[theblacktramp]

Belo Horizonte & The Hippie Fair

Photos and Post by my dear friend and traveler: Amath Gomis (@Amath_G)

One of the best-kept secrets of South America is the Hippie Fair in Belo Horizonte, Brazil. The Hippie Fair started as a marketplace in 1969 for artists, now is the largest weekly market in South America. People come from all over South America to sell anything in one of the 17 sections ranging from household goods, art, food and more. The fair runs only on Sundays from 7 am to 2 pm on Afonso Pena Avenue between Bahia and Guajajaras street.  Remember to bring cash; many of the 3,000 vendors do not accept credit cards. Even those that do will pass on the 6% service change to you.  

But I wanted to go to the Hippie Fair to get a crash course into what real Brasileiros (Brazilians) eat as street food.

Acogroge or Acojroje Typical cookie from Bolivia “Brosil”

[theblacktramp]

Potbellied Travellers: For the Foodie Plane Gang Folks

Paris, France:

American Ouais: 6 Rue Mabillon, Paris, France 75006 Paris.

My stomach is often an iron tank, but French food is certainly its kryrptonite. When I heard about American Ouais from Brenda, a fellow globetrotter, it was the perfect solution to my problem. I had absolutely no idea the food would be so amazing. By far the greatest crab cake sandwich I've had in my life. I topped it with the slaw that came with it. I sat there, took a bit, and immediately put the sandwich down to pay my compliments to the owner, Gillian Grant, who sat with us, laughing and eating. Then came the cheesecake, made with love by Gillian. Words aren't enough to tell you the incredible experience that happened on my tongue.

If you're in Paris, and have a hankering for American with a french touch, go! Say hi to Gillian for me.

Havanita: 11 rue de Lappe, 75011 Paris, France

When is Cuban ever a bad idea? This place is tucked away in Bastille, and I came upon it on a search for street fare. The smells that smacked me in the face when the door opened were enough to bring me to my knees. Our server, Andres, kept us laughing with his stories of how he learned English by listening to NWA's second album, and watching American films like Friday.

I ordered the Mixed Fish with Green Rice and Plantains. One bite in, and I knew I'd need to pace myself to keep from looking like the stereotypical greedy American. I went in, and loved it down to the final grain of rice. The people watching through the window kept the conversations going, and the atmosphere reminded us why we came to Paris, and why we now need to go to Cuba.

London, England:

Senzala Creperie: Brixton Village Market, 41-42 Coldharbour Lane, London SW9 8PS

If you know me, you know how much I love a good crepe. Until I found this amazing place, I swore the greatest crepes were made on the lower east side of NYC. Now there's a tie. My first time here, I went with my friend Marita and was lucky enough to sit with the owner and get personal recommendations. Outside of the price being incredible, the taste is certainly on point.

The Picante crepe (cheese, homemade spicy minced beef, red onions, fresh tomatoes, red peppers and jalapeño peppers) wrapped in a Galette with Senzala's own chili sauce is the way to go without hesitation. Get it, enjoy it, tell the server and the owners how much you love it, then tweet about it.

Bamboula's Kitchen: 12 Acre Lane, Brixton, London SW2 5SG

I love Brixton! I love the smell of incense when i walk out of the tube, and the sound of a drum in the distance. The Jamaican accents remind me of Brooklyn, and the women remind me of every woman I've ever fallen in love with. The food, like everything else here (except gentrification), must be good.

The Akee + Saltfish, Snapper, Goat Roti, Oxtail, Patties, and everything else on the menu will make you weep with joy. Wash it down with a coconut water, I say. Come in and know you are in the Islands. Be patient, be kind, and be happy!

[theblacktramp]

Intersections & Second Chances & Good Food: Paris

Intersections: 

As a wanderer, I love getting lost. The way my heart beats when nothing around me is familiar is amazing. Strangers must become friends for a few minutes, and everything in sight becomes a tool that might be needed in the escape. After the ticket is purchased, I rarely think anymore about the trip, finding myself scrambling for housing, unofficial tour guides, visa information, intercity travel, etc. I’m not a planner, obviously. But I’m starting to think I’d like to find an intersection where my inability to plan meets my infatuation with seeing everything come together in the end flawlessly. 

Second Chances: 

How foolish it is to say you absolutely don’t like something after trying it the first time. With food, I’ll try everything except pork at least three times. Perhaps it was the chef’s fault, or perhaps my tastebuds were off. Perhaps the first time I visited Paris my attitude was slightly off because the hostel was horrible, and I ended to lugging around a 22lb. backpack for 24 hours. Perhaps being kicked out of a hotel lobby and sleeping at a bus depot had something to do with my disdain for the City of Lights. 

The hotel is cool with a balcony facing East. The bag can sit in the room, and I smell of my favorite cologne and not three day old, recycled airplane air. Paris is beautiful, and new, and full of great flavors, attitudes and avenues I can navigate easily, and some of the most amazing views. I’m glad I gave it this second chance. 

Good Food: 

Oh! What a fantastic lunch. I’m no food critic, so bear with me. I’m a member of Nomadness Travel Tribe, a fantastic travel group of over 9,500 members, taking over the world one flight at a time. A movement really. I announced to the group I was hitting the friendly skies, and sent out destinations and dates. Brenda, a fantastic traveler who loves Paris, contacted me, telling me she’d be in Paris at the same time. “Lunch,” she says. My love for food and meeting new people wouldn’t let me say no. 

American Ouais: 6 rue Mabillon, 75006 Paris

Owner and fellow Tribe member, Gillian Grant and her husband, met us at the door with smiles. The place is new, and still being turned into a dream project, but it already looks amazing with original art and creations on the walls, patchwork seats that stayed comfortable the entire time, and the levels inside. 

I won’t bore with all the great things discussed or the laughs, so I’ll leave you with this: Today, I have the greatest crab cake sandwich with cole slaw to top it, and fries. And by “greatest” I mean it was so good, I may have shed a tear. Then came the cheesecake for dessert with its magnificent crust and red berry sauce. My God!

GO! Eat! Say "Bonjour!”

[theblacktramp]

Place de Clichy. Paris, France.

[theblacktramp]

Two Lips. 

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Flowers. 

[theblacktramp]

Untarnished, Fleeting Moments: Wow!

The thing I find about being an adult, and being a traveler (the way i travel) is that every moment I’ll experience, and every emotion that creeps up behind those moments will soon be leaving.

Can you recall that moment in life, childhood perhaps, when everything inside and out was alright? Purely alright? And not just an untarnished fleeting moment?

But today, I held on as long as possible, not thinking about the food I’d eat when I left the fields, or the cold waiting for me up the hill. This was a “wow” moment. The long ride from Amsterdam to Hillegom, the cold breeze, and frozen hands became inconsequential. My voice escaped without permission to say “thank you, God, for this.”

“I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it. People think pleasing God is all God cares about. But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back.” - Alice Walker

I could have stayed there all day, basking in God.

[theblacktramp]

Saving Black Boys, Fixing White Girls, Partying, and King’s Day.

I’m sitting in the hostel lobby, knowing if I had a bigger, thicker coat, I’d hit the streets and walk until a stranger gave me a ride back. But it’s fucking cold, and I’ve had too much food over the last few days, and too many milk products today to hit the streets without knowing where all the toilets in the city are. 

I’ll sit here. It’s better this way. I can reflect like I promised too many people back home I would. I can google “how to be vulnerable” and listen to the white girl cry on the stairs 5 feet away. It’s not a party night if there isn’t a white girl crying about a boy or about an empty jar of Nutella. I can think about these relationships I’m watering or stopped watering, and about these goals of mine that seem to be waiting on me to get a little more focused. Or I can sit here and people watch. 

I don’t want to think too much about the standoff earlier with the police in front of the McDonald’s closest to Dam Square. I’ll get upset when I see the young, Black boy being choked by A’dam Politie, or how the manager tried to fight him, then threw him to the police like a character from Aesop’s fables. I love Amsterdam too much to think about it. How everything that happened in those 18 minutes took me back to my days in Missouri last year. You know why I’m here, right?

An elderly Black man in a wheelchair because his knees no longer serve their purpose approached me today asking for €2 to get off the street. His West Philly accent came through, and I help tight to my Euros until after out conversation. He’s part of the reason I’m here. As some of you know, I’ve decided to use this trip to film a documentary about Seeking Asylum. Listening to others’ stories about why they left, what they think, how they feel, what can be done, and so forth. J.J., he said he wants to be called, was right on time. I told him about the project, and he started talking. He has a sister, and he gave me her name and I need to find her or her daughter now. I must. 

I’m sitting here pretending high pitched Dutch speakers don’t sound like The Sims, and pretending I’ll be sleep by 5am. It can’t be done. I may go around the block in my reeboks that now smell like creek water and hot dog broth, and shoot some random footage just in case. 

I’ll think about King’s Day. The event I’ve been trying to attend for years, and finally made it. The seas of orange, and canals of drunken, fun people, bouncing to EDM and pouring more and more in front of my envious eyes. I’ll think about conversation about President Obama, the devil, and Bush with Noah who rolled such an amazing looking joint, I almost called an HBCU to offer him an honorary architectural degree. The music was amazing, but not as amazing as my cotton candy, or the man who told me to call him “iPhone” as he poured me and Sanura multiple shots of Orange Bitters. Who the hell drinks Orange Bitters in a shot glass? Me, apparently. 

I thought about Justine Sacco randomly today and her Dec. 20, 2013 tweet: 

“Going to Africa. Hope I don’t get AIDS. Just kidding. I’m white!”

I wanted to say “Going back to America soon. Land of opportunity and equality. Just kidding, I’m Black,” but I was afraid it wouldn’t land well. 

I have no more thoughts. Just tips:

1. Travel with purpose. 

2. Talk to the homeless in each country you visit if you have the opportunity. What comes from that conversation may be the difference between a life worth living and not. 

3. I’m the guy who takes shots from strangers. If you ever travel with me, don’t judge, and don’t tell my mama. 

4. If you hate noisy people, find a hostel run by nuns. Otherwise, fall in like with the sounds the people in the lobby will make. 

5. If you see a white girl crying on a Friday night (or any night of partying), these words will help: “he’s not worth it.”

[theblacktramp]

Down To The Minute. And Other Things.

5 grown people. 1 alarm no one heard. And a bus that would undoubtedly pull out of Victoria Coach Station at 10:30am on-the-dot.

Some crazy dream about a car and a sex-crazed woman cracked my eyes open at 9:55, and after staring at my phone for 3 minutes trying to figure out the significance of the time, I realized it was time to get the hell on the road, around the London Marathoners, and to the station to check in with Megabus and be on our way to Amsterdam. We were supposed to be up at 8:05, but not having enough sleep over the past 4 days must have made my finger disable my alarm without letting me know. FUCK!

“Call Uber! Get Dressed. Go!”

We had to call two Ubers for 5 people because our bags were ignorant. Both arrived, but one was a minivan, so we thanked God, apologized to the little car before cancelling him, and pulled off with the van. Eventually, we made it over a bridge and through the streets. The runners have taken over London for a few hours. Wisping through the streets, avoiding people and other cars, we pulled in front of the station and I dash through the bus station like OJ in that infamous airport commercial he did (Is OJ still relevant?)

At 10:30, after successfully getting 5 passports checked, tickets stamped, and bags checked, we were seated and pulling out. Whew! Kings Day is not to be missed again! Easily and without question, I’d donate the limb of a loved one to make it to Kings Day in Amsterdam.

Goodbye London. Hello countryside, then edge of England, then Channel Tunnel, then France. I missed most of these attractions because my body finally gave in to the sleep it needed.

Hello Amsterdam. Hello Hostel Slotania. Hello shower, tram, city center, Mcdonalds, Bar that allows weed. But wait…you don’t sell weed? Who does?

The owner points us across the street to the weed man who closes in 3 minutes. Unfortunately he decided to close at 12:57am, not giving a shit that Sanura did an action movie fall and roll in the median. No weed for us. Just as well since I hate the weed high, and we’re all probably a bit too tired and hungry. One lucky break for the day is plenty perhaps. After all, we do have a few more days here.

Two shots of 80% Absinthe later we were laughing it up with Suriname natives in McDonalds by Dam Square stealing wifi, joking about sex and drugs, and figuring out the bus schedule to make it back to the hostel.

Hello top bunk. Hello facebook. Hello low eyes and yawn. Sleep a bit.

1. Make sure everyone in the room knows what time the plane/train/automobile plans to leave.

2. Know what time the necessities are no longer for sale. (i.e. Liquor in Norway is not sold in stores after 6pm).

3. Catch up on sleep while on the plane/train/automobile by any means necessary. Take a pill, shot, or whatever you need.

4. McDonalds always have free wifi. There is always a McDonalds. And a cheeseburger at 3am will save your life.

[theblacktramp]

Goodbye Oslo. Hello London. And Maya Angelou.

We danced, and drank, and forgot we were pissed that Norway stopped selling liquor in stores at 6pm. The only food we had was the dark chocolate Hersey’s nuggets with almonds I accidentally bought, craisins, and the infamous crumbly ol’ Nature Valley bars. We danced anyway, shaking pretend sweat from our foreheads like it’s New Years Eve and “One More Time” by Daft Punk is playing in beat with a strobe light. Man, didn’t we dance! 

Leave with a bang, leave with a few souvenirs for mom, and leave with a few people knowing your name and asking you to come back in a few weeks when the tours have stopped. When the documentary is finished. 

We did every dance ever done, and sang every song the DJ didn’t play. Eventually, he picked up the vibe I was giving off, and the party-goers picked up the feelings I was bringing, and when I did a body roll, they did a body roll, and when I jumped, they jumped. Fucking great time! 

Then I followed new friends to the patio to grab air, cigarettes, and get a better look at their faces. The liquor was expensive, but damn near straight, but the laughs it brought made it all worth it. Sevall, in a fishnet top, high-waisted tights, and a trenchcoat seen on runways throughout the years, all black, gave us old school Lil Kim lyrics about being scared of penis, then learning to “throw lips to the shit.” Laughs, drinks spat across the patio, and suddenly a real moment. In and Out of Time, A Maya Angelou poem recited in an East African, partly British dialect that made us all listen and fall in love with it like we didn’t hear it in grade school first:

The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance… our long way home. I was always yours to have. You were always mine.

We have loved each other in and out of time.

When the first stone looked up at the blazing sun and the first tree struggled up from the forest floor I had always loved you more. You freed your braids… gave your hair to the breeze. It hummed like a hive of honey bees. I reached in the mass for the sweet honey comb there…. Mmmm…God how I love your hair.

You saw me bludgeoned by circumstance. Lost, injured, hurt by chance. I screamed to the heavens….loudly screamed…. Trying to change our nightmares into dreams…

The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance our long way home. I was always yours to have. You were always mine. We have loved each other in and out in and out in and out of time.

We left without saying goodbye, knowing we’d certainly see her, Richmond, and our other new Norwegian friends again. 

Hello London. 20 Hours with you and then on to Amsterdam. 

Still grateful. 

[theblacktramp]

Oslo. Peace. More Than I Anticipated.

"What are you running from,” they (the infamous they) ask each time I submit my card information to purchase some cheap ticket I found on a whim. This time I take slight offense, because I’m seriously beginning to feel uneasy about this Seeking Asylum project. Am I asking Black folks to give up the fight or am I trying to save a few lives? If we leave America, are we quitters, did they win? I put those thoughts to the back of my head for a few minutes because the shower is fucking absolutely amazing and hot, and this Alabama Shakes Sound and Color album has me somewhere between vulnerable and in love. 

“Norwegians aren’t rude, they’re just shy,” my new half Norwegian, half Brit white friend informed me this morning when turning down my request to film him sharing his opinion on racism in America. He said:

“It’s a travesty, and we see these things over here, and we’re so sad for you all. Like, I truly can’t believe they can get away with these things.”

He did make amazing suggestions, and put me in touch with proper people who I need to write. Being here on a mission (no religion) is amazing. 

Even more amazing was what happened after lunch today (Went to TGIFridays because most places we wanted were closed at 2pm). Walking toward the Norway Parliament, I heard voices in a distance, and suddenly right behind me. Hundreds of Ethiopian flags, faces, men, women, and children protesting the killing of Ethiopian Christians in Libya by ISIS. Three speakers and one chant later, I was feeling the importance of peace stronger than usual. 

Being here in Europe attempting to find ways to bring peace into the lives of Black folks who’ve never had a chance with it in America, and finding other Black folks looking for the same for those 9,136 miles from me is more than inspiring; perhaps stirring. The sea of green, yellow, and red reminded me of my dear friend, Selam, who would have loved to have been there. She’d cry probably, and become angrier, and mountains would move in some direction. 

Just a few blocks away, next to the building I asked my hostel front desk agent for help finding to take amazing sunset photos, was the Nobel Peace Center. Outside, on a banner just as tall as the building, was Malala Yousafzai. I’m finding it impossible to mention her name and not have a conversation about what her name means now, and who it’s moved. I repeat her words to myself each time a cop murders, each time I lose focus in why I’m here, and each time I’m defeated.

“When the whole world is silent, even one voice becomes powerful.” 

How truly altruistic, I thought. Walls full of architects who saw the importance of restructuring the entire house, not just their bedroom. How could these walls hold so much? 

The one thing I retained from grad school is how to critically reflect. I went to the highest point in sight that had no walls, and stood there for some time, thinking about the house I’ve been wanting to build.

Then the rain came to join the 50 degree grayness, and we hit the cobblestone back to the hostel. 

I’m thankful for being able to witness all I’ve witnessed, and share all I’ve taken in. 

[theblacktramp]

I found her on a wall and I was glued to the fence. 

[theblacktramp]

Oslo, Norway? No Way!

A bad play on words, I’m aware. But wow! No way this city is this amazing. Where is the ugliness? The parts that remind me of summers in Detroit (not on my grandma’s street, but those streets me and my cousins would bike just to feel good about out conditions). Typically I’d need to see everything a city has to offer (food, attitudes, behaviors, perceptions, drugs, hookers, etc.), but not this time. Have you ever stood on 33rd and 7th in NYC, right outside of Sbarro’s Pizzeria in the summer at night and felt that cool breeze running down 6th? You know that feeling of “I could live here forever” that comes with that? 

Well, I could live here, in Oslo, forever. At least until that first Winter breeze comes and plucks me from the top of the Oslo Opera Hall. Houses stacked on the hills, canals running through the cooler parts of the city reminding me of childhood and water parks, and young East and West Africans stopping to have a conversation about basketball, racism, life, and photography. 

Yeah, This is day one, and just a few more to go in this location. If you’ve been keeping up, you know I’m here working on my documentary, Seeking Asylum (click for more info). If they open their doors, I’d strongly consider walking in. 

Looking forward to what tomorrow has in store. I’m yawning, so I know I’ll be up early, ready to see what smells are in the air. A few notes if you’re coming to Oslo: 

1. Where I’m laying my head: Anker Apartments Hostel. Great price and great crowd of folks, and the meeting area has plenty of space. Oh! And it’s close to everything. 

2. Flew into OSL, went down to Platform 4 on the train (because the bus was $27 and would take 45 minutes. Train was $11 and took half that time) and got off at Oslo S. Walked around the station a bit, took a few photos from the roof of the Opera hall, then hopped in the Uber and paid $12. 

3. If you’re a street art fan, there is plenty of it. Charge the phone, grab the reserve pack and do it all! 

[theblacktramp]

San Francisco Was...

The last American major city left to visit. I made it. I did it. I loved it. I need to go back and finish what I started! From the naked bike ride, the drive down the windy road, the views, and the food! LOVE!

[theblacktramp]

Travel With Friends & Others: The Rules

Darnell Lamont Walker's Rules For Traveling With Others:

1. Must love to walk. On Average, there may be up to 10 miles of walking per day, seeing the city, enjoying the air, living life. Who needs public transportation in a strange place. Everything you see will be new, and the photo opportunities will be plentiful.

2. Must love to meet new people. Nothing worse than a traveler who hates to connect with others. Spark conversation with strangers, restaurant owners, other travelers. It's how you get the word on other places.

3. Must not be afraid of sharing a room with 25 other people. Hostels are my preferred choice of accommodation. They're where you get to meet new folks, learn new things, taste new foods, and sleep for cheap!

4. Must not be tied to your phone. Besides, there may be only one time a day when you will be able to connect to wifi or get some sort of signal. Few things are worse than seeing someone looking down at their phone while the beauty of a new place passes them by.

5. Attitudes and negative behaviors are not allowed at all. No exceptions. You will be left behind or asked to walk away on your own. Bad energy is passed through groups quickly. No one is here to be miserable with you. If you and your mate break up or your dog dies while you're on the trip, put on a smiley face and think about it when the trip is over.

6. Don't feel bad for not wanting to do everything as a group. We don't have to be together all the time. We don't have to wake up or go to bed at the same time. If there are things you want to do on your own, by all means, do them! Live! Enjoy!

7. Be sure to count your money and budget yourself. We are all here to enjoy our trip, and have just enough money for self. If you run out of funds 4 days before the trip ends, it ruins the trip for others.

8. ENJOY!

[theblacktramp]

We escaped to Dubai for a week, and here are some of the beautiful things we found, seen, enjoyed, laughed at, and ate. While this location did not make my top 5 list, it will always be remembered, and I am grateful for the amazing people who share the memories with me.

[theblacktramp]

The Camel That Kicked Me In The Foot. 

I touched the back of his head, and he kicked me. Then I remembered they are probably abused, and was ready to get off.