A Guide for Women Traveling Abroad

“You should wear the red dress with polka dots,” Wade suggests one morning in Amman.

“Really? You don’t think it’s too tight for here?” I asked.

“Nah,” he says, “you see what all the tourists wear here.”

I will of course wear a long sleeve shirt and leggings under the dress, but it still doesn’t seem conservative enough to me. It’s true, there are a lot of Australian and German women here wearing a lot less than I do, but I still feel uncomfortable about allowing any more skin — or womanly shape for that matter — appear than what I absolutely have to. I want to be respected here, I do not want to be a visual feast.

Chaya with some girls in Jordan

But I wear the red polka dot dress out for my morning walk by myself through the town and market of Amman anyway. When I came back Wade asks “Did anything happen? Like did anyone say anything weird or sketchy?”

“Yeah one guy said something weird in Arabic I couldn’t understand, but nothing else really,” I said confused.

Then I realized what had happened.

“You set me up! You wanted to experiment on me to see if anyone would hit on me! You jerk!” I laughed. “Maybe the fact that nobody hit on me has less to do with what I wear and more to do with my five month pregnant belly,” I joke.

“This girl told me that she got hit on all the time in the Middle East to the point where it was impossible for her to walk around, I wanted to see if it was true,” Wade sheepishly tried to explain, knowing he’d been caught.

Wade recently had to edit a magazine article written by a women studying abroad in Amman, and, apparently, she had a lot of complaints about how men treated her in this city. Though Wade had the suspicion that she may have invited her own problems — as the article was mostly focused on Middle Eastern women dressing in western clothes — and had me go out and unknowingly test this theory for him.

We had so far traveled through Eastern Turkey, Iraq, and Syria, and the amount of times I had been heckled by men in the streets was near zero. We thought that this may have had something to do with me having a man with me, so Wade tried to get me to go out without him as much as possible, to see what would happen.

I have traveled by myself in Central America and South Africa and with only one other female companion in India and Southeast Asia. It’s safe to say I’ve been hit on a fair number of times, but it’s also safe to say that I know how to avoid unwelcome advances as well.

While flirting is generally flattering and not a problem, it can be tough to judge where it is going to lead when you are in another culture. Being smiled at by a man might be flattering, but if you smile back at him is he going to grab your ass?

I hear a lot of women complaining about men harassing them when they travel. It happens. It’s happened to me and I know it sucks. But there are things you can do to minimize the risk. I don’t want to sound like I’m blaming the victim, but I’ve noticed there are a fair number of things American and European girls do that get them more attention from men than what they ask for:

1) Wear inappropriate clothing- There isn’t much of an excuse for this one. Look at what the women around you are wearing, wear clothes that cover similar parts. I wore long sleeves and long pants and sometimes a headscarf in the Middle East. If you’re wearing a sheer miniskirt or a tank top, you’re going to attract more attention.

2) Carrying themselves- Walking and talking like a quiet, demure, subservient girl, as we are sometimes conditioned to do, is an easy default position when dealing with unwelcome advances, but it tends to work against you. Don’t do this. Hold yourself like you are a strong, confident woman who can kick some butt if you have to. Act like a bull dike with sharp horns and stomping hooves. Look people in the face and keep your head up. Remember that your eyes say more in some countries than others, be aware of all the messages you are sending as you interact with people in a foreign land.

3) Approaching men- I almost always ask a woman when I need directions, to find out what time it is, etc. Though it may seem innocent to you, in countries where men and women don’t usually intermingle too much, simply asking directions can be taken as an invitation that may be misinterpreted or taken advantage of. Many countries have thick gender lines, abide by them.

4) Getting drunk at bars, smoking, or causing a ruckus- Especially in countries where women don’t usually do these things, men are going to think if you are wild in one way you’re wild enough to have sex with them. Sometimes this is true, most of the time it is a fantasy.

5) Not clearly saying no- Lots of times women will start getting hit on and respond with”I’m fine” as a polite way to say “no” to an offer of a drink or a companion. By acting polite and saying something ambivalent like “aahh I don’t think so… maybe some other time” to a date or some other advance often is just encouragement for the guy to keep trying. In many countries, passive rejection is a game that women play when they like a man, and it is interpreted as flirting.

Acting in a way that we feel is polite in the US can be confusing in another country. Keep in mind that there are language barriers as well as etiquette barriers. You have to be clear and direct and say exactly what you mean.

This isn’t to say you shouldn’t ever do any of these things. I have probably done all of these things at some point in my travels and have gotten attention for it. Sometimes I want attention, sometimes I like being invited out on a date and this is OK as well.

But when you’re traveling in another culture, especially the more machismo ones, you need to be clear about your intentions when dealing with men, and to know that you are sending off signals which could not represent your true intentions. If you don’t want anything to do with a man who is hitting on you, let him know directly, and get away. Any hesitation on your part could be the difference between making a friend and being respected, or being harassed.

Size your situation up immediately, think about what you will do if a man makes an inappropriate advance before it happens. Don’t be taken by surprise.

Trying to bash the gender lines when traveling is not going to send the message that you are a strong and secure women, but it is a symbol that you could be sexually easy. American and European women have the reputation of being sexually easy  so it takes some effort to get it through some thick macho skulls that you don’t want any.

The courtship rituals of many cultures are a lot more subtle yet also a lot more absolute than in the USA. A simple look can be enough to make a man think that you want to go to bed with him, a passive laugh or a giggle to ward off an advance could be taken as an invitation that you want more.

In point, if you watch how the women act in the country that you are traveling in and follow suite, you should be alright. If you are in a bar with a complete absence of local women who are not prostitutes, then it may be a sign that you may be in a compromising situation; if the women in the country you are traveling in cover their legs, arms, and shoulders, then there is a good chance that you are going to put a spotlight on yourself if you don’t; if the local women do not talk to men that they don’t know then your intentions may be misinterpreted if you do.

A foreign women tends to have more leeway as far as etiquette in many cultures, and you are often not expected to act exactly like a local woman. It is still OK to have fun and enjoy yourself, but there is a risk/benefit ratio that each woman needs to gauge for herself when traveling.

It is OK to not follow any of this advice and live your travels up without restraint (Western women are often seen as being 10 times sexier than what we really are when traveling in some regions of the world, and this could be fun) but don’t complain if you are heckled by men in the streets of India if you are wearing shorts with a low cut tank top.

Culture is just an assortment of symbols that people of a certain group interpret in common, and what is interpreted as meaning one thing in your culture may mean something different in another. You can decode the symbols of proper man/ women interaction pretty easily when traveling just by watching the local women of a country, by talking to them, and by befriending them. It is not difficult to see that foreign women who abide by a few simple rules of etiquette often travel the world undaunted and without much undue difficulty.


Chaya, pregnant belly, and a fisherman on the coast of the Red Sea in Jordan

Adventures in Syria

By the time we arrived in Syria, my belly had grown round and my feet had grown slow. I was ready to start traveling slow, but we had plane tickets back to the US in two weeks from Cairo.

After leaving Iraq and going back to Eastern Turkey for a couple more weeks, we crossed the border into Syria at Kisli. The border crossing was a fiasco, which took over 6 hours and being assaulted by the immigration police. We are Americans and did not have a visa.

We made it through.


This was our route of travel through the Balkans and the Middle East

Once in Aleppo we stayed with two generous French boys. Aleppo was the kind of city we could stay in. We’d wake up early and walk across the city to spend half the day wandering through the old souq or marketplace. Then we ate falafel for lunch. Wade worked in the afternoons on Vagabond Journey while I washed clothes, napped, or watched my belly grow.

Then we would eat more falafel. I liked Aleppo.


Spices in the market of Aleppo

We decided to go to Latakia on a whim. Some English kids told us it was a dirty town, but we had an itch to go see the Mediterranean Sea. We arrived at the Aleppo train station in the morning only to be told that the train didn’t leave until late afternoon. Our packs were pretty heavy at that point so we spent the day waiting in the station and waiting in the park across the street — only to almost miss our train because Wade really wanted to get hamburgers half an hour before it left.

Wade grabbed my pack and we ran from the hamburger stand back to the train station only to find our train just starting to pull away. Wade jumped up into an open compartment while the train was gaining speed. I struggled for a few more steps but found myself hoisted up by Wade and a train conductor. Those were the best hamburgers we ever had in our lives.


Syrian kids in a park in Aleppo

Latakia was a dirty town. We had to walk five miles to get to the Mediterranean. Wade got sick. I stayed in to take care of him. I fed him donuts. He got better.

Soon enough we boarded a bus for Damascus.

We spent our time in Damascus wandering through the old city. I would leave early in the morning to get croissants that I would bring back to Wade in the hotel. Then we’d go out together for awhile until he went back to work. We’d meet up again in the afternoon. I love walking through the streets of a new city, it is one of my favorite things to do.


Train in Syria

But in Syria sometimes it was a little lonely. Women lead a private life in Syria, hidden behind their veils and burqas. When I was with Wade, men would come up to talk to him. But men only came up to talk to me when I was by myself, and they were not the kind of man I would want to talk to. The women there were almost invisible.


Women in the market of Aleppo

Occasionally I could catch a friendly glimpse from a woman or even a smile, but it was rare. I missed the camaraderie of being with and meeting other women, especially mothers, especially since I was pregnant.

It was time to keep traveling on.


Damascus, Syria

Read parallel entries from Wade at, Sufis in Kisli Turkey, Syrians Friendly to American Travelers, Syria Elderly Tourists Young Backpackers, Aleppo Syria Markets Friendly People, Train Travel in Syria, Latakia Syria, Child Labor in Syria, Traveling through Middle East

Travel to Iraq while Pregnant

I hadn’t really planned on going to Iraq. Wade briefly mentioned it in passing while we were daydreaming about the trip. I shot him a “what the hell are you thinking?!” look in response.

Nobody goes as a tourist to Iraq.

Let alone when they are pregnant.

“We’ll just go to the northern Kurdistan part. It’s just as safe there as it is in Turkey,” Wade meekly tried to convince me.

“We’ll feel out the situation once we get there,” I relented, still not ever expecting to actually go.

Somehow “feeling out the situation” turned to us going to the Turkish border town of Silopi. There are very few border towns that I want to hang out in, Silopi was one of the worst.

“Well, I guess Kurdistan couldn’t be any worse,” Wade offered, and we agreed to go.

It was the smoothest border crossing we could hope for, we were granted a ten day visa to Iraq on the spot. The border crossing agent asked where we were going, when we replied Dohuk, he nodded approval.

“Don’t go to Mosul,” he said, “if you go to Mosul there might be…. an accident.” We all nervously laughed.

We only wanted to stay in Iraq a few days. One of my concerns about traveling pregnant was that we should remain close to a big city where I would be able to find a decent hospital in case anything should happen. There was no way we could go to a big city in Iraq, they were just too dangerous.

So that meant that if anything should happen we’d have to cross the border back into Turkey and then take a bus for several hours before we could find a decent sized hospital. Given that there weren’t any signs of problems though, I was willing to take the risk for a couple days.

It was still morning when we arrived in Dohuk. After finding a cheap hotel and resting for a few hours we went off in search of an internet cafe so Wade could work on the website and I could send my mom an email letting her know that her four month pregnant daughter was in Iraq.

As I started the email, though, I began to feel little bubbles in my tummy. Wait a minute, those probably aren’t bubbles. No those definitely aren’t bubbles. I bounded across the room to Wade.

“Wade! I just felt the baby move!”

And so here was our little embryo, turning into her own person and being able to move by herself,  in Iraq.

Read parallel entry from Wade at, Border Crossing Iraq from Turkey

Pre-natal Visit in Istanbul

By the time we arrived in Istanbul I was 14 weeks pregnant and due for another routine pre-natal check up. Ashamed about how much money we had spent seeing a private doctor in Budapest, I was determined to find an alternative in Istanbul.

Receiving pre natal care in Istanbul

Receiving pre natal care in Istanbul

I tried calling the German and English hospitals, but they charged at least $100 to see a doctor, not including any tests. So I tried calling the local hospitals, but none of their receptionists spoke English. I needed some help. I turned to Couchsurfing.org.

I have found that people on this site are friendly and not only willing to let strangers sleep in their homes, but willing to help with any kind of problem a traveler is facing. So I posted on the Istanbul message board that I was pregnant and looking for a recommendation on an English-speaking, reasonably priced ob-gyn doctor. Sure enough a young doctor responded that his friend from medical school would be willing to see me and sent me his email address.

After emailing and talking on the phone (we have found an unlocked phone with a SIM card purchased for each country vital) we agreed to meet at the Public University Hospital where he worked. It wasn’t too difficult to navigate Istanbul’s public transportation system to the Hospital, but upon arriving we were overwhelmed by the mass campus and had no idea how to try to find the gynecology wing where we were supposed to meet.

With no other options I bashfully approached the guards, “gynecology wing?” I asked hopefully. They had no idea what I was talking about. I began asking passing women, they too seemed confused. Finally I turned to the well dressed men and doctors, not even they seemed to understand.

Wade and I were feeling hopeless when I got the idea to write what I thought the word for gynecology in Turkish might be:

“Ginelogia.”

I admit, this was a pot shot, but the doctors finally seemed to understand what we wanted, and we found our way to a wing full of waiting women. Upon entry to the “Ginelogia” wing of the hospital, we texted the doctor to let him know we had arrived.

I then began looking around at the other women in the ward. Their weary faces had the blank stares people get from long hours of sitting and waiting. The only amusement in the room appeared to be a stray cat that wandered in and out from between the waiting womens’ feet. I sighed, wondering if I, too, was in for a long day of sitting around on the hard wooden benches of a hospital maternity ward.

I should have known better. A young female medical student immediately walked up to us and asked us to follow her. We were whisked past two waiting rooms crammed with Turkish women and into the back room where our doctor was sitting behind a folding table next to a crew of eager medical students.

He asked a few basic questions: my age, how far along I was, if I smoked or drank, and if Wade and I were related. “What?! No, I’m the father,” Wade said, thinking the doctor had misunderstood our relationship.

“Yes, I know,” the doctor replied with assuredly, “But is he your cousin or something? It is very common here in Turkey.”

The doctor then performed a quick ultrasound to make sure I was pregnant and to check how far along I was. Then he said I must urgently have an NT test to check for chromosomal deficiencies, and sent us off with three slips of paper: one for the ultrasound lab, one for the blood test lab, and a third for the urine test lab.

With the name of the lab written in Turkish on a piece of paper we found it a little easier to navigate through the maze of different hospital buildings. At each lab we had to find the receptionist, check in, and then find another receptionist on another floor and pay her the money (between $10-$30) and then return to the first one with the receipt before we could be seen.

Ultra sound from Turkey

Ultra sound from Turkey

However our relief at finding the ultrasound lab was soon outweighed by frustration when the nurses there told us there were no doctors and we’d have to come back on Monday.

“No, our doctor said this test was urgent and we needed to have it today” I strongly spoke pointing at the ground. The nurse shook her head and pointed to Monday on her calendar. Now I knew I was already at a low risk for Downs’ Syndrome because of my age, but the urgency of the doctor was enough to make me a little nervous, and I wanted the testing done immediately.

So the nurse and I fought.

“Today!”

“Not possible!”

“Yes it is, there are all kinds of doctors here. Today!”

“Not possible.”

Finally the nurse walked away from the reception desk. Not to be outdone, I sat down on the chair and refused to move.

I won. She found an Iranian doctor who spoke English. We explained the problem. He found a doctor to do the ultrasound.

I admit, I loved having the ultrasound done. I loved watching Wade’s eyes grow really big as he watched the screen. I loved the doctor jiggling my belly with the wand to try to get the baby to move. I loved watching him squint to see my baby’s tiny developing organs and hands and feet. I loved the little pictures they gave us at the end, and, most of all, I loved him telling me that everything looked perfect.

Though I mostly believed in a low intervention pregnancy, it was super reassuring to have an ultrasound test tell us everything was okay.

On to Iraq!

Read parallel entries from Wade at  Prenatal Care Istanbul Turkey and Medical Care when Traveling Abroad.

Finding a Job in Istanbul

From Albania we took a minibus and train through Greece to Istanbul. Greece was the one place I had wanted to go when we found out we were pregnant, the adventures of the Balkans and Middle East seemed a little overwhelming.

Being pregnant was enough of an adventure, I just wanted to relax.

“Why don’t we just go to Crete and hang out by the water?” I suggested.

Chaya pregnant in Istanbul

Chaya pregnant in Istanbul

But when we were finally coming to Greece, Wade insisted it was too expensive and we’d do better to just get to Istanbul where we could find jobs teaching English. He promised me we’d return to Greece for a honeymoon…

In Istanbul we spent a few days walking around, finding our way through the city, eating kebabs, and getting soaked in the rain. Then it was time to find jobs.

We called the major English teaching schools, but even their secretaries didn’t speak English well enough for them to understand us. So we put on our most presentable clothes and walked around the city dropping off resumes. When that didn’t work we went to the old standby, which is quickly becoming an international resource, craigslist.

Looking for a job in a foreign country while pregnant isn’t easy. Of course I couldn’t tell anyone about the little person growing in my belly or they never would have hired me. I knew I only had a month or two before I would start to show. In fact my little belly was already making my jeans feel a little snug, so I found a empire waist dress in the Istanbul market for about $4.

Istanbul from sea

Istanbul from sea

But it was a race against time, so I wanted to hurry up and find some sort of employment, knowing that if I didn’t get a job in the next couple weeks I probably wouldn’t be able to work until after the baby arrived.

Eventually one of the craigslist ads responded. They taught using the Callan method, an experiential English program that requires the teacher to stand in front of the room reading sentences and then asking students to repeat them. I sat through a long interview, went to a couple evenings of unpaid training before telling Wade the boss was just too swarmy for me to sit through another week of unpaid training. He seemed like a creep. I couldn’t really trust him.

But mostly the reason why I strayed away from this work was that it was getting hard for me to concentrate. The classes were taught in the evening. I was exhausted by 8 pm. I was starting to get spacey and having difficulty paying attention. I was still emotional and whenever I made a mistake and was corrected I wanted to cry.

Istanbul at night

Istanbul at night

Other young English and Canadian wannabe English teachers were talking about what clubs they went to at night and all I could think was “I’m pregnant…I’m really pregnant.”

I felt useless. The boss was a schmuck. It wasn’t worth it. Even if I didn’t get another job.

I went back to grocery shopping, cooking, and watching my belly grow.

Watching my belly grow

Watching my belly grow

Read parallel entries on Wade’s travelogue

Baby Travel Supply Store

Travel gear for baby store launched on Travels with Petra –

I just launched an Amazon Baby Travel Supply Store stocked with all kinds of baby travel necessities and items to make family travel easier.

Visit Chaya’s Baby Travel Store

In this online Amazon.com store, there are travel beds, baby carriers, toys, clothes, books about pregnancy, childbirth, and baby care among other things.

Please visit and let me know if you have anymore suggestions or reviews about the products listed! Remember if you want to buy anything from Amazon, even if the item is not from our stores, if you click to Amazon.com through the Amazon icon on Vagabond Journey we will receive a small percentage of the sale. Thanks!

Visit Chaya’s Baby Travel Store

Chaya's baby travel supply store on Amazon.com

Chaya's baby travel supply store on Amazon.com

Visit Chaya’s Baby Travel Store

Other travel gear stores on Vagabond Journey

Couchsurfing While Pregnant

Travel Strategy — Couchsurfing while pregnant for good accommodation –

Wade and I have tried several different methods to save money on accommodation while traveling. We stayed in an apartment in Budapest, slept in dorm beds in Belgrade and Sarajevo, stayed in private rooms in Mostar and Dubrovnik ad slept in a sex hotel in Northern Albania. But the cheapest and best by far was couchsurfing.

Countryside of Gramsh Albania - a place we would have never gone if not too stay with a couchsurfing host

Countryside of Gramsh Albania - a place we would have never gone if not too stay with a couchsurfing host

The website http://www.couchsurfing.org allows you access to a database of people all over the world willing to let you sleep on their couch — giving you free place to crash, sometimes a free meal, a teacher about the country and culture, and an instant friend in a foreign land.

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Chaya from www.VagabondJourney.com
Gramsh, Albania, Europe — Spring 2009
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Wade and I searched through the website and found a Peace Corps volunteer in Gramsh, Albania. On the map, Gramsh looked like a little town in the middle of some hills in the middle of nowhere. We would never have had a reason to go there otherwise, and probably wouldn’t have because I think the closest hotel was a couple towns away. But a free place to stay in an out-of-the-way place is one of the things couchsurfing does best.

Tauschia, our Couchsurfing host in Albania

Tauschia, our Couchsurfing host in Albania

I was really happy to be staying with Tauschia, a young woman from Washington. Happy to be eating delicious American food (green vegetables! grilled cheese sandwiches! carrot ginger soup! I love that couchsurfing almost always gives you access to a kitchen). Happy to be swapping traveling stories. Happy to staying with a single woman who invited travelers into her home (couchsurfers tend to be more men than women and, in some countries, seems to be mistaken as a dating site to pick up foreign women).

Given all of this comfort and yet I would still have outbursts of frustration at Wade for spending so much time on the computer one minute and then start crying about not having a home for Number Three — the nickname of the fetus growing in my belly — the next.

Oh those pregnancy hormones!

Hiking in the mountains of Albania

Hiking in the mountains of Albania

It can be a little trying to be staying on someone else’s couch, not having any privacy, and having to live on someone else’s schedule. But these seemingly small things become bigger issues when you’re pregnant — and have to eat when you need to eat and freak out a little when you need to freak out a little.

So we did a combination of couchsurfing and staying in hostels and apartments throughout our pregnancy travels, respecting the pregnant belly, and realizing that if a pregnant woman ain’t happy ain’t nobody happy.

The countryside around Gramsh Albania

The countryside around Gramsh Albania

Couchsurfing while pregnant in Albania

Mothers in Tirane, Albania

In Tirane, Wade and I couchsurfed with a young Albanian man, Florenc, and his mother. I was exhausted from pregnancy and it was a welcome relief to stay in a home instead of a hostel or sex hotel.

Florenc was recently returned from New York where he lived and worked before being denied political asylum. His mother was a loving, protective conservative woman. I would try to help her prepare dinner, communicating through hand signals since I spoke no Albanian and she only knew a few words of English.

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Chaya from www.VagabondJourney.com
Tirane, Albania, Europe — Spring 2009
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Mostly I did things wrong (diced the garlic into the yogurt instead of just throwing whole cloves in, washed the dishes with our castille soap instead of the dish soap I hadn’t been able to find up in a cabinet etc) but she laughed it off and appreciated the effort.

Florenc, our Albanian couchsurfing host

Florenc, our Albanian couchsurfing host

When Wade got up to help he was yelled at by the mother until he sat back down. I was then told to bring him another beer.

In Albania, the kitchen was clearly a woman’s place.

Honestly, rather than this bothering me, it made me feel included. I enjoy women’s places, especially while pregnant. It was a huge comfort to be around another mother.

Chaya in Albania

Chaya in Albania

With Florenc translating, she asked how old I was (24, the same age she was when she had her first son), how far along I was, what I was craving, what names we were thinking about, why we were going back to my family’s house to have the baby instead of Wade’s, and, the one asked most frequently, why he hadn’t married me yet.

"Why hasn't he married you yet?

"Why hasn't he married you yet?

She told me stories of her own pregnancies and encouraged me to eat and eat and eat. It would be easy to wax on about how pregnancy connects women all around the world, but we retain our cultural differences too. As dinner progressed Florenc’s mother proudly offered me some of her homemade raki, a liquor from grapes.

I looked to Florenc to translate that I wasn’t drinking because I was pregnant. His mother looked confused for a minute and then said “How about a beer?”

Tirane, Albania

Tirane, Albania

Read parallel entry from Wade at Tirane Albania Good City and Colorful Painted Buildings of Tirane

Pregnancy Cravings in Eastern Europe

“So what kind of fruit do you want?” the Serbian mom who lived at the hostel in Belgrade asked me.

I looked at her all confused.

“With my first one, my son, I couldn’t get enough apples,” she continued, “I could eat them all day long. And with her,” she nodded toward her daughter, “I could eat an entire bunch of bananas in one sitting. It was all bananas, bananas, bananas.”

“I haven’t really been craving anything yet,” I replied.

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Chaya from www.VagabondJourney.com
Sarajevo, Bosnia, Balkans, Europe — Spring 2009
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A week later in Sarajevo I turned to Wade, “Wouldn’t peaches be the best thing ever right now?” I asked, ”don’t they sound so good to you?”

He looked at me like I was crazy.

But I suppose cravings are meant to be illogical.

The search for peaches

The search for peaches

Lucky for me, finding peaches in the Balkans in the middle of winter is impossible. It would be a good hunt for Wade and I to track some down. I soon abandoned the cheap produce stands and went to the biggest supermarkets I could find in hopes of scavenging some imported peaches.

But there were no peaches.

I ate peach yogurt, drank peach juice and tea but my craving just became worse. I began dreaming about peaches.

Searching for peaches in vegetable markets

Searching for peaches in vegetable markets

In Croatia, Wade fund an old dusty can of peaches on the bottom shelf of a food store. He was so excited he practically ran home and proudly presented it to me as if he were a returning war hero.

“That is the grossest thing I’ve ever seen,” I let slip out of my mouth as soon as I saw the moldy peaches floating in some kind of sickeningly sweet alchemy syrup. Wade’s face fell as his dreams of being a savior were swiftly crushed.

A real juicy peach was the only thing that would do. My mouth would water at its mere mention. At each new town we would find a place to sleep and then I would begin scouring the markets for peaches.

Searching for peaches in the Balkans

Searching for peaches in the Balkans

Finally in Tirana, Albania on a sunny day, we came across a good size produce market with lots of stands. My eyes grew big and I pulled Wade through the crowds.

There they were! A whole pile of peaches, the best thing I had ever seen. We bought a bag full for a million dollars and for the first time in my life I didn’t care I was being ripped off (I was being ripped off).

As soon as we stepped away from the market, I dug into my bag of treasure. I lifted a peach up to my mouth and bit down into it.

It was absolutely the best thing I have ever tasted in my life.

Read parallel entry from Wade at, Vagabond Pregnancy Update

What to do About Morning Sickness in Sarajevo

Traveling and Morning Sickness in Sarajevo –

From Serbia, Wade, myself, and the little fetus growing in my belly boarded a bus for Sarajevo. We left Belgrade at 10:30 at night, figuring we’d arrive in Sarajevo around 6 am. Traveling at night is one of our common strategies for saving money, since we don’t  have to pay for a hotel room for a night.

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Chaya from www.VagabondJourney.com
Sarajevo, Bosnia, Balkans, Europe — Spring 2009
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Unfortunately we miscalculated the times and arrived in Sarajevo at 4 am, exhausted and cold. There were taxis and families waiting to pick up all the other travelers, but we decided to slip into the bus station for a couple hours before attempting to walk to the city.

Ticket less ride on the tram to Sarajevo

Ticket less ride on the tram to Sarajevo

At around six we asked a ticket salesman whether the city was right or left, and then took off in the direction he pointed. We walked and walked and walked. There weren’t any sidewalks and trucks came zooming past us. We were the only ones walking. After about an hour I got frustrated.  I hadn’t eaten, had barely slept and had no idea where the city was, all to save a couple dollars on taxi fare.

After a long walk and an unpaid tram ride we finally arrived in the Old City of Sarajevo. By this time the morning sickness had kicked in.

Child in Sarajevo

Child in Sarajevo

I’d discovered that to head off the nausea I had to eat first thing in the morning and then continuously eat little snacks throughout the day. If I didn’t eat on time then I would feel sick and not want to eat at all. Then Wade would get frustrated with me for not eating. Then I would get mad at Wade and not want to eat even more. It was a vicious cycle, much easier to avoid than remedy.

Sarajevo, luckily had a lot of bread pastries that were filled with a little spinach, cheese, potato or meat. They were cheap, quick, and it was an easy meal for a stomach to tolerate. I was pretty satisfied.

Wade was pretty satisfied, too.

Pastry in Sarajevo good for morning sickness

Pastry in Sarajevo good for morning sickness

Restaruant sign for good pastries in Sarajevo

Restaruant sign for good pastries in Sarajevo

After a couple days, however, I was craving something more.

“Wade, I don’t think I’ve had fresh vegetables in two days,” I said. It can be a challenge to eat healthy on the road, on a tight budget, but I knew it was a necessity and had faith it could be done, even in Sarajevo in February.

So we began a quest for fresh vegetables. We went to three produce stands and it was growing dark before I saw them basking in the glow of a little lantern . . . broccoli!

I excitedly asked the price. I must have appeared a little too eager because the man wanted a million dollars for it. Wade bargained him down to half a million and we took our treasure back to the little hostel. In the bright light of the hostel,  however, the broccoli did not look like such a prize.

At least half of it was moldy.

Moldy vegetables in Sarajevo Bosnia

Moldy vegetables in Sarajevo Bosnia

We spent about 30 minutes cutting all the mold off, and in the process lost half our vegetable ration. But after a little steaming, a little butter, the baby and I enjoyed our nutrient rich feast.

Old city of Sarajevo, Bosnia

Old city of Sarajevo, Bosnia

Traveling pregnant in the Balkans, what to do about morning sickness.

Read parallel travelogue entries from Wade at, Travel to Sarajevo Bosnia, Bosnian War Destruction, Balkan War