It’s 2am here and I’m wide awake. It’s either the jetlag or the Turkish coffee I had earlier. I talk about coffee alot don’t I? I was wandering around the Gypsy camp taking pictures like a good little American when a man & a woman motioned for me to come to their hut. Their home was no bigger than the average bathroom in America. They insisted that I sit down on what looked like a couch while they made me some coffee over their stove. I had mixed emotions that went something like this, “Mmm… coffee. I like coffee.” and “Dear Lord what kind of water are they using?” The “I like coffee” emotion got the best of me and I just figured this experience could fall under the “Trample on scorpions” category. My Gypsy friend almost needed a spoon to get that coffee out of the pot. I like to think of it as “Coffee soup.” So there I was in my Lucky Brand jeans in a bathroom-sized hut, sitting with my knees almost touching my chin. Nearly as clueless about their language as they were of mine, we exchanged the kind of awkward glances one does when trying to appear like they’ve seen the movie everyones talking about. My cup of Joe was not unlike the bitter surprise you find at the end of a pot where the filter has busted. I sipped away though, with a grin on my face and black on my teeth. I must’ve said “thank you” in atleast 4 languages searching for one that might trigger a response. No luck.

I had an amazing time with the Gypsies. They were beautiful people; especially the children. Here’s a little clip that can tell you much more than I can. Love and miss you all. Having a blast!

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