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Lost in Translation


Back when I was doing a German teacher training program in college, I managed to convince a teacher to let my class go to Düsseldorf "to practice our German with native speakers". In reality, I just wanted to see a city I'd heard a lot about. Sadly, college canceled the trip less than a week before we'd leave. I was furious. My classmates and I had made an entire program, which included a visit to the Kiefernstraße. This street in a residential area of Düsseldorf is said to be home to the longest graffiti wall in the world. Street art was calling my name, and I couldn't answer. Saying I was furious about the whole thing became an understatement.


Exactly a year later, in the Spring of 2018, I was able to buy cheap train tickets to Düsseldorf. I spent my birthday there, exploring the historical city center, climbing the Rheinturm, doing what tourists do. The next day, my boyfriend and I went out to do what I'd actually come to Düsseldorf for: we visited the Kiefernstraße.

After a day in the city center, walking to the Kiefernstraße was like a breath of fresh air. It took us about 20 minutes to walk from the train station to the street full of street art, with Google Maps leading the way. It was July 18th, a sunny day in the middle of 2018's everlasting heatwave, but still the walk was pleasant. As I spotted the first pieces of street art from afar, I felt that familiar rush that comes with entering the domain of this creative subculture. We approached from the Fichtestraße, a regular street that in no way prepared us for what was to come. We turned the corner and suddenly found ourselves in the most colorful street I'd seen in ages. It was awesome.


The street was still mostly quiet and almost deserted early that morning, but the sunlight on the brightly colored walls made the Kiefernstraße feel so alive. I couldn't decide where to look first. There was so much to see, so much art to capture on camera. These houses were telling me a story with their art, but not just about the art itself. Back in the 80s, the apartments of the Kiefernstraße were mostly vacant, even though affordable housing in Düsseldorf was hard to come by. As a result, squatters moved in. They started painting the houses, giving the Kiefernstraße its alternative reputation. Some of the original group of squatters still live in the apartments with uneven numbers.


A part of the street's history that its art doesn't show is a lot darker: it was linked to the terrorist group called Red Army Fraction. The 80s were an interesting time for the Kiefernstraße, as a member of the RAF was arrested along with two residents of the street. Police raids followed and the Kiefernstraße suddenly became the center of terrorism in West Germany.
These days the street is just part of a nice residential area, albeit a very alternative one. I felt right at home. The street is about 400 meters long and there's something new to discover on every single one of these meters. Among my favorite murals were a Buddha and a Chinese dragon, but there's also a gigantic crossword, a saloon and an ocean to spot. Even Jesus with a little lamb can be found in the alternative universe of the Kiefernstraße.


Although it was still early when we wandered the street, we weren't the only ones with cameras there. I got to practice my German, as the Kiefernstraße is one of those places where everyone with a camera is some kind of internet-dweller who's up for a chat. I even got to pose with a bag in front of Jesus for the owner of a small business. In those moments on the Kiefernstraße, I felt at peace with myself and the world. More than that: I was happy. The sun was shining, the art was beautiful, what more could I wish for?


Around noon, my boyfriend and I left the Kiefernstraße behind. We still had to walk back to the train station and catch the train back home, so spending the entire day there wasn't an option. My thoughts stayed on the street though: for the longest time I could only think of art. Düsseldorf hadn't been all that nice to me on my birthday, but the Kiefernstraße made up for that. If you ever find yourself doubting what you're doing in this German city, go search for its street art. The Kiefernstraße will make you feel at home right away.

x Envy
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No Fellow Ramblers

Back in June, I was extremely excited to visit Jordan. It was the first Islamic country I ever visited. which made the whole thing extra special to me. Reading about Islam and talking about the religion with Kanra from The Lunar Descent is interesting, but experiencing it first-hand was something I'd been looking forward to for a long time. On top of that, Jordan has amazing Roman roots, some pretty cool street art, Wadi Rum and of course, Petra. Follow me on my trip through this Middle Eastern kingdom in this post with my random thoughts about the country!

I already like the Jordanian tour guide better than the one in Israel, though this bus smells a lot weirder than the Israeli bus,

Yay, I finally get to visit a mosque!


I have to be honest here. I understand I have to cover my hair and limbs, but this dress-like thingy makes me feel like a penguin.

Putting a hijab on without a mirror is hard!

This mosque is beautiful. And the carpet is so soft!

Of course I manage to step into a puddle with my clean socks...

Amman has some huge flags. Like, gigantic.


I'm in love with the Roman citadel. My Latin teacher would be so proud if he could see me here now.

I wonder if Jesus has been on this hill though. "Ey, Douwe, d'you think Jesus visited this place?"

Whoa, the street art here is so cool. I should start working on my own designs again when I get home.


Why is everyone in this group walking so slowly? I want to get out of this souq asap, please.

Madaba looks like there's nothing to do. The place where tourists stay just because it's cheaper than Amman.

There's a western supermarket only 20 minutes away! Can't wait to see price tags and not get ripped off.

Why are all these people staring at me? It's nice that they yell "Welcome to Jordan" instead of obscenities, but it makes me uncomfortable nonetheless.

This supermarket trip was a mistake... I've never been this happy to go back to my hotel.

A mountain where Moses was, not Jesus! It does have a very different vibe indeed.


Is that Japanese guy really telling us about his daughter's diarrhea? Poor girl...

I can see why they call this place the Grand Canyon of Jordan.

I know the King's Highway is supposed to be amazing and all, but if I don't close my eyes now I'll be sick all over this already smelly bus.

I'm gonna be sick, I'm gonna be so sick...

My carsickness made me miss out on an army party with camels and flags...

I hope I won't throw up in front of Petra's Treasury tonight.

There are dogs fighting in front of the entrance to Petra Archeological Park and I don't like it one bit.

This is awesome. The way is lit by candles, stars up above... This is beautiful.

No point in taking pictures in this darkness, sadly.

I wonder how long this walk is going to last. I would be a great route for a race though.

Oh my god! The Treasury!


Oh shit, one of the lanterns is on fire. Please don't spread, please don't spread, please don't spread.

Petra by night is magical. I can't wait to see it by day.

Petra is so much bigger than I thought! So much to see, so much to explore!

I wish my dad was here with me. He would have loved this. I miss him...

The Monastery is amazing. It's all amazing. I'm so lucky to be here.


I really want to go to the viewpoint and I think we got a good price for the guide, but this part of the park is prohibited... Why are we doing this?

I'm gonna die. We're all gonna die.

Thank god. I'm alive. I guess. But this view is definitely worth it!


I wish I could stay here longer. A day, maybe two...

I can't wait to spend a night at a desert camp in Wadi Rum, camping underneath the stars!

This... is not what I expected. The music's too loud, there's too much light to see the stars... I want to go home.

At least the desert is quiet and beautiful by day, though the plastic pollution near the camp is horrible.

That's the arch from all the travel brochures! I have to climb it. I HAVE TO.


Did we really have to return to Madaba?

Why is there a toilet bowl in this open basement?

The Roman city of Jerash is beautiful and all... but nothing can beat Petra. I guess it's time to go home.

And so, the day after I visited Jerash, I returned home. My time in Jordan was one of big highs and few but painful lows. It was a whole new experience, one I wouldn't have wanted to miss. Jordan is still relatively unknown as a destination and the locals would love it if more tourists came to visit their country. They are are welcoming and friendly (except in some parts of Madaba) and their country has more to offer than you'd think. Take it from me: Jordan is the place to go to if you want to safely experience the Middle East!

x Envy
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No Fellow Ramblers

The past few weekends saw me staring at the blank pages of my blogging notebook. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't fill them with words about street art, comic books or upcoming trips abroad. I realized there was only one thing I wanted to write about: my experiences at university. I've hesitated multiple times, put my pen down countless times, told myself it's not interesting for the audience every single day. But hey, my blog, my rules. We're gonna talk about that student life of mine.

As you might know, I started studying English Language and Culture at Utrecht University after an involunaty gap year. I spent most of my time in the first few weeks worrying if I'd be smart enough to pass my classes, if I wasn't too lazy. Now, after the first out of four blocks is disappearing in the rearview mirror rapidly, I can confidently say that I am capable of dealing with whatever information university throws at me.

I took three classes this first block: literature, linguistics and German. I passed all three with flying colors. Linguistics is a bit of a touchy subject for me though, because my teacher accused me of plagiarism. He also said I have an obvious Dutch accent (apparently those Americans in Jordan didn't think I was American, they were just dumb?), but I've already upgraded my accent to "passable" without changing a single thing about my pronunciation. Apart from that, I've been told my way of speaking is unnatural and unpleasant for my audience. Thanks mate.

Despite my "problems" with linguistics, I'm not extremely worried about academics anymore. I'm currently in the fourth week of block 2, in which I'm taking three classes again. So far, everything is going fine. It's quite different from block 1: I'm now wisdom toothless and actually know my way around Utrecht. Every Friday I rent a bike to race through the city center on my way to class. I'm enjoying every day in university, though I'm aware of the challenges ahead. I've been playing with the idea of doing a double bachelor (English/German), but I'm not entirely sure about that. My tutor says it's impressive that I'm already thinking about doing the double and taking extra classes; she has no idea I've studied German for three years, so getting that double bachelor wouldn't be very difficult for me.

The biggest challenge I'll face in the near-distant future is boredom. Even though I'm already taking an extra class, I'm bored out of my mind. Sometimes I think I could have done this entire course in half of the time if I'd been allowed to work at my own pace. Since I'm stuck at this snail's pace, I'm looking for other things to do. One of them is blogging. I haven't paid as much attention to this place in 2018 as I would have wanted, but that actually gave me time to think about what I really want. I've come to the conclusion that I'm not above rambly posts like this one, or pictures that aren't perfect. Over the past couple of years, blogging has gone from a hobby to a desirable career for many people. I'll be the first to admit that I'd like to make money doing what I love, but if that means I can't ramble anymore, I'm out. University has given me the chance to spend more time doing things I like and I don't want to start hating the things I like because I turned them into a competition.

Anyway, I have a bunch of sonnets to read. I don't know about you, but for me it was quite refreshing to write a life update the way every blogger ran their online space back in 2013. I might make this a thing. Or, you know, disappear again for a month or so, because that's what I've been doing all year. That's a joke. I'm actually working on a lot of writing projects at the moment. My Instagram feed is coming along nicely as well. So watch this space. There's some interesting stuff up ahead.
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4 Fellow Ramblers

I consider myself lucky enough to have learned Latin in high school. I know that most who give the language a try find it a pain in the butt, but I always found it a walk in the park. At some point I joked I must have Roman blood in my veins, because I was so quick to translate anything.
Although my Latin classes are now far behind me, I still love anything Roman. You can imagine how happy I was in Israel when I saw Roman ruin after Roman ruin. I noticed I still knew 90% of the historical facts I'd once learned, but as I crossed the border into Jordan, I  found a major gap in my knowledge: the Romans had been all over this country too and I didn't, couldn't, wouldn't believe it until I saw it with my own eyes. Then, when I did, it was like Christmas had come early.


My Roman adventures started in Jordan's capital Amman, which was known as Philadelphia in Roman times. On a hill in the middle of the sprawling city that is home to millions today, you can find the Citadel. I've got to be honest and say that there is not a whole lot left of the Roman ruins, but the tall columns of the Temple of Hercules are iconic for Amman. Spread out over the top of the hill are other ruins from the city's Persian, Byzantine and Umayyad period, as well as bits and pieces of statues. I was constantly walking away from my tour group to check out a new piece of history. I ended up almost losing the group entirely, as they marched on diligently while I was busy taking pictures of everything and anything on the top of the hill as well as the view. The view of the city is something you don't want to miss. There's street art to be spotted, and a gorgeous theatre from the Roman days right in the middle of all the modern buildings.


Although Amman's Roman roots are a great place to start, Jerash is where the magic happens. I visited the city on my last day in Jordan, after spending time in Petra and Wadi Rum, so I was quite exhausted by the time I walked through the ancient gate. The atmosphere made me forget my exhaustion right away though. I felt like I was in high school again. Back in 2013, I visited Pompeii with my Latin class, but visiting Jerash was even better (probably because it doesn't have a history of a ton of people dying thanks to an exploding volcano).


Pompeii had the 'advantage' of getting buried underneath a big layer of ash and other debris that kept it well-preserved. That was not the case with Jerash. In fact, a lot of it was destroyed by an earthquake in the 8th century. Later on some of the buildings played a role in the crusades and then the place fades out of history to be discovered by some German guy in the 19th century. It was mostly intact then, which it still is to this day. Sure, some buildings have caved in, but its mostly the roofs of places that are gone. The gates are still as beautiful as ever, the theatres are still there, the temples look amazing and the colonnaded street is the most impressive piece of Roman architecture I've seen in ages, for the simple fact that these relatively fragile columns are still standing upright after 2000 years.


I walked through Jerash with my tour guide and the group I'd been traveling with for the past 11 days. I wasn't paying attention to what our tour guide was telling though. I needed half of my brain to focus on the huge cobblestones that made up the pavement, so I wouldn't break my ankles on them. The other half of my brain was busy daydreaming about Roman legions, gladiators and gods. I felt like I wasn't living in my own century anymore. It was almost like I could hear Latin whispers, like I could see people in long tunics and stolas scurry past me in the corner of my eyes. I felt right at home in Jerash. 


If I hadn't been completely drained, I could have spent days exploring all the Roman temples and buildings. Sadly my legs felt like they couldn't carry my weight much longer when the tour guide said we could walk around on our own for a while. I stayed at one of the theatres, where the ancient stage was now used for some event celebrating the Jordanian royal family. For some reason, there was also a Jordanian man playing the bagpipe. He was playing it badly, but enthusiastically, and I couldn't help but smile. After my visit to Petra, it was difficult to impress me, but I loved Jerash. In an ideal scenario, I would have visited this place before moving on to Petra, which is hard to top. But as I'd booked an organized trip through Israel and Jordan, that decision was out of my hands. Still, Jerash was a perfect place to end my adventures in the Middle East. It was calm, quiet and impressive. My inner Latin student hadn't been this happy in years and as I left the gates of Jerash behind, I felt like I'd found a long-lost piece of myself back.

x Envy
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4 Fellow Ramblers

On a warm night in June, I was on a bus that would bring me to Wadi Rum, Jordan. I was excited to see this famous desert. In my mind, I already saw myself roasting marshmallows over a campfire, talking with others from my tour group till midnight. It would be the perfect end to a perfect day, which I'd spent exploring Petra and climbing to an illegal viewpoint. I couldn't wait to sit back and relax under an endless starry night sky.

When we arrived at our camp in Wadi Rum, I immediately knew that this was not going to be anything like the campgrounds I stayed at in the Australian Outback. Even though our travel brochure said we'd be staying in tents, we were housed in concrete housing blocks. Every apartment had a big bed and a bathroom. Nothing wrong with that, but when you're looking forward to camping underneath the stars, you don't want to spend the night in something that resembles a house this much. The adrenaline rush from climbing to Petra's illegal viewpoint disappeared the second I entered my room. I threw my luggage on one of the beds, threw myself on the other. I couldn't help but wonder what my time in Wadi Rum would look like after this disappointing start.


By the time I left my room again for dinner at the central pavilion, it was dark outside. Dark, but still there was no star to be seen. For some reason, the camp owners had put colored spotlights everywhere. Bright beams shot up at the sky. Light pollution made it impossible to see a single star, let alone the entire Milky Way. I sighed as I trudged through the sand. Loud music was playing at the pavilion and we'd barely finished dinner when a few Jordanian men invited everyone to come and dance. I felt like I was forced to enjoy an animation team's efforts as if I was on an all-inclusive holiday in Turkey. It was uncomfortable. All I wanted was to go to some quiet place and enjoy the desert's beauty. Instead, I was stuck in this overly commercialized camp. My friends in the group decided to leave the camp behind in search for stars, but I didn't go. There were dance parties all over the desert, as well as stray dogs. I like neither. I went to my room, wanting to be alone, but the thumping bass of the loud music that was played at the pavilion made it impossible for me to enjoy some quiet alone time. What was I doing here? I asked myself. How did I end up at this party camp? This was not what I wanted...

I cried that night, alone in my room. It was the only time I cried on that trip through Israel and Jordan and it didn't last very long, but it did make me realize this aspect of Wadi Rum really wasn't for me. I sat on the porch of my concrete box for a while after I'd stopped crying. Other members of our group came up to me to talk. Apparently I wasn't the only one who wasn't a fan of this 'camping trip in the desert'. I could only hope things would get better the next day, with a jeep safari planned, 

A good night's rest hadn't affected my opinion on Wadi Rum much. I spent as much time alone as possible before our jeep safari started. When it was time to leave, I climbed into the back of one of the jeeps, which turned out to be the slowest jeep I'd ever seen. We were the very last to arrive anywhere and I quickly got annoyed with our lack of speed and especially how close we were staying to civilization. The desert itself wasn't very impressive. I was told it once served as the set for Star Wars scenes, but these days it's more fit for a postapocalyptic or dystopian franchise due to the heavy plastic pollution. The highlight of this jeep safari was driving down a single sand dune. All of it was anticlimactic.


The turning point came when our group was split into two. Half went back to the camp, the other half had paid for an extended jeep safari. I was one of those who'd paid extra and that save my entire Wadi Rum experience.
I continued the safari in a faster car with a driver who understood our need for some action. He'd fall behind on the other jeeps, then slow down until my friend gave him what we called the 'speed sign'. The driver would floor it, race through the desert while I stood upright in the back of his jeep, basically tormenting the gods. The wind would tug at my hair and I'd scream for joy every time the driver swerved or flew over a minor bump in the road.

It wasn't just the increased speed that made me enjoy Wadi Rum more though. The extended safari led us further and further away from civilization. Now we got to see the desert's actual beauty, without tons of litter on the ground. We went to places that were indeed otherworldly as some places in the Star Wars franchise. I loved it there and wished I could have seen this part of the region sooner. 
Eventually the jeeps stopped near an arch. I was baffled. This wasn't just any arch, but the one you see in every single travel brochure for Jordan. I was over the moon that I actually got to see it in real life. And it got even better: I was allowed to climb it. After my little adventure in Petra, this was a piece of cake. Sitting on that arch, looking out over the desert, I felt truly blessed for getting the chance to be there.


The trip ended after a visit to another arch (which I also climbed, of course) and a visit to an ancient water well. I noticed that I didn't mind the disappointment that the previous night had been anymore, now that I'd gotten to see the desert the way I wanted to see it. We took a different route back to the camp and saw gorgeous rock formations along the way. We gave the driver the speed sign multiple times, each time enjoying it more and more. In the end, I accepted Wadi Rum for what it was: a polluted desert with too many parties to my taste. But Wadi Rum is also what you make of it: it's about climbing arches, exploring an alien world by jeep. A change in accommodation would have solved most of my issues, I now know. So no, my visit to Wadi Rum wasn't a waste of time. It was a lesson learned.

x Envy
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3 Fellow Ramblers

"You want to see the viewpoint?" My friends and I had barely made it out of the Siq, the gorge that leads to Petra's famous Treasury in Jordan, when the first Bedouin approached us to offer his services as a tour guide. "You want to go to the viewpoint?" The man pointed to the left, where we could clearly see steps leading up to the edge of the gorge.
"Do we really need a guide to get up those steps?" We discussed among ourselves in Dutch. "Isn't the viewpoint supposed to be easily accessible to tourists with a map?" We didn't understand the need for a guide to get to the viewpoint at all. Besides, we wanted to get to Ad Deir, the Monastery, as soon as possible. So we politely declined and started our hike to another famous Nabatean ruin.

A few hours later, after visits to all the main ruins, we still couldn't quite get the idea of hiring a guide to take us to the viewpoint out of our heads. We decided to do it - if the price was right.
Back at the Treasury, the three of us waited for one of the Bedouin to approach us again. The first to do so was a young guy, who can't have been much older than 16. He started at 20 dinars for the three of us. Way too much for a simple walk up some steps. After a few minutes of negotiating, we were stuck. We offered 15 dinars.
"Sixteen. I take you for sixteen."
We all looked at each other, about to walk away. "No," one of my friends said.
"No," I repeated.
"No," my other friend completed the set.
The guy sighed and gave in. "Okay. Fifteen. Come."
Happy with our deal, we followed him to the far left of the gorge in which the Treasury is located. I was still doubting if we weren't getting scammed though. Then I noticed a sign, which we completely ignored: "Exceeding this point is forbidden". What had we gotten ourselves into?


As we reached the end of the gorge, we noticed that the staircase we'd noticed was incomplete. It started a meter or so above our heads, which led us to wonder how we were supposed to get up there. The answer: we weren't. The guy showed us a rocky slope.
"Up here?" we asked, our voices full of disbelief.
"Yes. Up here. I help you."
"How am I ever going to get up there..." I whispered to myself. It seemed impossible, at least to me, but our guide had already started climbing and looked at us expectantly. So we followed him, careful not to smash our cameras to smithereens against the rocks, careful not to drop our water bottles. When our guide saw us struggling, he took our water bottles and carried them for us. He jumped from rock to rock, ledge to ledge, without a care in the world. Following was no easy feat, but he showed us where to position our hands and feet and pulled us up when we were about to fall right back down. We tried to work together as a team; there was no other way to make this trip to the viewpoint work. And just as I thought I'd gotten used to climbing up the sides of the gorge, I looked around and realized just how close I was to an untimely death.


A small ravine had opened up to the left of me. When I turned around, I got dizzy. We were high up already, to the point where one wrong step could mean the end of everything. My friends had come to the same realization. Every step, every move, every breath was filled with fear for our lives. Turning back wasn't an option though: that was at least as risky as continuing the climb.
"At least we'll get our money's worth," we kept saying. "If all three of us survive this, of course..."
I became hyper-aware of all the places where I could slip and fall. If that'd happen I'd break a few bones at the very best. That thought made me tense, which actually made it more difficult for me to focus on the climb. Fear was taking over. I had no idea how long I still had to go, if I'd be able to do. In my mind, I started apologizing to my parents for being so reckless. That's when I scraped my knee as I slid down a rock. My foot had slipped, resulting in my knee meeting the rough surface of the ledge I was trying to climb. The incident had no major consequences, except for my knee hurting like hell. There was no blood to be seen, but the pain grounded me in that moment and allowed me to focus again. Mentally, the climb became easier. Physically, it was still as hard as ever.

It seemed like we'd been climbing for ages, basically living in fear, when the terrain flattened out. Admittedly, there was still a ledge and a deadly drop right next to our path, but that didn't seem so scary anymore now that I could walk instead of climb like a discount Spider-Man. All of a sudden, we spotted a little hut, a stick with the Jordanian flag next to it: the viewpoint.
That was the moment when we realized we'd climbed to an unofficial and illegal viewpoint. Not that we cared then. We were just happy we'd survived the climb, happy to experience something both so scary and unique.


We were greeted by another Bedouin, who sold us some incredibly sweet tea. I was enjoying my adrenaline rush - until we were invited to sit on the edge of the gorge and let our feet dangle into the scary nothingness below. Now I loved the view, so I did get close to the edge... on all fours. Vertigo petrified me. Eventually I scooted towards the edge on my butt. I'd love to say I enjoyed the experience, but in reality I was leaning back as far as I possible, so I couldn't slip and slide down to my death. I can laugh about it now, and I'll never regret this dangerous adventure, but in that moment I was still afraid I was going to die.


After the initial adrenaline rush was over and all the tea was gone, we realized we now somehow had to get down to Al Khazneh again. Just like on our way up, our guide ran and jumped ahead while I was almost shitting myself. We took a slightly different route this time. Not that this made the descent any less scary: now, we had to cross a ravine on a bridge that was no more than a few planks. First our guide crossed without blinking an eye. Then my friends went after him. I was left on the other side and again, vertigo got the better of me.
"I can't do this!" I yelled.
"Come on, just run!" came the answer from the other side.
I took a deep breath and looked at the planks. What if I'd lose my balance? I did the only thing I could do to prevent myself from getting permanently stuck right then and there: I ran.
I sprinted towards the edge, planted one foot firmly in the middle of the makeshift bridge, half-jumped and landed on the other side. I felt like I'd literally ran away from my fear. I'd found my footing in the gorge and started jumping and running down the steep path now. Our guide looked at me in surprise, then concluded: "You are a sportswoman."
"Yeah." I beamed with pride. I felt so in control, so in my element. I still knew that what I was doing was reckless, but now I had faith in myself. I could do this. And so I ran, skipped, jumped, walked and slid my way down to the start of the prohibited path.


Before I knew it, all of us where standing in front of the Treasury again. I felt euphoric. Adrenaline was running through my veins agains and I couldn't contain my excitement. Okay, we had gone up a path where tourists weren't allowed to go and okay, we'd all thought we were going to die. But let's be honest, life would be awfully dull if we always played by the rules. Sometimes you need to take a risk. Walking Petra's prohibited path was one of those risks. I will never forget the fear for my life, the breathtaking view and the euphoria that followed it all.

x Envy
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"It sure is beautiful though."
"It sure is."
My friends and I were staring at the Monastery, one of the lesser-known Nabatean ruins in Petra. At that moment, we already knew our visit to the rose-red city would be the highlight of our visit to Jordan. We were also already getting ready to leave the Monastery behind though, as we had to be back at the bus at 4pm and still had an entire ancient city to explore. We quickly drank our water and started down the path of 1000 steps again. By then, only two others from the group we were traveling with had made it to Ad Deir. The thought of all those other people never seeing the Monastery made me sad. Sad and determined not to let a single second of my time in Petra go to waste.

We arrived back at the start of the climb to Ad Deir just in time for lunch - a necessary evil. Even though I was starving, I didn't enjoy the buffet much and was glad to hit the road again. The sun was now in such a position that we could take awesome pictures of the Treasury. The place was lively now, but also full of wonder. One picture wasn't enough. Two pictures weren't enough. Al Khazneh hypnotized me and I had to take picture upon picture upon picture. When I was finally happy with my shots, I put my camera down and sighed: "It sure is beautiful though."
"It sure is," my friends replied.


We continued admiring Nabatean architecture all over the valley. I was burning to a crisp, but found serious sunburn a worthy price to pay for all the adventures and beautiful sites Petra had to offer. My friends and I were like kids in a candy store.
"Look at that!"
"D'you think we could get up there?"
"We still have time to visit the Royal Tombs."
"This place is unbelievable."
"It sure is beautiful though."
"It sure is."

Time was on our side that day. We had hiked all the way to the Monastery, risked our lives for the perfect picture of the Treasury (but that's a story for another day) and still found time to walk up and down the Colonnaded Street. We paused at the Theatre, the Great Temple and Qasr al Bint. Our last stop of the day was at one of the Royal Tombs. Since my friends and I had chosen to go to the Monastery first, we'd missed out on a guided tour of this place. Missing out on it entirely was not an option though. As with our hike, we picked the wrong path at first, but eventually found ourselves inside the tombs. It was a bit on the dark side, but still light enough to see the many colors of the rock inside of which we were standing. The walls were yellow and red, the ceiling blue, white veins snaked through all colors.
"It sure is beautiful though, isn't it?"
"It sure is."


We didn't have much time left after our visit to the Royal Tombs, so we decided to head back to the Treasury and make the most of our last few minutes in the city. I bought some souvenirs and we had ice cream to make our perfect day even better. We hung around for as long as possible before we entered the Siq again with heavy hearts. I would have loved to spend another day in Petra. Even though it seemed like we'd seen everything there was to see, the little tourist map in my pocket revealed many more trails to hike. I wanted to do all of them, but had to rush back to the bus already.
We didn't hurry through the Siq when we noticed we were running a little late though. We'd had to wait for other people in the past 8 days for far dumber reasons than being enchanted by beautiful surroundings. So we walked, walked, took pictures and enjoyed every moment. Petra deserved is, because it sure is beautiful.

By the time we left the Siq, my legs were shaking with exhaustion. A handy phone app told us we'd walked over 20 kilometers that day. I couldn't walk faster than my half-crippled grandma anymore, and I wasn't the only one who was struggling at this point. Since we were already late now anyway, we took a bathroom break before going back to the bus. As we'd expected all day, we were the last to arrive there, all of 12 minutes late. The rest of the group wasn't very happy with us, but I couldn't care less. I sat down contently, still daydreaming about Petra. My friends and I looked at each other the way only people who've seen something special together can.
"Petra sure was beautiful though."
"It sure was."

x Envy
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I loved movies when I was a kid. Don't get me wrong, I still love movies, but back then movies were my life. I used to watch The Lion King and Lilo & Stitch on a daily basis. Sometimes my dad would leaf through the TV guide and mark movies I'd like. That's how I ended up watching Spirited Away at 8 years old. I had no idea what the story was about. I just liked that it wasn't in English or Dutch, so I insisted on watching the whole thing. 2 hours and 15 minutes later, which felt like 5 hours, I stumbled out of our living room, traumatized and scarred for life.

It took me a couple of years to learn about Studio Ghibli and Spirited Away's worldwide popularity - and that the movie wasn't really meant for 8-year-olds. The damage was already done though. I always had the plan to watch the movie again, but just thinking about it made me highly uncomfortable. I'm talking about the sweaty armpits and extreme jumpiness kind of uncomfortable. Even a gif could turn my stomach into a big ball of nerves - which is unfortunate, because a gif of No Face at a ridiculously large buffet is very popular among bloggers on Twitter.
I knew I needed to face this fear at some point, but I avoided it as long as possible. I probably would've put it off forever if my boyfriend hadn't had the DVD, still in plastic. When he said he hadn't watched it, I said something which still surprises me: "Let's watch it right now."


Even before we hit 'play', I regretted my decision. I didn't remember the main character Chihiro's name, but I did recall that her parents turned into pigs because they ate food in some mysterious place after taking a wrong turn. As a child, this seemed like something that could very well happen to my parents too. Silly as it may sound, that fear was still with me when I rewatched the opening scenes. While my boyfriend laughed and the dated and clumsy CGI, I became tense and quite paranoid. This fear had nothing to do with finding something a little unsettling, it was fear in its most primal form. It was fighting my fight-or-flight instinct with all my power. I kept reminding myself that the plot wasn't scary at all. In fact, I even remembered the end of the movie. Still I was feeling very uncomfortable as I watched Chihiro enter the spirit world. The dark shadow figures moving about in food stalls made me want to scream. Then the pig scene came and I wanted to scream even louder. And then, suddenly, the panic and fear were gone. Because honestly, Spirited Away isn't scary. It's weirdly interesting.

After Chihiro's parents turn into pigs, she finds her way to a bathhouse for spirits. A boy named Haku smuggles her inside, where humans aren't allowed to come. Chihiro manages to get a job in the bathhouse, bathing spirits. Yubaba, the owner of the bathhouse, takes power over the girl by taking her name away. After this, she goes by Sen, and I lost all track of the main storyline. There are spirits jumping into the frame from all sides, there's an enormous baby that turns into a hamster and an evil twin who turns out not to be evil and the good twin was actually evil? Do you understand my confusion?


If we strip all the confusing elements away, we're looking at the story of a little girl who's fighting for her and her parents' freedom so they can go home. It's the most basic explanation I have to offer and it doesn't really do the movie justice. I think that the core of the story is what kept my fear going for so long. Like I said before, I was convinced this could happen to me too. Getting stuck in a bathhouse and having to save my parent's was too much for me. Strangely, that seems to be the only thing that really scared me about Spirited Away. Watching it now, I couldn't be bothered by the plot at all.

To be honest, I don't think the plot is the movie's strongest point. No Face seems to have little to do with Chihiro's mission. Neither does the stink spirit who's Sen's first customer. Watching Spirited Away feels like watching a TV series that has a little adventure for each episode and in the end the main issue gets resolved without any clear progress being shown in the middle of the season. So no, I don't think the plot makes the movie as great as many say it is. Something that made the movie extra terrifying to eight year old me does: the art and character design. Those pigs, I'm telling you, look pretty damn realistic. The spirits are based on Japanese yokai, the reason why a lot of them reference things my western brain doesn't understand. All the spirits are some kind of easter egg, which I don't understand, but I like them anyway for how realistic and mysterious they look. The classic Ghibli style works so well with these creatures. I could gush about this style for ages and I love to draw some yokai from the movie every now and then myself.


By the time the movie came to an end way sooner than I expected, I was surprised to find myself relaxed and happy. I knew I'd never become a Spirited Away fangirl though, because of the messy plot and the many references I didn't get. I like my plots to be clear, even when they're a chronological mess. There just has to be a clear goal and a path that leads to it. Spirited Away kind of shits on that concept, but it does other things really well. There are tons of easter eggs for people familiar with Japanese culture. I also absolutely loved reading up on all the theories and symbolism in the movie. I appreciate the character design more than ever. So despite my childhood trauma, I'm glad I've seen Spirited Away at two such different points in my life. It didn't just make my second time watching way more interesting, it also made me notice and appreciate the little details and subtleties I couldn't process at eight years old. Maybe I should watch the movie again in another 13 years for a proper review. For now I'm more than happy to end this mess of a blog post by saying that I've fallen in love with the Ghibli art style. Spirited Away inspired me to step outside of my comfort zone in both my art and my writing. I truly hope you enjoy my efforts, now and in the future.

x Envy
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"You want to go ahead?" our Jordanian guide shouted down the path to my friends and me early in the morning.
"Yes!" we shouted back. We were already thirty meters ahead of the group and, with all due respect, we did not want to walk to Petra with these slow people. Sticking with them would definitely ruin our chances of taking any good pictures of Al Khazneh, the legendary Treasury. The place would be crawling with tourists by the time our group would get there. Besides, my friends and I wanted to hike to Ad Deir, the Monastery, and had been told we'd need our time for that.
"Okay, go ahead!" Our guide gave us the green light and we bolted off.

Even though all three of us had been to Petra the night before, when the Treasury was lit up by countless candles just like it is in all the pictures in travel brochures for Jordan, the walk to the rose-red city was every bit as fascinating by day as it had been by night. Now we were able to see all the Nabatean ruins on both sides of the path that led us to the Siq. We discovered something new around every corner. Once inside the Siq, the small gorge that leads to Al Khazneh, our eyes started playing tricks on us. Every weird and odd shape along the walls of the gorge could have been part of a Nabatean structure. We noticed carvings and water basins we'd walked straight past the night before. I took dozens of pictures; every pebble there was interesting by daylight.


After 2 kilometers, we emerged from the Siq and found ourselves in front of the Treasury. It was still quite peaceful; very few tourists had made it to Petra before us. Still, taking a decent picture proved to be a challenge. The sunlight and shadows in the gorge made it difficult to capture the image as beautifully as our eyes did. Since we couldn't get the pictures we wanted, we decided to start walking to Ad Deir right away. That was the moment I discovered Petra was way different from the way I'd imagined it. For the longest time I, like many other people, had thought that the Treasury was Petra. All of it. Even though I knew that to be false at the time of my visit, I still thought the entire city was situated inside small canyons and gorges. This turned out to be false too. Soon after we left the Treasury behind, we entered a huge open plain full of Nabatean ruins. While it was very beautiful, it was also very hot and I burned to a crisp in no time; I hadn't even taken sunscreen with me, as I'd expected to be in shadowy canyons all day...

Though we all agreed that the ruins were gorgeous, we walked briskly past them. Our destination was still far away: first we had to find the right path (quite the challenge with no signs or markers along the route), then climb anywhere between 700 to 1000 steps. Up until the restaurants at the start of the climb, everything went great. The path to the climb was more or less hidden behind a building, so we first doubtingly followed another trail until we saw more tourists and a camel disappear behind the building. We followed them, accompanied by a mule called Erdogan.


The first couple of hundred meters didn't pose any real problem. There were some steps, but most of the trail was level. We strayed from the path once, when we spotted the Lion Triclinium. I still have no idea if we were allowed to leave the path and almost climb up to this ruin, but we did it anyway.
After this slight detour, we continued our way to Ad Deir. Temperatures were rising quickly now. My drinking water disappeared faster than I'd expected. Then we were confronted with the steps. All 700 - or 1000, depending on whom you ask - of them.

We walked mostly in silence as breathing became more difficult. Looking back on it now, it's almost scary: Temperatures rising up to 40 degrees Celsius and no drinking water. Luckily we soon saw little stalls by the side of the track, where we could buy souvenirs and, way more important, water. We took breaks to drink whenever we could find a place that offered some shade. We also used those moments to look around in awe and say: "It sure is beautiful though." I think we said those words a hundred times that day, but they're true: the rock desert around Petra will kill you if you're careless, but it sure is beautiful.


After what felt like hours, hundreds of steps and a few false alarms when we mistook souvenir stalls for our destination, the path finally flattened out. We'd made it to Ad Deir. The climb had been breath-taking, both literally and figuratively, and when we finally made it to the Monastery, we knew it had all been worth it. We found ourselves standing in front of another gorgeous facade. All we said was: "It sure is beautiful though." I enjoyed those moments immensely. Ad Deir isn't as well-known as Al Khazneh, but at least as amazing. There are also way less tourists that visit this monumental ruin, so I could take my time to take it all in. The facade mesmerized me, its far-off and hard to reach location made it even more special.

Eventually we sat down for a cup of tea at the small restaurant opposite Ad Deir. My brain couldn't quite process the beauty of the desert, the ruins, everything. It was still early in the morning. Little did I know that this was still only the beginning of my Nabatean adventures.

To be continued...

x Envy
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Deadline, another deadline, linguistics test, literature test and a third deadline. That's what the last week of my first block in university looked like. By the end of that week, I was completely exhausted and in desperate need of a break. Lucky for me, my parents were on vacation in Holten, a small town in the east of the Netherlands. They invited me over, as I had Friday off. I immediately accepted that invitation. Even though it'd be just one day, a mini break sounded like a perfect plan.

Getting to Holten on Thursday was no easy feat though. It's easy to get there by car, but it's a different story when you depend on trains. I'd have to take one fast intercity train to Deventer, then a sprinter to Holten. And sprinters are, despite what their name suggests, incredibly slow.
When I arrived at Utrecht Central Station, my train to Deventer already had a delay of 15 minutes. I had to take an alternative route, which meant an additional super slow sprinter. When I finally arrived in Holten, the sun had long set and I couldn't see a thing. I couldn't keep my eyes open either, so within two hours after arriving at the cabin my parents had rented, I was fast asleep.


The next morning I woke up to 200 messages in a university group chat. I quickly scrolled through them, then turned the wifi off. I wanted to leave all the university stress behind that day.
After a simple breakfast, we checked out of the cabin and drove to the Sallandse Heuvelrug. We started walking from the parking lot near Natuurmuseum Holtenberg Diorama around 10am and returned a couple of hours later. I don't know exactly how long the route was of how long it took us, because as soon as I entered the forest, I lost all track of time.

Like many other, I love spending time outdoors when the leaves turn red and brown. My year doesn't feel complete if I don't go to a forest in October, as if I've skipped Fall altogether. I was very happy to stroll through heaps of leaves in the province of Overijssel, but this walk had more to offer than leaves and trees: after a few minutes of walking we arrived at the Holten Canadian War Cemetery. My parents and I paid the cemetery a visit to show our respect to those who gave their lives to free my country of the Nazi regime. I think it's wonderful that my country keeps these cemeteries in good condition so we can keep the memory of these brave men alive.


Visiting the cemetery was a humbling experience that made me appreciate that beautiful day even more. The oak trees were all shades of brown and red already. They contrasted with the bright green grass and evergreen conifers. Most of the trees were still on the green side of Fall though, as the temperatures in the Netherlands have been very high since May. I'd hoped to see more shades of yellow, orange and red, but the forest was stunning nonetheless.


As we walked, we saw much more than just conifers and oak trees. There were loads of wild mushrooms along our oath and tiny little birds flew up from fallen tree branches when they heard us coming. It was a bit chilly, but the sun was out, making it a perfect Fall day. At times I almost forgot I was in the Netherlands. Shortly after the halfway mark of our walk, we climbed a hill to a viewpoint that was 55 meters above sea level. Believe it or not, but 55 meters above sea level is quite a lot in the Netherlands. Looking out from the top of that hill, I couldn't see a single sign of civilization. I felt like I was in Germany, Luxemburg, anywhere but in my own country.


The viewpoint had a few benches and a little hut in which you could take shelter from a sudden rain shower (very likely to happen in this country), so we took a small break here. My dad found a little notebook in which visitors can write a little something about their experiences on the Sallandse Heuvelrug. My favorite entry was written by a little girl: "Fun! But a stick poked me..."

I was getting hungry as we left the viewpoint behind. I wasn't in a hurry to get back to the car though; I was enjoying the forest too much to rush through it. Everything was just so colorful. I picked a few leaves up to take home, so I could dry them and put them in my journal. Such a small little thing made me so happy to be in Holten that day. University seemed a million miles away.


Early in the afternoon, we returned to the car and drove back to Holten's town center. We had lunch at Nijkamp, a place my dad loves for its portion sizes and delicious dishes. My mom likes it as well, because they also sell products that are typical for the region. Personally, I mostly enjoyed Nijkamp's aesthetic and their amazing schnitzel (best one I've had in years). It is here that we ended our day and my mini break. I couldn't have wished for a better place to unwind this Fall.

x Envy
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About me


Envy. Dutch blogger. Est. 1996. No relation to the famous biblical sin. Worst bio writer on this side of the blogospere. Lives on cookies, apple juice and art. Friendly unless confronted with pineapple on pizza. Writes new nonsense every Thursday.

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