotten on the plane due to the visa thing. "Yes, what's his name?"
Minutes later "Passenger Daniel E. please come to the information desk." Welcome to Africa.

I walk up to the armed guard to ask if we could check the gate. "No." "Please?" "No." "Pleeeeeaaaaaseeeefug837t72f8" "Ok, one of you can go."
I walk through the visa offices, but they are empty. "He isn't here."

Franks phone finally starts working. 18 unanswered calls. We break a sweat, and call voice mail.
"Guys... I'm in Amsterdam. They won't let me board the plane. I have no idea what to do now."

A Sparkly Princess, A Black Joker, A Green Fairy And A Pink Cat. MOST EPIC BIRTHDAY OF ALL TIME.

THERE ARE NO WORDS. 

Except THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for all the birthday wishes, to Theresa and Sven, to Sarah, to my party guests, to everyone who made an effort to text or call in the age of Facebook, and to the entire fucking universe to bless me with something as beautiful as this.

I came home to walk into THIS setting. There is absolutely no doubt to the fact that I have the most wonderful roommates in the history of EVERYTHING.

That night, after having THREE DIFFERENT TYPES OF CAKE, we decided to give in to the sugar high and go sledding. Yes, in June, in Berlin, on Asphalt. What follows is the single grandest birthday video of all time. 

It was brilliant. My heart went all *melt melt melt* and then wooooosh right up to a cloud of glitter and awesomeness.

ETERNAL LOVE AND GRATITUDE AND MORE LOVE. Can't wait until my next birthday.

Get Your Tongue Off My Face, Please? - My Istanbul Near Rape Experience

On my way to Accra, I had a 20hr layover in Istanbul. And learned that I am too goddamn friendly.

by Felix Polesello - will be replaced with my own when I get the hard drive!

I was thrilled. I haven't been on the road in a year and a half, so arriving in Istanbul's vibrant quarter Sultanahmet at 7pm had me dancing on a cloud. I hadn't made any reservations, but I had scribbled a random hostel's address down. Two steps on my way, a young guy calls after me.
"Hey, are you Spanish?" Now, looking back, I wish I'd said something more like "I have red hair and super pale skin, obviously not, leave me alone." instead of "Nooo I'm German, where are you from?", probably in a high pitched voice, too.
Turns out, the young gentlemen is an Istanbul resident and just so happens to go in the same direction my hostel is supposedly located. Fast forward 25 minutes, he'd forced his phone number on me, invited me to go out, and repeatedly groped me all over. I pretend to have a boyfriend and whoops, he really needs to get home now. Phew - or so I thought. Because 10 steps later, the next guy offered his assistance. And then another one. I notice there are no other single females around. Whoops.

After being mislead again by guys who were all "going that direction", I was really ready for a shower and bed. I'm getting closer to the place, and don't dare ask anyone for help anymore. Unlike this middle aged dude who stopped me in front of the Blue Mosque. "Hey, do you know where the Blue Mosque is?" Again, I wish I hadn't been so friendly, let alone so open, because turns out the dude who can't see the city's capital monument when it's right before his eyes could lead me all the way to the tiny side alley the hostel was in - not without repeatedly asking me out, also giving me his number, and not even being shaken off by my claims of having my two brothers arrive in an hour. He accompanies me right to the doorstep.

Now here's my problem - I learned quickly how not to have them approach you in the first place. Don't make eye contact, ignore them. Done. Some are really persistent though, and then you can't even get rid of them with unfriendliness. Graaah!
I check in and rush out of the place because that dude thought we were meeting in an hour.

Then, awesomeness. Lights and little streets and EATING ALL THE THINGS. I have a Turkish coffee that makes me all giggedy, which is kind of worrying given my basal amount of giggediness already, and after finding out even Istanbul goes to sleep after midnight, I head back to the hostel.
There, the receptionist stops me. He needs to "check something in my passport." Yeah, right. Anyway, I hand it to him, and he strikes up a conversation. Young guy from Morocco, speaks fluent French (always a bonus) working for accommodation while on holidays from being the national soccer team's goal keeper. Hiiiiiii. Yes, I'll have a seat.
AND I WISH I HADN'T DONE THAT.

Anonymous, to be replaced with my own photo soon.

I solemnly promise that I didn't do anything to make him believe I had any sort of romantic or sexual interest in the guy. I was just talking about Istanbul and I was all long pants and no cleavage so goddamn it, I refuse to take any responsibility for what happened next.
"You are so beautiful." "Oh, thanks." "No, really... I really mean it..." "Ok, thank you." "Seriously... you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen..." "I GET IT"
And then something I was going to hear for the next 4 weeks. Except, this Moroccan dude, he really seemed to mean it.
"I love you!" - "...You don't even know me." - "But I do!" - "After 35 minutes, really?" - "You touched me inside my heart." Oh bugger off. Then he came closer. And tried tilting my head towards him.
"Hey... I'm not that kind of girl, ok?" - "I know, I know! But I love you! I really do! I want to spend the rest of my life with you! I've never felt this way before! I haven't kissed a girl in two years!"
And suddenly, his tongue was between my teeth and my upper lip, and I thought to myself "Well, I'll believe THAT!" as I tried to push him off. Up to here, it only felt like a little boy too much in love, so I didn't actually feel endangered - just mentionably disgusted, and royally violated. Turns out, GOALKEEPERS ARE KIND OF STRONG. He licks across my face.
And while I'm now really struggling to push him away, he touches my boob. Which apparently released a stream of adrenaline and gave me superpowers and I managed to push him away and slip out of the corner he'd backed me into. He follows me to the stairs. And wants a good night kiss. I refuse.
"You know we sleep in the same room, right?"
Oh jesus fuck no.

So I'm in the hostel bed, desperate, because there's no other place to go - I have no idea where the next free room is, wandering around at night doesn't seem like a good idea, and taking a cab to the airport - alone in the car with the driver, single white female, this time of night - doesn't make me feel comfortable. Also, the only other person there is a creepy Pakistani who seems to be very close friends to my Moroccan...
So I stuff my passport and my wallet into my bra, curse the country, and set my alarm to 7.30am. His shift ends at 8.00, and I have no idea what I'm gonna do, but at least I'll be awake? Disgusted and scared, I try to fall asleep. I fail. I also get up to pee 4 times because I'm so nervous.

Morning comes around. My alarm rings, but I'm already awake. I wait. The door opens. He stands in front of my bunk, watching me 'sleep.' I try not to move. Then, THANK YOU COSMIC POWERS, he grabs his towel and soap and leave the room.
I wait for 3 minutes to ensure he doesn't come back, then grab my backpack, storm downstairs, slam the keys on the counter, and bail.

I still feel gross just thinking about that. I find myself stressing how strongly I feel about violations like these towards women, but I think it's just a common reaction. It makes me feel vulnerable and angry, and I do catch myself debating to slap on a more grumpy facade, just so I don't get into these situations again. When I tell the story, I make it sound funny, in reality I was just shocked.

Needless to say I encountered more "friendly approaches", more unwelcome hands, lips on my cheek, vows of love until I finally left for Accra. On my stopover on the way home, I didn't step out of the airport.

Back from Ghana! A Preview on What's To Come

Hiiiiiiiii!!! I'm back! And I have PICTURES and VIDEOS and STORIES and MORE PICTURES.

Oh dude. If I had to sum up the trip in one word, it would be... exhausting. Also, Ghana's night sky is hella underrated, because it sparkles like nothing I've ever seen sparkle before. Here's all the things you will be hearing about in the following weeks:

* Why not to go to Istanbul as a single woman, and if you do anyways, what you need to do so you end up with your belongings strapped to your body wide awake in a hostel convinced you're about to get raped. I'm too friendly.

* How after two hours of waiting at the airport, we found out Daniel was denied boarding - and what we had to do to try get him there

* The story behind stranding in Kumasi broke and feeling the need to call my military contact

* Why I got sick of the words "I love you", and my marriage proposals from a prince and a bishop

* T.I.A. - You know you're in Ghana when...

* On finding out how white I really am, the pinnacle of insecurity, people's amazing bullshit tolerance and all the things I learned about myself on the journey

* Pictures on top of pictures next to travel videos and documentaries about all kinds of awesome stuff. Like voodoo.

Are you excited? I'M EXCITED.