These Here Boots

Home

2005-12-07T09:09:00.000-05:00

I'm home. These boots are sitting in the corner. Now they're those boots.

From Delhi, I flew to Hong Kong, where I explored a little, so long as I was within 20m of a restroom. I like HK; it really feels very, very different from the mainland. Perhaps this has something to do with the fact that 'manners' weren't systematically rooted out during the Cultural Revolution? Or perhaps it's just because HK has an effective subway. Anyhow, many layers... I'd love to spend more time there.

Then it was back to Beijing. I had to get a cheap flight, since that train I wanted to take so badly didn't leave in time. But it was nice to be in Beijing again, to see some of the folks back at WLE, to see the city in winter. I was shocked by how clear the air was, since I grown used to the two-block visibility the Fog of Mao imposed. And my Chinese seems to have deteriorated more than I would have hoped. Though much is quickly coming back, I was defeated while trying to order some "lu cha" (green tea). I think some tonal practice is in order.

The trip to the States wasn't bad. I had a good chuckle as I came back across Japanese prices at Narita; I couldn't help but shell out $7 for some noodles, but I managed to do without the single Bic pen I needed ($6).

I got into NYC and was out of the airport in a jiff, so I hopped on the airtrain to the subway. Now, I've just spent eight months working on a jargon-free, universally understandable English, so sitting between some local boys and listening to the thick slang was a treat.

I was off to visit my sister in her new apartment, way up on the east side, 101st. I met her at the subway stop and she began to give me a quick tour of her new neighborhood, "in the early stages of Gentrification". I find that a delightful phrase, thick with YUP determination and ambition. But I just thought it was neat to hear Spanish again.

So after briefly meeting my sister's crowd, meeting with a good friend from school in China, and chatting with the Chinese lady at the restaurant across the street, I was ready to go home, and home I am. I've been sleeping in my own bed, much too comfortable for my own good. I've been listening to music, which I've done without for all this time. I've even been so spoiled as to see my dog again, though she's pulled a Anna Nicole-Smith ballooning in the eight months I've been away. I'm also back to the thousand little draws on attention: Chinese to brush up before heading back to Duke; the shelves full of books that I've been so anxious to return to (or perhaps discover for the first time); the hundreds of classic, counterfeit Chinese films to watch; the workout regimen to pick up again....

But it's also a nice luxury to do nothing at all. It's my third day of, to use George's word,"decompression". I've been anxious to write something again. A debrief, then? If so, mightest thou forgive me if I wax?

I still have plenty to digest. I have lots of impressions and experiences to mine further still; a reserve from which to draw and produce more finished goods. But I've also got the future to look to, and I'm excited. I'm rather humbled by that wide world out there, but I'm more eager to be an active part of it. I can't wait to return to school, to the Navy, and to make more out of them than I ever could have without my wanderings. I'm excited for that. And I'm hungry, real hungry, to get back to books and to conversation and to friendships, and all those fine points that are missed in the rough.

I did start this thing as a medium for which to keep friends and fam informed. But I also had my own journal. As the journal fell by the wayside, I've been more and more tempted to add the personal, the randomness that's missing in a simple chronological travel narrative. Maybe I'll keep posting occasionally. I don't know. But there's certainly plenty to come, for me. If I can learn to open up more, than hopefully for you.

But this isn't the sort of episode one just walks away from, hanging up the boots on a rack. Those there boots have made an impression. So perhaps I shall be telling this with a sigh, somewhere ages and ages hence. I'm grateful for the loan, the opportunity that God, family, friends, and the world have given me. Now let's see if I can make a Difference.

P.S. Well I wanted to put up a final country list from the trip, but on thinking of that, I'd love to put up my reading list too. Really glad I finally learned to read.

Japan
China
Thailand
Mongolia
Russia
Belarus
Ukraine
Poland
Lithuania
Latvia
Estonia
Finland
Sweden
Norway
Denmark
Germany
Czech Republic
Austria
Switzerland
Leichtenstein
Slovakia
Hungary
Croatia
Slovenia
Bosnia-Hercegovina
Serbia (Yugoslavia)
Romania
Bulgaria
Makedonia (F.Y.R.O.M.)
Albania
Greece
Turkey
Georgia
Azerbaijan
Armenia
United Arab Emirates
Kuwait
India
Hong Kong *(S.A.R., this one count?)*
USA
_________________________
Total: 40

And the reading list. These Here Books:

Tracing Marco Polo's China Route - Wang Miao, Shi Baoxiu
The DaVinci Code
Foundation - Asimov
Men in Green Faces - Gene Wentz
The Battle of Midway
Into Thin Air - Jon Krakauer
The Lexus and the Olive Tree - Thomas L. Friedman
Adrift in China - Simon Myers
In Retrospect: The Tragedy and Lessons of Vietnam - Robert McNamera
John Paul Jones: A Sailor's Biography - Samuel Eliot Morison
Heart of Darkness; Secret Sharer - Joseph Conrad
Moby Dick - Herman Melville
Adventures of Tom Sawyer - Mark Twain
Stupid White Men - Michael Moore
Around the World in 80 Days - Jules Verne
Collected Short Stories of Jack London
East of Eden - John Steinbeck
Red Sky at Morning - Paul Garrison (yeah, the wrong one)
Adventures of Huckleberry Fin - Mark Twain
The Aspern Papers - Henry James
German History Text - (Lost info)
Dracula - Bram Stoker
One Fat Englishman - Kingsley Amis
Life of Pi - Yann Martel
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea - Jules Verne
Lullabye - Chuck Palahniuk
Count of Monte Cristo - Dumas
Mother Tongue - Bill Bryson
Candide - Voltaire
Basics of Islam - Dr. Khaveci
The Qu'ran
Arabian Nights (Penguin Selection)
Digital Fortress - Dan Brown
Cities of Salt - Abdelrahman Munif
Teach Yourself: Meditation
Barber of Seville; Marriage of Figaro - Beaumarchais
The Zero Game - Brad Meltzer
Montaigne's Essays
Fathers and Sons - Turgenev
Rule of Four - Caldwell & Thomason
Hinduism: An Introduction - Dharam Vir Singh
Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking - Malcolm Gladwell
The Five People You Meet in Heaven - Mitch Albom
Islam: A Short History - Karen Armstrong
Preparing for the 21st Century - Paul Kennedy
Balkan Ghosts - Robert D. Kaplan

Praise be to Book Exchanges. Love yall.

Delhi

2005-12-01T01:38:00.000-05:00

Delhi Belhi. I should have known.

Perhaps it was the wrath of the literary gods, striking me down for turning a daily-observation tool into simple chrono-narratives. Perhaps a chef just decided to toss some lettuce with his left hand. In any case, I was laid low for a pretty good period.

I got some reading in, and kept trying to make it to Agra (Taj Mahal's city), though my GI system's needs and the five hour trip weren't compatible for about a week.

I finally decided to axe Calcutta from my plan and just get a ticket to HK, though I made one final push to make Agra before leaving. I got in and found a room ($3) late the night before I was to fly out of Delhi, and I woke up around 6 to see the sun's first rays play on the Taj. That was really worth the trip. There were also tons of monkeys playing around in the pre-dawn light. Awww, there's a family of them looking for breakfast on a rooftop! Now look at curious George hopping off to go after something... but wait, papa goes charging after him to stop Georgie from touching the - *BOOM*

Little Georgie jumped into the power transformer. The monkeys and the humans all gather round to catch a glimpse of the results.

After breakfast I went to the Taj, which is twenty cents for Indians, or $5 (plus a $10 'tax') for foreigners. The Taj marble is way too white for my retinas, so without sunglasses, I kept stumbling around semi-blinded. There are no photos allowed inside, however, since the inside really isn't that cool. I guess seeing photos beforehand might dissuade folks from paying $15 entrance. The acoustics inside are pretty amazing, though; some guide sang a note that reverberated for about twenty seconds.

As for Delhi itself, I did some of the sights, and there was plenty of cool stuff, but having been (and still being) sick, I don't feel so effusive right now. I did meet one very cool rickshaw driver, though. I had a load of books, and when he learned some were on religion, he asked if I knew much about Sikhism (his religion). I didn't, but was still curious, so he took the afternoon off to show me his temple and share his faith. Nice guy.

I got robbed, too! Not the rickshaw driver. One day I was looking through my guidebook when some beggar kids came up and wouldn't leave. I had my backpack in front of me, and I just caught one of the boys sneaking my leatherman tool out of my backpack (there's one pocket that won't take a lock). I gave him a cough and a browbeat until he handed it back sheepishly, but as they walked away, a man nearby came closer and told me "They have! They have!" I wasn't really sure what they had, but I hopped the fence and took off after them. They ducked into an alley, I lost them, but after taking inventory of my stuff, it turned out they took my business cards. Hah. Now I can wear the badge of having been robbed in India, yet for a fraction of the cost.

Hong Kong was cool; it would be a nice place to live and work. I went around a bit, but I was still pushing it. Now I'm in Beijing. I'm writing from good ol' WLE, and catching up on all the stuff I've missed for the past five months. It's getting chilly out. Anyhow, I fly tomorrow, so I thought I'd make an update, despite my continued delirium. But I love having excuses for crappy updates.

Stick with until I can debrief yall.

Mumbai

2005-11-21T09:08:00.000-05:00

It was so wierd...

I walked out of the airport, and almost instantly a motorbike whizzed by, driven by a well-dressed man with a gorgeous Indian woman on the back. Her eyes met mine, and I immediately threw down all my bags and burst into song declaring my love for her. The skycaps provided the orchestra and backup dancers. The girl also sang a verse, though I don't understand how we heard it, since she must have been a mile away. I then leapt off to find her, discovered she is held captive by an evil industrialist, and set out to save her. Evil industrialist sends out hoods to hound me, but I win them over with my affable nature. Finally, there is a showdown, a sing-off. Industrialist is bested, realizes his folly, and grants me the hand of the girl. We're all friends again, the girl and I marry, my long-lost twin brother comes back from the war, and we all dance until everything goes black.

Then I woke up, of course, still on the plane, final descent to Mumbai. Forgive me, that's all my subconcious had to go on.

When I got into the airport, I noticed it smelled like the plane I'd just left. Curry. It's odd, the whole time in India, I haven't been able to go for more than a minute without hitting a wall of odor, either curry or poo. Those two aren't always where expected, however. Airport bathroom? Curry. Under-the-airport-overpass restaraunt? Uhh... not curry.

We landed at 4am, so I read for a while and watched sunrise over the cab-ranks. I didn't have a guidebook, so all I knew was I wanted to go downtown to find a netcafe, finding lodging from there. I hopped on a bus, not quite sure where it was going, but I got a nice tour of the Mumbai sluburbs before getting off at a train station. I tried to find internet around there, and ended up waiting for a shop that some guy said opened at 9, grabbing some tea at a tiny cafe. I was really surprised by the quality of English I was running into, or rather, the lack-thereof. I had always heard tales of Iowa-accented Bangalore call center employees, and how English was the common language in a land of over 300 tongues. I was rather suprised by how difficult it was to communicate. 9:00 came, but the 'internet cafe' I had been waiting for turned out to be a computer store. Still, I was content trying to chat locals.

I then grabbed a train to go downtown. I was expecting something metro-ish, but instead, I got cattle-cars. The doors and windows are all propped open, people are hanging out the doors or chilling on the roof, and there's a mad crush to get on or off the train. I missed the first train, since I didn't really understand the system of boarding. It seemed more akin to football, an offensive line driving to get on while the defense is struggling to get out. The next train came along, and I plowed in, aided by the mass of 80lbs of gear on me. I flowed downstream and ended up near the opposite door, hanging out of the train with one handhold and uneasy balance, but at least I got a breeze. We started off, soon we pulled along another train, and I watched some guys sitting on the roof, having a smoke. The situation didn't seem conducive to the physics of a cigarette, but these guys are probably aeronautical engineers working on a new ramjet engine.

Once downtown, I oriented myself and looked for a room. I finally tried a place which seemed to be a pretty nice hotel, but I asked for the cheapest room. I usually have a rough time finding the "cheapest room", but at this hotel the clerk just leads me back behind a kitchen and opens the door. The room is basically a converted pantry with a bed. It's perfect. So I found a hotel with great service, yet my room was only a few bucks, and room-service is near free. Well, first I tried to phone for room service, but when I heard the ring on the other side of the wall, I hung up, raised my voice, and just asked for some tea.

But prices in India are just nuts. During my travels I've longed to get back to "Chinese prices," where I could get a pot of tea for 3RMB, about forty cents. But here, that tea is three rupees, about six cents. Meal prices are similar, and I relish the ability to leave a $2 tip when my meal costs fity cents. So before long, the staff guys at the hotel were bringing me free tea or newspapers or other stuff I hadn't requested. They always got a huge grin when I'd give them their fifty cent tip, and the gift frequency just increased.

But after checking in, I crashed for a brief nap, then got cleaned up and went out to explore Mumbai. I still hadn't a guidebook, so I cruised around downtown looking for bookshops. Though I could only find a standard-priced LP, all the other books in Mumbai are about a dollar, so I ended up coming home with a huge bag of knowledge.

The following am I woke up at four, having now completely screwed my bioclock. I read for a while, then hollered for breakfast and went up to the roof to watch the sunrise. Breakfast in Bombay at daybreak? Magical. I headed down and went for a walking tour of all the tourist sights, but I couldn't even find something worth a photo. I hung out at the Gateway to India for a while, hoping to be picked up for a Bollywood flick extra, but I couldn't take the touts for long. I did get one interesting pitch though: Two men in Hindu religious garb came up and began blessing and saying prayers over me, despite my claims that I didn't have any money. They insisted it was merely a religious gesture, and then painted something on my forehead and tied me a cloth bracelet. One guy starts saying a last big, dramatic prayer, and his parter asks for a donation. "50 rupee will give good luck and happiness today. 100 rupee will give good luck whole week. No donation will give bad luck for whole trip..." and so on. I thought it was a hoot; we may have invented chain-letter spam, but these guys have perfected it.

So I was slightly disappointed with the tourist sights, so I opened my LP to it's Mumbai map and looked for a section that didn't list any attractions. I started off, and sure enough, found my way to some major slums. Bombay supposedly has some of the worst slums of Asia, so I thought it would complete my tour. I was fascinated.

I got back in the afternoon and suddenly decided it was time to move on to Delhi. Grabbed a taxi to Victoria Station and bought a ticket to Delhi for five dollars. Of course, this "General" car I had a ticket for turned out to be no better than the city-trains. The car was just a can of flesh, with about 30 people stuffed into each berth (each section which would normally hold 6). Of course, I'm counting the folks standing in the crammed aisles and the people sitting in luggage racks. I was crammed on an upper bench with four other guys, and the only way to relieve the pain from slouching was to stretch forward a bit. Of course, my 'seat' had a giant metal bar under my tailbone, preventing any sort of slouch, so it was always a choice between a pain in my back or a pain in my As we moved along I kept getting new bunkmates, full of prods and questions. Thus I got no sleep, but there were some interesting folks. One guy was passing around his rifle, which I recognized as an M-1 Garand. I only know this since it was almost exactly like our NRTOC drill rifles, only this one had a magazine loaded. I was also invited many times to join in for a smoke, but as these cigarettes were referred to as "Universal cigarettes," and smelled a bit like Beta house, I respectfully declined. And again, the train was opportunity for me to witness the lack of English skills, as I constantly got poked and questioned on random stuff that I couldn't make out at all. The comment that I always made out, however, was "Why you in General class?" Indeed, there was wisdom in this. These folks were only on for short legs of the trip, but my journey from Mumbai to Delhi? 28 hours.

I got into Delhi and broke my binge/fast. My train diet had consisted solely of fried curry balls, so I'm not sure if it was a binge due to caloric intake or a fast due to lack of any nutrients. Although there are guesthouses around here where I can get a bed for $1, I decided to spoil myself on a $6 room in the hopes my spine will recover. Of course, there's something alive in my bedframe that was scratching wood all night. Whoo, I need some tea.

I'm off to explore Delhi. Love yall.

The Gulf

2005-11-16T18:22:00.000-05:00

So I'm in Kuwait. Yeah, I really don't know how that happened... I was just looking for the cheapest tickets to Mumbai, and I was all set to get an Emirates direct-flight, when I suddenly found it would be half the price on Kuwaiti airlines with a stopover. So I'm in Kuwait.

I guess I didn't plan out all the effects of this little change, but I'll get to that in a bit. I will say, however, that it is very nice to have another Gulf state to compare to Dubai. I'm liking Dubai more and more.

When I first got to Dubai it was 102 degrees and sunny. Well, I got in the night before, but when I woke up and went outside the next day I thought I was going to die. Ate breakfast, met some German girls, and heard about a desert safari thing. Originally I was hot to hop down to the Liwa Oasis with it's 350m sand dunes, but upon inquiries it sounded like the only way to get there (there's nothing in the Empty Quarter, not even a Saudi-UAE border) was with a 4WD and excursion gear. Two of the few things I don't have in my daypack.

Die schorne Frauen gave me a brief intro to the bus system, and then I was off to explore the gold souq and fishmarket downtown. I was wandering through the side alleys of the gold souq when I came upon a little tailor shop where some westerner was haggling over the price of a National dress outfit. He seemed to have been at it for a while, and finally got the keffiyeh (headscarf), jalibiyya (robe) and accessories down to about $15. Impulse buy/desire to not haggle seized me, so I asked for the same.

I walked around for a bit longer before hopping a bus that went out to the Burj al-Arab (that crazy sail-shaped building/Dubai-icon/$1500 per-night hotel). Fell asleep on the bus, but it seemed a short ride and someone woke me up near the Burj. Hung out at the beach for awhile, took some pictures, tried on the new garb, and watched the sun set. Hopped a bus back downtown, and the Germans happened to get on a few stops away. It also turns out I had quite a nap on the way out, since it was more than an hour getting back to town.

Of course, the bus went to some odd end of the city, so the three of us wound our way back to the souq-station, grabbed food, and got our giggles as I donned the national garb again. I was hoping that no one would be offended, but I just seemed to get smiles from most of the South-Asian, African, or SE Asian guys at the bus stop. One man even called me over to teach me some phrases to "complete the set."

But I haven't yet mentioned the cultural make-up of Dubai. This is probably one of the most fascinating aspects of the Emirates: a nation of over four million, where less than 20% of the population are actually citizens. The majority are from every corner of the globe who've come to make money; the minority are the locals with gobs of money. I could go on about the insights this offers into immigration or national identity issues, but I'll save that for some paper I have to write (hopefully a replacement for standard BS). I'll stick to the pertinent stuff, as I was in constant contact with the "visitors" all the time. While the Emiratis were driving their Hummers and gabbing on their cells, I was chilling with the other Guests in their shops, in their restaurants, on their buses.

On their buses. Back to the story; there I was climbing onto a public bus at the gold souq. The ladies sit in ladies section, I move back and grab a rail, standing on the packed bus. I'm still getting smiles from the workers (so this probably is an 'up-yours' to Arabs, and the non-citizens probably enjoy it). Of course, behind me someone quickly jumps up and asks me to take his seat, and I turn around to see an African boy with a now-puzzled look on his face. Another glimpse at the social hierarchy.

Upon getting back to the youth hostel, I grabbed a shower and put on some standard, if slightly grungy, clothes. Yes, there is a YH in Dubai, Hotel price with Family Hotel quality (In Dubai, lodgings are grouped into these two categories, as the cheaper "Hotels" are often brothels). Went downstairs and met Johnny, a Torontonian investment banker. He has some ME blood, speaks some Arabic, and finds the Tax-free status of Dubai appealing. Even North Americans come to Dubai to make money. Anyhow, chatted with him and the ladies for some time, and having been in Dubai for a month, Johnny had plenty of cool observations on the society.

I also got ribbed by him and the girls for carrying an umbrella in my daypack, despite being in the middle of a 100-degree desert. Of course, I can't really get over that Boy Scout motto, and so my daypack also contains a poncho, thermos, extra camera, superglue, tape, locks, a Buddha, a Qur'an, journals, phrasebooks, hat, wool cap, gloves, sewing kit, Cortaid, matches, business cards, maps, atlas, books, compass, thermometer, multi-tool with pliers, locks, multi-tool with corkscrew, bug spray, sun-block, toilet paper, emergency phone, spare pens, etc... I'm fine leaving the umbrella there.

Johnny also had some young, crazy-in-a-good-way Saudi "doctor" following him about, trying to convert him (and later, me). This Saudi guy had a rather comical tendency to launch into long appeals about God-knows-what, non-sensical in either delivery or content. Couldn't decide which. Anyhow, during my stay he was a constant source of humor as he kept phoning his friend, a "Saudi prince", to tell him he was talking to Americans, Germans, and Canadians all at once!

After breakfast following AM, we called the Safari company and made arrangements. At 3:00, a guy picked us up in a modified Land Cruiser and drove us out to the desert near Hatta. Wow... I guess the 100 meter sand dunes were suitable enough. So we grouped off with another Toyota, and grabbed our Oh-shit-bars as the driver proceeded to fly up and down the dunes. The "safari" was basically an hour-long roller coaster ride, with plenty of G's, but no assurance of not-flipping over when we had a 60degree roll (hence the roll cage). Very awesome. Also had a few photo breaks, and the sunset over the orange dunes was just fantastic. In the evening, all the Toyotas in the desert converged on a camp for dinner (great to have local, rather than Indian, food), belly dancing, sheesha, tea, and even some beers! All in all, a fine little trip.

Following day I headed back downtown to get a ticket to Mumbai. The downtown is a nice segue into India, thanks to it's huge Subcontinent population. Since leaving Armenia I've been living on a steady diet of biriyani, masala, and other such dishes, since I can't really afford any of the food intended for Citizens. But it's all delicious, and it's really fun to ditch the silverwear. All the SubConters eat with their hands, and though I'm usually served with a spoon or fork, I just dig in with fingers while the locals smile or give a head-bobble of approval. My right hand has smelled of curry for about a week now, but since I carry that toilet paper, my left hand does not yet smell authentic.

Anyhow, then came all the flight business that I mentioned earlier. After hearing about the Kuwait option, I went to go use the internet and upload some photos. I downloaded Picasa and started touch-ups, though apparently it's no big thing for everyone to crowd around and stare at my screen. I chalked that one up to the fact that many of the pictures included the western women, as they usually get stares anyhow.

To my surprise, though, one of the guys came over and started asking about the program. I tried to explain slowly, but I just couldn't get my ideas across. The lingua franca is a mixture of bad African-English, bad M.Eastern English, bad Asian-English, either bad Subcontinent-English or Hindi/Tamil/something code-switching, etc. Anyhow, it's always a treat speaking with locals.

But this guy then produces a diskette and seems to ask if I'll edit some photos for him. I quickly touch-up the photos to clearly reveal some woman, who another customer inquires about. The photo-owner is Nigerian, and it sounds like the woman in the photo is from somewhere in Sudan, though the town's name sounded like a cross between a cough and a sneeze. But it was touching to hear the story of the Developing World's inter-continetal E-dating.

I no sooner finish with this guys photos than the Ethiopian worker behind the desk comes and asks me to do the same with his photos. Upon completion of that task, the Cafe owner comes jogging back, dressed to the 9's, glances at my camera with a hopeful look, and the cafe fully becomes a photo studio.

So that was Dubai. Really fun, and had a very nice mix of cultures, with a rather healthy dose of tolerant secular elements.

Then I hopped on the flight for Kuwait. I was handed a copy of the Kuwaiti times, where I got all the local news. A teacher in Saudi Arabia has been heard saying that the Jews aren't always wrong, and he even quoted a Bible verse. A month in jail for blasphemy, and 750 lashings at a good-ol' town-square flogging. Oil prices pushed also pushed higher on Tuesday, with more celebration from Kuwaitis. To go with the increased wealth, mega-SUVs are selling better than ever in Gulf states. "I like being in such a big car because it makes everyone else afraid," replied one woman when asked about her new purchase (on My Word, her real response). Russia's state owned Gazprom strengthened it's monopoly of Central Asian oil with more purchases in Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. Those shifty Americans are trying to control the internet; World council to accost them, led by the Justice League of Iran, Saudi Arabia, and China. Just another state-censored newspaper.

We touched down, and as the plane was unloading onto the tarmac, the passengers were yelping and covering themselves with bags, briefcases, or whatever they had. The American kid with the backpack just pulled out and popped open his umbrella. It's raining in the middle of the desert.

Got into Kuwait airport and was pleasantly surprised by the ease of getting visas for Americans. Looks like the government remembers recent history. Then I went through customs, and after my bag went through the X-ray I was asked to open it. The guy asked me to pull everything out, and the looked at a bottle I had. Brandy. I didn't think there was any problem since most Sane Arabic countries allow foreigners to import rather small allowances, but the guy promptly took the bottle and said I could go.

This ticked me off. I protested immediately, and said I'd keep it in the airport hotel, or mail it home, or something. The first guy seemed to agree, since as long as I didn't go through the doors I wasn't yet "in" Kuwait (think "The Terminal"). The customs guy asked which visa I had, so I produced my passport for him. The co-worker however seemed to be in a foul mood, and snatched my passport to hold hostage, telling me to just leave. He was actually telling me that it didn't matter what the rules were, since it was his country, not mine, and I could stop telling him how to run customs and get the hell out. Remember, I was staying calm, so I was rather shocked, and insulted, by irrational aggression. It looks like here, public sentiment remembers the most recent Middle Eastern history rather than that decade-old stuff.

But why didn't I just ditch the bottle and leave? It was Armenian Cognac, 20-year Ararat Ayree, the finest money will buy in Armenia. Sure, this only $50 usd there, but this stuff was Winston Churchill's favourite, the drink that Stalin would send him, still considered by many the finest "Cognac" in the world. Yet I haven't found any real exporters, so the bottles that are $3 in Armenia are $50 in the states. A bottle $50 in Armenia, I can't imagine what it'd be here. But I have no idea how I'd be able to replace this Christmas present for my favorite uncle. Merry Christmas, Uncle. I tried.

But I continued my protest for some time, having sat down at a nearby bench where many customs guys were lazing. It was ridiculous; I was carrying on a normal, friendly conversation with a few of them, while two others kept shouting curses and insults at me. It was obvious I was dealing with more than just a bottle of cognac here. Anyhow, the police/security came and began inquiries, and I kept calm and stuck to my request to just keep the bottle at the airport or mail it home. The police head seemed to see the logic in this, and he said it was probably okay, but that original ass**** kept screaming at everyone. I was asked to take a seat again, and after a few minutes, a tall black man and a woman of South Asian descent came in. Turns out they were USArmy (though non-uniformed), and it seems they were just grabbed out of the crowd. The man began gathering facts about the situation in what seemed to be a very-slangy fashion, but I realized that he was deliberately using street-vernacular. To the Kuwaitis present, it was as good as a foreign language. So he pretty much spelled it out for me that yeah, I had the rules on my side, but that didn't mean jack here for these folks, and they can play very dirty. Unfortunately for me, the crazy asshole with the Anti-American bent was the Customs guy-in-charge.

So I decided I had pushed the situation close enough to getting arrested, and still without results. Then I turned my thoughts to the two Americans helping me out, and after realizing what these two probably had to put up with across the border, my problem looked a pretty trivial. I grabbed my stuff and left in a rather despondent mood. I tried.

I Grabbed a taxi and asked to go to the Hawali Youth Hostel. After leaving, the driver tries to call for directions, and after no answer, begins yelling at me for, wanting the exact address. I calmly explain to him which street the hostel is on and what a hostel is, but he's soon screaming about how there is no such thing as a bed until 20 dinar (60 USD) per night in Kuwait. Gosh, what a welcome. Finally got to the street I asked for, spotted a Boy Scout building, and hopped out. Figured the Scouts will always know where Hostels are. This actually turned out to be the 10-story, Gold-encrusted-lobby'D Boy Scouts of Kuwait headquarters. I soon got directions to the hostel... 50 meters away. The 3-story, though hugely-wide hostel compound seemed to be completely empty, but still open. I suppose not many travelers are looking for that Kuwaiti hospitality I've received. But the guy who runs it is nice enough, and a bed here is, for the record, three dinar.

So I've been exploring Kuwait, a much more conservative gulf state, though with the same huge SUVs. There's some neat architecture, though not as modern as Dubai's, and a nice stretch of coastline where one can hardly see the vomiting smokestacks on the horizon. It's still raining, and since Kuwait doesn't seem too concerned about runoff-management, the roads are all under about six-inches of standing water. The city is okay, but there doesn't seem to be too much for tourists, and the few museums I went to were on their five-hour siesta. I only got stopped once by the police, as I was wearing shorts, but since I had the other half of my zipoffs in my bag I got away unmolested. Soo... great place!

So I've come back to the internet cafe where I came last night to checked news and mail. Twenty computers ring the room facing the walls, though the connection is quite slow, or somebody is hogging bandwidth. The guy next to me last night was probably a contributor, a man in the Sheik-garb with several web-cam feeds open. Now, I respect privacy, but he's a foot away, and it's hard to sit so close to my screen that peripheral vision doesn't pick up the Very explicit feeds from his chatroom friends. First I was a bit shocked, and then uncomfortable, and finally I thought it ironic that the morally-depraved Westerner is so shocked by the porn-addicted Muslim. The guy finally left, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I moved back to comfortable browsing-position. A couple minutes later, a young guy in Sheik garb comes and sits down at the terminal next to me. Within minutes, more chatroom webcam feeds are open, just as explicit, only more... uh, masculine in nature. Lends support to some of the whisperings I've heard about the culture of young sheik-dom.

So this was all last night. I wasn't going to mention this, but the National (sheik) next to me has his own cam-feed open. I was rather relieved to see that this time it was a fully clothed Asian woman. Then a few minutes ago, oops! There goes her top. Now the webcam is being adjusted... and they really need to move these computers further from each-other.

So what are Saudi Arabia and Iran trying to do by messing with internet governance? Clearly, as 100% of my observations show, their efforts are not the will of the Muslim People.

I'll be back to piss off more people later. Love yall.

-jfm

P.S. I've been working on the arabic script, but most written words don't include many vowels. Thus if I've messed up a spelling, pls frgv m fr th errr.

P.P.S. Those of you who maintain that one cannot turn something into an adjective by adding 'D to the end, please consult StrongBad.

Dubai

2005-11-12T05:33:00.000-05:00

Dubai is great.

I've removed the post-script from that last post. I was pretty tired, and I don't think this is the appropriate forum for that subject. I'd be happy to share my impressions over a cup of coffee once I get home.

-jfm

Armenia

2005-11-11T15:57:00.000-05:00

Well, Iran told me to shove it. I tried everything, and I got this far, but the visa just isn't going to happen.

I guess I'm not too surprised, though it's still a letdown. I've been trying at different embassies this whole time, and I've done everything "right," but that doesn't make up for the dude behind the window who tells the American to go play Hide-and-go-Kill-Himself. Meh. Anyhow, I'm flying to Dubai tonight. The toughest part the rejection has been having to cool my heels in Armenia for a week. Yeah, it's a great place, but it would have been nice to spend the extra time elsewhere.

But it is a great place. Yerevan is a neat city, with good barbecue and Churchill's favourite Cognac. Not being much of a brandy aficionado, however, I much prefer the view. Much of the time it seems the Soviet-era smog forms odd clouds, but on the clearer, breezy days, the haze clears out to reveal Mt. Ararat in all her glory. It may be on the Turkish side of the border, but I now understand how it's an Armenian icon.

Of course, Noah's ark is supposed to be up there, somewhere. They have some pieces of it, along with the spear that pierced Christ, locked away at Echmiadzin, the home of the Armenian Church. I made the trip to see the relics, but didn't know about the "locked away" part until I got there. Still a neat trip.

I also made a trip to the museum of the Armenian Genocide, but it was closed due to lack of power. Instead, I spent the time at the memorial above the museum. Sufficiently depressing not to find time to go back. Instead of numerous color-photos of them, I'm content with reading of the systematic slaughter of 1.5 million and the subsequent Turkish denial.

I did, however, make the trip to Khor Virap, right on the Turkish-Armenian border. It's a little church on a little hill right under Ararat. It's got lots of history, yadda yadda, but I don't currently have the energy to go into that. I climbed a nearby hill to grab some photos and to meditate, but a farmer in one of the nearby fields caught sight of me and made his way to the hill. During his approach, I wasn't sure whether it would be a friendly visit, but when he got close I saw he was carrying his lunch, a watermelon. We exchanged greetings, he split his lunch on a rock and offered half, and we chatted away about whatever popped into our heads.

He had some long, unfamiliar name which I forgot pretty quickly. But interesting, nice guy. He's an Azeri, but he was living in Karabakh, and after the mass-displacement, being Christian, he decided to go to Armenia. He told me all about his kids, and about his Soviet Navy days in Murmansk, complete with the smashing-of-frostbitten-hand-against-rock demo. It seemed a mark of pride. Got to hear all of his opinions on rural Armenia, money-sodden Yerevan, wars on Terror, my county, etc. I was asking for all of these opinions, of course.

I was just impressed by how friendly and genuine he was; even when I asked him about his work, and heard of his growing brandy grapes for $2 a day, it wasn't a plea for cash. Regardless, before we parted I gave him $2 in Armenian Dram, since he had, after all, shared his lunch. Nice guy.

Made my way to the church, next, which was cool enough. The view is great. On the way down from the church, however, I stopped to talk with some guys about random stuff, and soon a group of young school-kids came down and immediately launched into a half-hour QnA session with the curious-looking American. No sooner had these young kids climbed onto their bus than another school-group came down, but this time the kids were 13-14 year olds. They spoke better Russian, asked more questions, and were more energetic about everything. Soon enough they were asking for photos, and they grabbed their teacher and took me back up to the church, with the young guys challenging eachother to get the American up rock-ledges, and the young girls seeing who could first get a phone-number or promise of marriage or something. Young, energetic kids.

Of course, upon our return to the parking lot I was invited to ride the bus back to their village, which was quite a nice gesture. It saved me the walk to the nearest town to wait for a bus to Yerevan. We loaded the bus, the teachers cranked up the music, and the kids and the American all danced around until the American couldn't stand any longer. Luckily, "Peanut Butter" and a few other songs helped their Dancing Monkey to continue the entertainment. Finally got to their village, said the goodbyes, and hopped a bus to Yerevan.

Other than that, I've been exploring Yerevan, walking in circles all week(really, it's all a big circular layout), reading, and not drinking enough coffee. Hence the rather uninspired text. The poor editing is because this computer is retarded. Anyhow, time to register for classes and then move on. I am, despite my yawning, really excited to get to the Gulf.

Love yall.

Caucasia

2005-11-01T08:33:00.000-05:00

Hey hey! Back again, and I hope yall'll stick with this one if it gets long. I'm also proud that the Welsh aren't the only folks who can put four L's in a row.

When I last left off, I was just getting into Tbilisi. After deciding for something a step up from the Bus Station Hotel(TM), I found a cool little homestay run by Grandma Nasi. I don't actually call her that, but it probably brings to mind a pretty good image of the place. Upon arrival, I ran into a guy named Erik who's been staying at Nasi's for a few weeks. Also from NY State. Also did NROTC. Didn't know whether to do it at Duke or Rice. Once we both got over the oddities of meeting in the middle of Georgia, we hopped around the city for a bit. He went Surface in the Navy, so I got to hear lots SWO-horror stories along the way. He also seemed of the opinion that the Navy thing in general isn't the greatest, but I'm still gung-ho. Then again, I haven't taken Physics yet.

Also met Almitra, a woman walking around the world. It's year nine. Rather amazing, and I heard some great stories and picked up a few tips. Just a fun lady. Also heard about some of the other BPers in the area, including some German guy Sebastian who hitch-hikes everywhere. Cool lady.

I set out to get an Azerbaijan visa, and I was presented with the options of a 5 day visa or waiting 5 days for a 30-day. Figured I'd make it a short trip. Dropped off my passport, and started on a proper walking-tour.

Tbilisi really is a beautiful city, laid between some lovely hills and adorned with thousands of churches (second nation in the world to adopt Christianity). Since the more pious locals cross themselves thrice when a church comes into view, the constant arm-flailing can be pretty humorous. I was just coming down one of the hills when someone starts screaming for "John".

Now, I've learned to ignore this. First it was giggles in Turkey when people asked about and learned my name. Then it got more confusing, with random people walking up to me and throwing out "Hello John!" It finally clicked that "John or Johnny" is regional slang for an American or Western guy.

Anyhow, after the shouts continued for a bit, I finally turned around to see Erik's head hanging out of a Taxi, though accompanied some heads of long, black hair. Erik had been matched with a Georgian gal, who had friends, and they were all headed back up the hills. So I hopped in.

Later I also got word about a Georgian film that's just finishing up in theaters: "Trip to Karabakh." Nagorno-Karabakh is a region that was part of Azerbaijan for most of the 20th century, though with a large Armenian population. Then, as the USSR cracked, so did the Caucasus. While Abkazhia picked up their railways and told Georgia to stuff it, and while South Ossetia decided it was time to join North Ossetia (across the Russian border), Nagorno-Karabakh also blew up. The government voted for independence, and then all hell broke loose. I don't know who the aggressors were, whether Aremenians came in and fought for Karabakh, or if it was Karabakhis v. Soviet and Azeri troops, or if Turks supported Azeri incursions and supression, etc. The thing is, I don't think anyone really knows. So this is quite a thorny issue in the Caucasus, and the '94 ceasefire, with Armenia controlling Karabakh, some rather poisonous sentiments abound. Anyhow, this is the cultural setting for this film. During the Hell, some Georgians decide to go down to Azerbaijan to score some hash, get lost, and end up separated on opposing sides of the front. Some rough sub-titles, lots of humor that doesn't seem to translate, but overall a very cool flick.

Following day (Wed) I pick up my passport and decide to head to Azerbaijan and to the only Pakistani embassy in the Caucasus. Got into Baku on Thursday, Pakistan told me No. Visas for Americans are only issued in America. I know from other travelers this is bull, but that won't help me anytime soon. So, went for an Indian visa.

I then got my bearings and headed to a hotel, which, while $5 dollars a room for most of the world's population, was $10 for me. Normally this wouldn't bug me TOO much, but there were non-Americans checking in right next to me for $5. I started to ask into it with the girl behind the desk, then a young westerner comes walking by and offers his assistance. "Speak Russian?" ask I. "Yeah!" So he launches into something (not Russian) and keeps repeating "Stinky Malinky!" I still don't have a clue what it was supposed to mean. The girl didn't really either, and as my savior repeated his phrases, she just got angrier. He said I can crash in his room, though, so I dropped $5 on the desk and drag the guy upstairs before the girl can call the cops. "By the way: what's your name?"

"Sebastian." The German guy from Nasi's who'd been hanging out with Almitra and Erik. Hmm. Anyhow, we planned out a little day-trip and headed for the Absheron peninsula.

The Absheron (Abseron but with a little dangly from the 'S') is the spit of land that juts into the Caspian sea. The whole thing is pretty much saturated in oil, and for ages it was known for "fire mountains" and other naturally occurring vents spitting out flame. An old temple we stopped at, the Ateshga (Home of the Flame), used to draw pilgrims from all around to worship the mystical flames. Of course, once drilling started nearby the flames petered out.

Now, however, the entire peninsula is just a wasteland. Had I only seen pictures, I wouldn't have imagined anyone could display such contempt for the planet. Yet here it is. There really isn't anything to do out there, other than visit the baby-cemeteries or marvel at the landscape. Who would have guessed this from a nation that has nothing better to put on their currency than drilling equipment?

Grabbed a bus back to Baku (after Sebastian flags down a car for a leg, despite my protests over hitching) and headed in. A mini-bus, by the way, is twenty cents. Metro coin? Five cents. Litre of '92 Octane? Thirty cents. Litre of water? Forty cents. Hmm.

Back at the hotel, I ran into a guy I'd seen around the place a few times. Actually, I ran into Sebastian, who had already been nabbed by the guy for some "hospitality." This usually just involves the consumption of an inordinate amount of alcohol, but this guy was a hoot. He was telling us all about his job of driving stolen Benzes and Bimmers to Baku or Tbilisi, where he got a $300 cut from the Mafia. And since he had such good Business friends, he really wanted to call for some lady friends! A Mafia call-girl, by the way, is $10. We just pretended to not understand the guy; I acting like I thought he was speaking of his wife, Sebastian... well, I don't think the comprehension was an issue there. Finally tried to get away since I had "to get up early to go to Sheki."

"Ahh! Good! Sheki's on way to next stop! I drive you and get you cheap rooms and cheap girls and..."

So never underestimate the hospitality of the Caucasian Mob.

That doesn't really go for the merchants, though. On this front, it seems Azerbaijan's cultural and geographic fusion has merged the morals of a Turkish cabby with Brezhnev-era service standards. At a rest stop on the 10 hour ride to Sheki (I did take a bus) I went into a diner and asked for borscht and tea. I got the tea, and after a while a waiter brought out a big tray of plates: broth, green onions, pickles, beet, a cup of sour cream, etc. I laughed and ate my some-assembly-required borscht. At the end of the meal, however, I pulled out 6000 manat to pay for my 5k meal (4.5k to the US Dollar). Of course, the staff, now crowding around the table, want 20,000 manat. After all, I got broth (3k) and cream (3k) and beets (3k)...

I laughed again, dropped 10,000, and headed out. Of course, I'm getting grabbed and pulled and shouted at... these clowns really wanted 20,000! I finally squeezed out the door they were blocking and got onto the bus. But just as the bus is pulling out, a group led by Big-Boss-Man jumps on, and starts shouting for 'Johnny Amerikan'. I wave, Bossman launches into some rant. After silence falls to wait for someone to translate, I just reply in bad Russian, "I asked for Borscht. 3000. I asked for tea. 2000. I gave 10,000. To your health."

Now, the "Nazdarovya" ('Cheers'/'To your health') was all I could think of. I thought it would add some finality without sounding too rude. I guess it came off differently, though, since first there was silence, then snickers, then some giggles, and finally some laughter from the rest of the bus. Bossman looked embarrased and tried to stare me down. He left the bus as someone in the back started clapping.

I don't always have pisser stories. There's lots of friendly folks around cities always eager to gab, and sometimes the kids are just too cute. I just find the pissers are more fun.

As for Sheki, Sheki was Sheki. Just a little town up near the border with Dagestan (Russia). Beautiful foliage. Made me miss home. Other than that it's pretty sleepy, with a modest little palace, a museum with re-decomposing Taxidermy and some cardboard models, and for entertainment, a dude with a BB gun and targets. I ended up spending most of the time throwing back tea at some shack with a bunch of pensioners. I think they pre-date the Russification. Cool fedoras, though. But yeah, I guess I really don't know how I ended up in Sheki.

Went back to Baku after a day, and found I had to re-negotiate a room. Now the hotel dude wanted $15. His 'reason' was that no singles were left, and I had to take a suite. The hotel, however, with it's LBC crackhouse charm, doesn't have suites, and there couldn't have been more than ten guests in the entire place. For some reason (well, it was handy) I decided to ask the guy to swear on the Qu'ran that he had no singles left. Of course, this confirmed my suspicions only at the expense of pissing him off. The hotelier starts checking in another family for $8.

Then a few of the local hangabouts start asking me if I'm a Muslim ("No but I think that it's an interesting, good book"), and after some conversation, and comments or nods of approval, they start dumping guilt on the clerk. They soon leave, I jump on the chance to sweet-talk the hotelier while he won't loose face. After a little appeal I'm rather proud of (guys at the top get all the oil money in 'Baijan while average-Jawal gets nada, similarities to widening income gap in the states, huge student tuitions while old money get tax cuts, etc.), I finally got a room-key. Just before I decided this guy wasn't so bad after all, he taps a checkout-time sign and asks if I've read it. Yeah. "No no, this part..." [The hotel is not responsible for items lost or stolen from rooms...]

So, doors triple-locked and windows barricaded, valuables horded and under pillow next to IndyJones whip, I finally got a few half-hour bits of paranoid sleep.

In the morning I picked up my passport and headed back for Tbilisi, having only overstayed my visa by a day. An Azeri bribe, by the way, $20. Now, I'm back at Nasi's, I've been chatting with Almitra and Erik, and I've been tooling around all-day in my rag-shorts. My real pants are in the wash after a massive mud splash, but now at least the beggars, after noticing they're better-clad than I, leave me alone. Should be off to Armenia in the AM.

Thanks a bunch for staying with me. I'll see if I can't chop these up a bit more.

One month left. Onward and Upward.

E.Turkey

2005-10-24T14:04:00.000-04:00

Whew. It's been a helluva journey across Turkey.

I should start by saying that Turkey's bus system is certainly unique. The tickets are slightly pricey, but the buses also have 'flight attendants' that come around to splash detergent in cupped palms. On my first trip (to Istanbul) I was rather vexed by these guys, since the bus was over-sold and I was moved around four times. After all of this, the steward kept waking me up and pointing at my feet. I know now that on Turkish buses, there is No removal of shoes. Anyhow, it may be against Bus-System etiquette to do so, but it's against My etiquette to wake me up all night reminding me. Then flat tire, yadda yadda... not a great trip. At some point I struck upon the right glare that kept the stewards away.

The next trip, to Cappadocia, I tried to get on the good side of the attendants. Turns out that non-trouble makers get more than just hand-sanitizer; cookies, tea, brownies, coffee, all this came my way when I just shut up and sat. Cool. But something is amiss in the Bussing-State of Turkey. I'll come back to that.

I already mentioned a bit about Istanbul. Other than the cabbies, the city is great. Now, if I were to eat lunch in a cafe, I might have found the place rather depressing. Lonely Planet warns against travel during Ramadan for similar reasons. However, I thought the city was magical for just that reason. I already mentioned I'm keeping the Ramadan fast... this may seem odd. But to wait all day to eat, patiently waiting for sundown and the accompanying call to prayer, and then to see the "Bikir il Ramazan" light up amidst cheers of joy from the kids waiting to open up their yogurt; this is special. The long-lines waiting to go into restaurants start to move, the Hippodrome comes to life as a carnival where vendors line the streets and hock every sort of gastronomic delight... really worth it. Some amazing foods, too.

Then I hopped to Cappadoica. I would have never imagined that such a place existed on Earth. The landscape is littered with strange rock formations, some like sand-dunes, some giant "fairy chimneys", all crazy. People have carved out homes in tons of these things, and to this day you can find tons of "Cave hotels" to sleep in. Christians carved out churches and seven-story buildings a couple centuries after Christ, and there are open-air museums of these all around the region. I rented a scooter for like $6 and had a field day. My cave hostel bed was $4. Just awesome.

Then I started my little journey across Eastern Turkey. This was where I got to know how crazy buses are. It took five buses and two days, but I got to see some great stuff on the way. One bus was way oversold, and I was standing in the aisle, squeezed between to round Turks for about 2 hours. Some buses were a few hours late, screwing connections. Madness.

I also stopped in Erzerum, hiked across town to the Otogar (bus station), and then back to find an ATM. 50,000 students in Erzerum. Met a friendly/goofy young Turk on the way into the center. He had spent two months in Albany, so he was elated to chat with me. He showed me a closer ATM, too. I took the opportunity to ask about the foot of snow on the ground, and whether it was a cold-spell. "Oh no no, this is a big heat-spell. 8 degrees? Our winters are always -35 degrees with a meter of snow or more." Cornell students have no right to bitch and moan.

Made my way to Kars and finally Ardahan. The landscape is just amazing, providing you're looking out the side windows of a bus. Those who sit near the front, seeing all the wandering cows the driver is swerving around, might get frayed nerves. I spent the night in Ardahan, and I found a little "hotel"/house to stay in for a few dollars. It was really awful, but the family was very charming. The dad came in after a while, saying something about "Madame, madame, tea!" to which I politely declined. Of course, the guy looked crushed, and I spent a few minutes cursing my Slavic customs (he only asked Once!).

I did wander out, though, just catching the Mom's eye, so I was invited again. Turns out there were two daughters about my age all dressed up out there. Hmm. Anyhow, turns out they were Georgians, so I had a pear and a chat 'po-russki'. Nice, nice folks. My bed didn't last the whole night, but after the collapse I found evidence that it wasn't a new problem. I put on a pitiful pout and said to the first person I could find "too many kebap," so they all had a good laugh and found me a new bed.

Caught the 10am bus to Tbilisi, which took four hours to the border. There were four passengers; myself and three older ladies. The Georgian border guards were all rather slovenly, unkempt, and wearing a mish-mash of uniforms and random warm garments. As I was approaching (the crossing is done on foot), my fellow passengers said something to a guard about the American, to which he replied, "ahh hah, tourista". He then said something about speaking Georgian, to which I replied in Russian. He looked surprised, and then spent a few minutes looking at the stamps in my passport. He finally gave an approving nod and said, "Touristo". I was rather flattered by the amendment.

Anyhow, this was about 1500 local time. The bus then moved on to Tbilisi... on rural "roads". I think the ride on a dirt path would have been smoother; the crumbling Brezhnev-era highway we were driving on felt more like Roman Ruins. This is without mentioning the 7ft. width or the animals/crazy-tractor-driver adornments. We stopped around 20:00 to eat, and though I read for a while (I had no local currency), I was invited over by the gang to join in. I accepted some bread, but I also didn't refuse the two shots of Cha-cha (you don't refuse drinks in Georgia). This local fire-water has a very pleasant taste, and goes down smooth, but just these two shots got me very tipsy. Then I realized my drinking partner was the bus driver.

Anyhow, we finally made it into Tbilisi around 22:00 (yeah, look at the distance on a map... redic), and I crashed at the "Bus Station Hotel". The name was probably the most elegant thing about it. It was only four bucks or so for the night, but some of my pads with homeless folks at train stations have been more comfortable. Indeed, it was empty; I think the homeless shelter across the road is nicer.

So I'm off to explore the city, get visas, and find out if the Philharmonic is playing. I'll upload some shots soon. Love yall.

Istanbul

2005-10-18T18:02:00.000-04:00

This is my second day in Istanbul. The city is nice, but I spent a good amount of time hunting around for the Georgian consulate. I finally grabbed a taxi this morning to head over to the suspected location, harboring a bit of doubt after the last taxi-episode. Everything seemed to be going well until the driver pointed at a hotel and not-so-slickly pressed some buttons on the meter. Within a few minutes, my fare had quadrupled. I kindly asked why he had played with my fare, and he backed down with "Okay, okay! Ten lira." I was cool with this since it was less than what had been on the been on the meter before tampering. So when getting out, I hand him the only bill I have, a fifty lira note (about $36), and before my very eyes, the bill transforms into a Fiver. "Nono, the fare is ten, this only five!"

Well now. Twice; shame on me.

So despite my usual good-nature, I summoned all the rage that my Kern Viking Blood has blessed me with, and let out a mighty bellow. The guy looks like he's going to mess himself, and he hands back the fifty. I then offered a few words on how his "tomfoolery has made it evident that my conscience will not suffer from my withholding payment" (rough translation). Just before slamming the door, however, I'm sure to throw in a "Don't Mess with Texas." I don't want to hurt the reputation of Decent Americans.

Anyhow, after another hour or so tracking down the Georgian consulate, I finally find it and inquire about a visa.

"Which national?"
"American."
"No visas for American."

I'm stunned, crushed for a moment. This could put a kink in plans. Finally I muster the courage to ask why.

"Because now we good friends!"

Ahh! Praise be unto Allah! No visas required for Americans. So I thanked the guy, skipped out, and floated for the rest of the afternoon. Checked out the Grand Bazaar, Blue Mosque, and Hagia Sofia. Really great stuff here.

On my way I also stopped in a rug shop after a guy gave me a guided tour of the Blue Mosque (hey, a pity request to view his rugs is a pretty cheap price). A few days ago, however, I had spent a bit of time chatting with a merchant (who also happened to run my hostel) about rugs. So at this new place, when the merchants started their show, I asked about the price of a certain rug. $1400. I then ask why it's so much, being an Afghan chemical-dyed nylon-blend. The two salesmen look at eachother for a moment, and one finally replies, "sixty dollars." That's it. No demo, no haggling, no apple-tea. Do any readers want me to pick up something on their behalf?

Anyhow, sun is setting, so I'm off to breakfast. I'm working on pictures. Sit tight.

P.S. They just found bird-flu in Turkey. I've come to the conclusion that I'm a carrier. It seems that everywhere I go, they find it. That whole central-China thing? Yeah, they found the dead birds the day I visited Qinghai lake. Just watch, next it'll be Greece.

Greece and Ephesus

2005-10-16T21:30:00.000-04:00

Ahh, where'd I leave off?

Oh, Athens. Athens is Athens. The historical sights are amazing, the food is great, the museums make others look like collections of curios. As far as modern cities go, however, I wouldn't compare Athens with Rome, lest we disappoint the Greeks. Prices were a bit higher than I had expected, even in October there were throngs of tourists, and the non-ancient architecture was less than amazing.

But still, I dare not harp on this city that gave civilization so much. Philosophy, drama, some fine architecture... but then again, judging from the Athenian female population, the Greeks also invented the ugly-stick.

The food was really amazing, though. I had a blast trying new Greek dishes, but for some reason (perhaps the 1.50euro pricing) I always capped off a meal with a Gyro. These, for those who aren't familiar, are the evil snacks that I discovered shortly before gaining 30lbs between fifth and sixth grade. No matter, though; I'm keeping the Ramadan fast to compensate.

After Athens I hopped a ferry for Santorini (Thira). I've always been amazed when seeing postcards of the white homes with blue detail, but I was in for a treat. Santorini, or Thira, was once just a giant volcano in the middle of the sea, until it got pissed at the civilizations that made it their home (though I doubt that included the Atlantians as the Thira Tourism Bureau will tell you) and blew up. So now, the Greeks have a giant sunken volcano, with a caldera, a crescent isle of rocky cliffs, and thousands of tourists. Anyhow, cool stuff.

I spent one night on the remote side of the island, having successfully bargained a good price, but in turn getting the room with a gas leak. The olive groves and pool were lovely, though. I then grabbed a bus up to Fira, the Postcard City. It was gorgeous. Sure, the prices were outrageous and Sols and Ednas seemed to be falling from the sky, but somehow I managed. Although my room's rate was listed as 50euro, I managed to get it for ten. I guess the generous hotellier took pity on the fact I wasn't a retired dentist.

From there I made a rather crazy island-hop to get to Rhodes, where despite my search, I could find no colossus. Perhaps my travel guide is out of date; so much for Pausanias. The island of Rhodes is quite cool, though, with huge city walls and some other medieval hints of its Crusader-stopover past.

This was also the first place I've had trouble getting into a museum; everywhere in Greece entrance fees are 12euro, unless you're an EU student/fogie (six euro) or under twenty (free!). I asked a ticket guy for the Junior's ticket, and presented him my passport (standard procedure everywhere), which he then proceeded to inspect closely. He finally handed it back, saying, "It looks like... a passport." I couldn't tell if he was serious, so I didn't know whether to use the 'dumb-' prefix or '-hole' suffix.

Anyhow, finally made it up to Turkey, hopped a coach from Marmaris to Selcuk, and I've been here (Selcuk/Efes) since. Very cool. Behind my hostel/rug-shop is the Tomb of St. Paul. In front of that is one of the Seven Wonders of the World, the Temple of Artemis (though now it's only one column in the middle of a field). Up the road, the ancient ruins of Ephesus lay scattered over a huge area. The facade of the library has been rebuilt, and it's very impressive. It's also nice to know that during the Roman times, there was a tunnel under the library that led to the local brothel. All the wives were proud when their men became such avid readers.

There's also a huge amphitheater nearby where many ancient artists, including Sting and Elton John have performed.

Then, up the hill, we have the Virgin Mary's retirement home. Though the details of how the place was found seem a bit sketchy (came to some German chick in a vision), the authenticity of the site was confirmed by Pope someone the something. It is really cool to see the place where Mary lived out her days and passed on.

Of course, getting up there was a pain in the ass. Though I mentioned a hill, it's actually seven kilometers up a mountain, so there was no way I was walking up there. I normally don't take cabs, but I caved when I finally found one with a meter. As it turns out, the meter jumped by thirty cents every six cents, so it ended up being WAY too much. Then, even as I was trying to get the cabbie to stop at the entrance to the park, he drives into the gate so I can get hit with a "vehicle entrance fee" of another ten bucks. Wow. So, I paid the guy, and tried my best to cool down before visiting such a holy place. I finally decided that a walk down the mountain would do me some good (great views), but halfway down the mountain, this cabbie comes roaring down, telling me that I owe him 25 lira since he had been waiting for me! This guy had balls. Finally I just turned to keep going and this guy starts shouting after me, "I get police on you!! They take you to prison! HAVE NOT YOU SEE MIDNIGHT EXPRESS???"

I thought it was hilarious too. Thanks for sticking with me.

I'm off to Istanbul tonight. More soon.

P.S. They're rebuilding the Acropolis. That only took, what, 400 years? I don't think I'll criticize Boston again any time soon.

Albania

2005-10-10T17:07:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm here to tell my friends about my new favourite corner of the globe: Albania.

"Ahh! But John, isn't that one of the poorest countries on Earth? Isn't their main import drug money, their main export efficient organized-crime circles??"

Perhaps these may be so. Perhaps the country is so poor that 38% of Albanians have never owned a Mercedes. Perhaps the crime circles are so rich that new, gorgeous buildings are popping up all over the country. Perhaps the government is so nuts that the megalomaniac mayor of Tirane spends public funds to paint the entire city in Pastels. So, what of it?

Indeed, it's the foibles we think charming. Ask any American voter. So this interesting little land, going through a boom-time right now, although with a complete lack of tourists, is ripe for adventuring. True, I found ATMs and internet cafes, which the Lonely Planet said didn't exist, but this is likely because there hasn't been a LP researcher here for a few years. When people inquired and learned that I was from NY or the USA, they gave me this curious look that I should have expected if I had said "Ancient Persia."

And of course, prices came down to normal levels as I got to know the locals; while the first cup of coffee might be $1, the following cup, along with a full lunch, was also $1. This might be expected in a land where the value of your camera slightly exceeds the Per Capita GDP.

However, the Per Capita Mercedes ownership might not be, as I mentioned previously. Indeed it seems only every fourth car didn't sport the tri-point. I asked a few folks about this; some extolled the reliability of the brand, some just pointed to the greasy guys in ugly sunglasses sunk in their brand new M-class MobMercs, and I even got a neat story about why most car insurance is no longer valid in Albania. My informant explained that a popular Italian past-time was to drive an older Benz down, vacation, "persuade" cops to fill out a Theft report, sell the car at half-price, and then have insurance fork out another car. True or no, interesting.

So after some time in Tirane, it was time for me to move south to Gjirokaster, and for my mate Tom, north to Bosnia. Since the tourist infrastructure is nonexistent, a traveler has two options; go with the locals to the dirt-mound called a bus-stop, or fly First-class with the other locals. Still, our mound didn't have the buses we needed. But in the process of tooling around with confused looks, an older guy came over to help us get to where we needed to go. He led us around to the agencies we would have never found, and got us all the information we needed to know.

Of course, he didn't speak English.

So the travel companies give him the info in Albanian, he relays this to Tom in bad Italian or French and myself in bad German or Russian. Tom and I listen with bad Italian/French/German/Russian, and then confer in order to piece together what we need. Perhaps the guy did actually speak English, because the scene would have been worth the laugh.

This guy finally got us around to the various dirt-mounds from whence our buses left, Tom's from the side of a cafe, mine from behind a suburban gas-station. Before I said farewell to this Samaritan, he revealed that he was actually an off-duty cop. Wow.

So I was on the bus, free to relax and start the book I brought along. Of course, behind me was a friendly couple who was eager to chat with the one blonde kid in the country. They patiently waited until I took breaks from reading, so as not to interrupt, but of course (just my luck) I had traded Tom my LP and phrasebook before we had parted. So, completely dumb, I did my best with gestures and my atlas. This was all rather easy until they got curious as to what I was so wrapped up in reading (they saw "Alexander" and thought it was a book about 'the Great'). So, I ended up doing a pantomime of the first 170 pages of Count of Monte Cristo, attracting the attention of many of the other passengers. When I finally finished, I was implored to keep going, since I left them at a cliff hanger (or perhaps a cliff tosser). One guy seemed to be cursing the bus, since it didn't have lights for me to continue reading, but it was still all smiles. I had a fun time. It seems there's no surer a place to make friends or enemies than public transport.

When I finally got into Gjirokaster, a family found me (and led me to) a much cheaper and closer hotel than I had been thinking of. Very cool. I then hiked around the hills of this old city, climbed up to the 6th century castle, and generally had a good time. Of course, once I found the appropriate cafe-stop and inquired as to my bus to Athens, I learned that "Buses three days a week" means "Friday, Saturday, Sunday." So, I settled in, read, climbed to the castle again, took more photos, took Turkish coffee. Rinse, Repeat.

Anyhow, after exploring the lovely town in a lovely country with some of the friendliest people I've ever met, I was off. Sure there were the low points, like getting backed over by a car or slipping into some poisonous bushes, but I'm an optimist. So it was off to Athens, on a bus full of friendly, curious Albanians. Rinse, Repeat.

So I've been in Athens for a few, now. The ride down was gorgeous, and we took a ferry across to the Peloponnese and crossed to Athens at Corinth. Modern Athens can't compare to modern Rome, but the ancient sites are still amazing. They would also be twelve euro to enter if I was older than 19, but since I came at the right age, they're all free. Ahh. So I've just been tooling around here, seeing the sights and getting my fill of museums, grabbing some gyros and hunting for old coins. Worth it, indeed. I'm off to Santorini this afternoon.

Love yall.

Monasteries and Macedonia

2005-10-02T11:05:00.000-04:00

It's been a rather interesting month or however long since my last post.

After Romania, I made it into Sofia, Bulgaria, where I soon stopped asking 'yes or no' questions. Many have heard that Bulgarians nod their heads for 'no' and shake their heads for 'yes', but now, many will do just the opposite for tourists, leaving us entirely baffled. Sofia was cool, though, and the weather was nice enough. In addition to witnessing some random military parade, I stumbled upon one of the more regular features of the city: a giant trinket-market. I found this market to be special for its goods, which might be explained by history and tourism levels. History because Bulgaria was allied with Germany during WWII, and tourism levels since... well, who the hell goes to Bulgaria? So anyhow, the stalls are filled with old Nazi stuff that would have already been snapped up in more visited destinations. Crazy.

The hostel in Sofia was great, as well. In addition to providing guests with two free meals a day (wha??), it's a very social place where I just happened to run into a guy that I toured Vilnius with, as well as a guy from Bozeman, MT (Big Sky boarder). Odd. Along with an Aussie named Tom, we headed off to Rila Monastery, up in the hills of Bulgaria. Purty. There were almost as many tourists as stray dogs, though. The scenery was pretty amazing, but I realized that it still wasn't as nice as the hills at Home. Hmm.

Anyhow, I traded out books and got ready to move on to Macedonia. Aussie Tom was also on his way there, so we latched. Skopje was an interesting city, with a giant cross that lit up on the mountainside at night. Just the kind of thing that might not fly in Alabama, today. Or maybe it might.

After a day in the capital, Tom and I caught a train down to Prilep, in the middle of Macedonia. We dropped our bags at a hostel, got our day-packs and boots, and headed off to the outskirts of town. About 10k from the city, high atop a local mountain, lies Treskavic Monastery. The hike up was amazing. The views were amazing. The monastery... empty. The only sounds to be heard up there were the wind and the rustling of grass. Occasionally, a goat's bell broke the silence. Tom and I climbed the peak just behind the monastery, got some photos, and came down to find the Monk/Father/Priest who keeps the place going.

We were welcomed to stay the night (gratis), and only later in the evening did we run into some other folks who came up to stay the weekend. Our fellow guests were five Macdedonians, who, after introductions, seemed to live pretty normal lives. After thrice declining offers of a giant bag of ganja, however, more of the truth came out about their line of work. So, due partly to their knowledge of English being limited to a small field, we spent some time talking about the drug trade in the region. Interesting.

It was when I started reading the Palahniuk I brought that I realized the odd mixture of the day. A spiritual haven, Drug dealers, and a book about Black Magic. Hmm. Still, the monastery was just incredible, easily the highlight of this whole trip so far.

So, now we're in Ohrid, on the shores of a great lake in southern Macedonia. Gorgeous indeed. Tonight we're off to Tirana, and along with ATMs, internet cafes do not exist in Albania. It might be a few days, so hang tight.

Vlad's Crib

2005-09-25T14:17:00.000-04:00

Some folks in the world tend to put faith behind ideas so silly that reason cannot cast a speck of doubt upon their superstition. Others fall into that other folly, using poorly formed reason to explain away those things they'd rather not care to think of. But reason should allow that our human capacity for knowledge is too limited to explain things away; something not encountered does not prove it's non-existence.

Many have, over time, been silly enough to claim that there is no such thing as a vampire. They have looked at the qualifications of such a being and stated that it cannot be. But I now know differently. I am writing from Brasov, the heart of Transylvania, where my reason allows that, having seen one with my very own eyes, vampires do exist. That cruel, soulless being that has sold all association with good in order to extend life; who returns from death to impart pain upon all those silly enough to wander into the highlands of Romania. A mockery of all things holy, a thing none dare challenge as it's reputation precedes it. Yes, I have looked upon this creature with my very eyes:

Two nights previous, Natalie Imbruglia performed here.

So wretched were the cries coming from the stage, the rain pouring down must have been blessed, holy water searing the evil flesh of this creature. I felt a terrible pity for those ten people who had been lulled into attendence, as surely their souls were withering away inside of their flesh. Noises so horrid, that after giving a disc of said artist's to a good friend a decade ago, she still hasn't forgiven me.

Let this be a warning to all.

Current vampires aside, there seems to be a nice little industry springing up around some of the castles here. Just since Mr. Vlad Tepes ('Impaler'), Dragula (son of Dracul) might have spent a night or two in some of these, they have immediately become, *gasp*, Houses of Dracula! Bran Castle is cool enough though, worth the fifty-cent bus ticket. Also, fellow travelers are a nice addition to such an expedition, since it allows for silly jokes on Dracula's this that and commode every few minutes.

..............................................His coffin!

Which reminds me, the money here is very interesting. The 'lei' used to exchange at a rate of 30,000 to the dollar or such. Although it was initially cool to say things like, "Hold on a sec; I need to get a mil from the bank," practical considerations (such as billboards for autos, using most of the space for the Price) obviated the need for less zeroes. Hence, the new Lei, which look just like the old bills, only a bit smaller, and with four less zeroes. 100,000 old lei becomes 10 new lei. Unfortunately, a fellow traveler thought he could get by in Bucharest without researching the country (and currency) beforehand. Thus, after a taxi ride into Bucharest, when he should have paid 17500 old lei (sixty cents), he paid the amount in new lei. After some time, he realized that he had spent 500 euro on a taxi. He shall go unnamed, the poor fellow, but I will say this: He's a Tarheel.

Bucharest wasn't terribly interesting in my opinion, though, so I only spent a few hours there before moving up to Brasov. I took a subway to the gigantic Palace of Parliment, a building which only takes the backseat to the Pentagon in terms of sheer size, and from there, walked the entire length of the city. Meh.

Same went for Belgrade, which I hit before Bucharest. Not that great, but there was, scattered around, a massive deployment of soldiers wearing a sort of riot gear, or perhaps just some form of American Football pads. Though they were out because of the Euro-Basketball finals in Belgrade, they weren't very comforting. I made the mistake of asking one (in Serbian) how to get to a local monument, only to be shooed away under threat of PlexiBludgeoning. Hmph. This, the beat cops who were always shaking somebody down when I saw them, and pictures of Mr. Slobidan Milosevic pasted across the city, made for a rather uncomfortable atmosphere. Anyhow, not the greatest place.

So I'm off to Bulgaria in a bit. Perhaps there I'll upload some photos, since the internet cafe here seems to be the recipient of computers that Americans threw away a decade ago. Forget USB ports; Windows 3.1 doesn't support much in the way of html blogging. [Picture update 2.10.05]

Sleep well.

P.S. It occurred to me while writing the oddity of the word "deceased"; shouldn't this be limited to describing vampires and the undead? Their life ceased, and then, rising from the grave, DeCeased? I don't get it. As Dr. Nick said "You mean, inflammible means flammible? What a country."

Rough-cut Gems

2005-09-20T14:53:00.000-04:00

Amazing mountains rise in the distance. Moving up the windy road, the bus eeks it's way between newly erected rock-slide barriers, and into a deep gorge. The blue-green water of the roadside tarns seem almost as surreal as the cliffs and rock formations. After some time the pass widens, and eventually the rolling hills give way to fertile plain, ringed with more rocky chains futher in the distance.

Whiz. Something odd about that roadside home. Whiz. Another, this time eyes are prepped to focus on the bullet riddled, roofless pile of bricks. Not a home; once a home.

And such is the bittersweet welcome to Bosnia, a land of contrasts, if there ever was one.

I don't think I've ever heard anyone extol the virtues of the natural Balkan landscape, so I was in a state of awe as our bus headed through those gorges. Perhaps it is testimony to their beauty, or perhaps to my stupidity, but I didn't even think of getting photos until we were just at the end of the canyon. Stupid me.

Of course, the scars were something I had expected. There were tons of ruins around Mostar, and there was also a large swath of Sarajevo that was still ruins. This, however, is in a completely seperate area of the town, and I have no intention of tramping about to find them again. Something about the several hundred thousand land-mines and other unexploded ordinance keeps me from hiking into abandoned areas. Even my Lonely Planet, which usually offers a realistic view of travel dangers, has a big boxed section warning to "regard every centimeter of ground as suspicious". So yeah, I'm paranoid.

But can this detract from the beauty of Sarajevo? It's an amazing town, but it's just tough to wrap my head around. Big beautiful hills bump up through and around the city, but these were the same hills from which Serb snipers were picking off kids in the street. Huge minarets pop out from whatever section of city you eye, but, so do over-packed graveyards. I was listening to a man describing how the tunnel that terminated under his home was the only link where food, refugees, and weapons could be moved into or out of Sarajevo; at times he was close to tears. A few minutes later, the Shakira ringtone of his phone went off, and he was laughing it up with a friend on the line.

It's tough to wrap my head around. Still, I love this place. Perhaps I'm a sucker for history, or for mountains, or for the exotic fruit, but I feel a great affection for this town. I'm headquartered in a hostel right by the big Turkish bazaar section, on a corner where the olive jeeps full of European peacekeepers rumble by regularly. The Turkish coffee is cheap, and so is the food, with only a few thousand varieties of dish to choose from. The Bosnians smile and laugh freely, and are never hesitant to explain how tolerant and diverse Bosnia Hercegovina is. It's a mixture that has to be felt.

So, I've been chatting it up with Bosnians and travelers, sampling the cuisine, going on history tours, and taking plenty of strolls. Paranoid, paranoid strolls.
I suppose I can't put much more down, since I need a bit of time to polish thoughts before they can come out shining. But for all it's nicks and flaws, this place is still a gem.

Ciao.

And a few more Dubrovnik shots:

Dubrovnik

2005-09-17T14:26:00.000-04:00

Hey folks,

Well, I found an upload point, but I have six minutes left, so this might be brief. I did add a few pics to the previous two posts, so check those out.

I got on that big ol' boat, yesterday, and was quite content with what I found. Truth is, I had no idea what 'Deck passage' meant, so I had a bad feeling I'd be out on a metal observation deck all night. I was delightfully surprised to find a big, carpeted room where I could crash! Then, a bunch of old fogarts also began raising hell and moaning to anyone within earshot. It seems they didn't know what deck passage was, either. Anyhow, long boat ride (20hrs), but I started reading Mr. Montaigne's homework assignments, worked on my Russian handwriting, and passed some time with a few Brits. I traded Huck Finn for Life of Pi, too, so I was just peachy.

So after a beautiful cruise down the Dalmatian coast, I got into Dubrovnik. It got dark pretty quickly after I found a room, so I'll have to get up more pics later, but this little town is just gorgeous. White marble streets, huge city walls, and only a few thousand pockmarks from when the Serbs decided to bomb the hell out of this poor town. The holes are all filled by now, but it's still sad to see.

The hostel was filled (by the thousands of LP disciples making the pilgrimage), but I found a room nearby. It seems everybody and their mother is renting out spare rooms to the rich tourists, and the scene getting off the boat was unreal. The mass of people trying to get to the new arrivals must have equaled to the mass trying to get on those last choppers out of Saigon. Anyhow, Mamma Maria nearly died when I didn't try to haggle her down from eight dollars. She'll eat well tonight, I hope.

So, I've gotta go, but I'll get back with some more pics soon.

Stay frosty.

Europe: By land, sea, and bench.

2005-09-16T11:12:00.000-04:00

Hah, sorry for that last post. It seems every time I sit down to make a post, crazy Italians burst in and start jumping around. Actually, this time it was Aussies who were doing the distraction, spouting obnoxious crap that made me grind my teeth. It's odd; for all the Ugly Aussies, and Ugly Germans, and Ugly CANADIANS I've met, haven't come across any American jackasses. Not even Chris Pontius/Party Boy in Tokyo.

Well, it's been a little game working to get to Dubrovnik. Yesterday I got into Ljubljana, Slovenia, which was quite a charming little town. Its old town has some neat bridges, a big pink church, and a huge hill with a castle on top. Made for a fun afternoon just cruising around. I eventually found some path to the top of the hill, and the views were gorgeous. Long rays of afternoon sun were piercing a light layer of mist rising from the nearby forests, and the orange glow lit up the ranks of town, hill, mountain, and finally, off in the distance, huge friggin' alps.

*I'd love to put some pictures up, but ever since I started that, I've been posting rather infrequently. It is, of course, quite difficult to find a cheap connection with USB ports and picture software, so the pics will come when they come.
[Update 9.17.05- Enjoy]

Anyhow, it was then a dinner of Krvavica, a Slovenian blood sausage, with sauerkraut and (julian? julianned?) potatoes. Quite tasty, and accompanied by two glasses of a bold red, this all came to 6euro.

My bus to Rijeka was scheduled for 0630, so I thought it might be risky to get a hostel, since I always oversleep in a bed. So, I saw some bellwethers at the train station, and set up there for the evening. I say bellwethers, since "homeless" is a sad and perhaps misleading title, but if I see some sleeping on benches, it means I probably won't be bothered by rent-a-cops. So, with an inflatable pillow, warm sleeping bag, and valuables locked up in the station, I read for a while, and chatted with another BW before getting some shuteye. Quite a nice chap, though he spoke no English and I no Slovene, so it was more like charades. Bought him a big breakfast for $1.60. I think that hitch-hiking must have been like this way back when; a neat, cheap travel alternative, before it was eventually spoiled by a few nutcases. So if any nutcases are reading this, please don't go bagging it.

So now I'm in Rijeka, waiting for a ferry to Dubrovnik that leaves at 2000. It's a funny little harbour town, this, and pretty as it is, there isn't much to do or see. I may run out of paperbacks if I don't find a book exchange soon, though I did trade the German History text for a copy of Dumas' MC-Count. That may last me a while.

I don't think there will be much hiking any time soon; the land mine hazard is still rather serious, and I'd rather not take stupid risks. Just makes me miss Etown more, since upstate NY really is one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Anyone at home, do go for a hike, walk, or ride for me.

I'm off to ask some Croats about their favorite Serbian Football players. More soon (if I still have fingers).

The Beautiful Blue Danube...

2005-09-14T20:25:00.000-04:00

Is neither Beautiful nor Blue. I'll forgive it though, simply because it runs through a little gem of a town that goes by the name of Budapest.

Yeah, I guess I've been truckin' it over the past few days; I spent just a bit of time in Vienna, cruising around the palaces, Plague Columns, and chowing on a few pastries. Also, Wiener Schnitzel is, in my opinion, no more special than regular schnitzel. Anyhow, saw a whole bunch of the city sights, but there weren't any good concerts on, so it was off to the next stop for me.

That next stop was Bratislava, the capital of Slovakia, and a 3euro trip from Vienna. I was thrilled to see the countryside, but the city wasn't too much in my opinion. I guess I was just anxious to head to the next stop, BUDAPEST!

So I had no idea what to expect from Hungary. I guess I was therefore suprised by how cosmo the city and residents are, but the accomodation is still a weak sector. I stopped by every hostel in the city, all of which were full, before I finally sat down to "wait" until a space opened up. And who better to keep me company? Why, a little volume of Bram Stoker's! So yeah, sitting on a bench late at night, in the middle of Hungary, reading Dracula.... I jumped a foot when some dog started howling off in an alley. Eventually I fell asleep, apparently with the book visible, since a young Magyar decided it might be funny to wake me up with a "bluuahh!"

I also bought new pants today.

The Hungarians really know how to spice food, and it seems any culinary ill can be cured with more paprika. I'd list all the gastronomic delights, but I can't hear myself think at the time being. Apologies for the writing.

I'm off to Ljubljana tomorrow morning, and likely Croatia soon after that.

Keep on truckin' folks.

P.S. I bought new pants because the old ones had so many holes. What'd you think?

The Alps

2005-09-12T11:15:00.000-04:00

Wow. It's like I died and went to heaven. A heaven that drains your bank account in four days. .

Sure, some Russian or Quebecois turds may have also had a hand in that, but I live and I learn. Now Switzerland, there's an amazing irony, since the country mixes the longing to stay there forever with the urge to flee for all that is holy. Not even Bierstadt could prepare me for the scenery. Then again, lunch carries a price-tag which would make one of Al's originals seem a bargain.

Since a trip to Zermatt would be 220euro, I bought an unlimited rail pass in Switzerland for half that, and tooled around for four days. After an evening in Zurich, I went down to Interlaken, Zermatt, Lugano, past Lake Como, through Liechtenstein (40 minutes and I was bored), and back to Zurich. Four full days.

Interlaken was just amazing, and I had great weather there. What better than staring at the Alps under some warm rays? Why, riding up those mountains on a bike! So I rented a bike for the day, and started up, eventually reaching Gimmewald. After I got to the top and realized how incredibly difficult the climb was, I found a map that showed Gimmewald at 4600ft and halfway to the Italian border. So, yeah that was the hardest (and most rewarding) ride of my life.

I went down to Zermatt the following day, and the weather was a bit drizzly. When I woke up next morn, however, the sun was struggling to clear up some of the moisture. After I spent much of the morning rooting for the Matterhorn, victory was hers, as she came slicing through the thick clouds trying to wrap her up. Just amazing. Someday, should I have the income, I think taking up mountaineering would be a terrific way to throw away some money. Makes a lot more sense than a Ferrari.

Lugano and Lake Como were also quite beautiful, and prices were a bit more Italian than Swiss (a plus). I now have an appreciation for safari photographers, after trying to focus, frame shots, and beat window glare as our bus rode along winding roads at 50mph. Wait, is there such a job as a safari photographer? Maybe I just made that up.

Liechtenstein, approximately the size of my backyard, was cute enough. I bought a patch. I also took a picture. That was about it. I wandered around the tiny capital for a couple minutes; nothing. What I really don't get is the license plates on cars, since they still have seven digits, though two would likely do just as well. I have a feeling I could address a letter to 'Bob. Liechtenstein.' and get a response from him. Anyhow.

I never mention the rest of the Bavarian leg, which was indeed very cool. Munich is home to BMW, effeminate lion statues, and great beer, as well as bratwurst, Nazism, sightings of fat men in Lederhosen, and a few other things that could kill you. I got a sampling platter. The BMW museum is being completely rebuilt, though the mini-museum they have up was cool enough. I also took a free walking tour, led by a Duke grad. Unfortunately, he reinforced the stereotype of English majors working for tips. Nice guy though. Lastly, the beer was very, very good, and 5euro bought 'eine Mass'. A litre stein of beer is a sight to behold.

In my travels, and dealings with Germans, many have taken offense should I think them Bavarians (I now know Stuttgart is not in Bavaria). I guess I'm starting to understand this. Bavaria is a big southern state with an obesity problem. People there dress funny and have funny accents. There is an overt, ingrained superiority complex. Religion is big, and the conservative political climate once gave rise to a backwards leader who eventually led the entire nation into decline through his invasion of weaker states.

Yeah, I would be pretty steamed if someone mistook me for a Texan.

But as for now, I'm in Vienna. I haven't seen too much yet, other than some gorgeous buildings and parks, and bathrooms filled with incredibly racist, anti-Semitict graffiti It's funny to see it scrawled in full paragraphs, though. It's as if somebody copied their Thesis from Bob Jones University up there. Perhaps I should go see more of the city.

C'mon back, now, y'hurr?

P.S. I got the refund stamp.

An Excerpt from "Slightly Overcrowded World: Prague"

2005-09-04T16:15:00.000-04:00

"Hello again, adventurers! Slightly Overcrowded World (SL.O.W.) is back again, with yet another guide for our SL.O.W. readers out there. Before we begin, some general tips to ensure you get the most out of this fine city.

°First, be sure to wear that 'Prague Drinking Team' shirt you bought last night. You're certainly never going to wear it at home, and it is a courteous reminder to others not to be your friend.

°While referring to the locals around you, be sure to refer to them as 'Chechans'. Occasionally, wish them luck on their future independence from Russia. Be active in this Satin Revloution!

°Don't forget to hassle the Mime in the main square. After all, once we get rid of this last holdout of the dying art, we'll finally see nothing but those HILARIOUS gold-painted "Look, I'm a statue!" guys.

***Extra points for Stag parties who repeatedly flick off the mime's hat with toy light sabers. Those Mime tears sure will make you feel like a man!***

°Be sure to change money with men who approach you on the street.

°Finally, when taking some night-landscape photos with your new $2000 camera, be sure to use the flash. This is the mark of a true pro."

*******************************************************************************

Okay, so maybe that last one is just a bit of jealousy. It would be nice to have one of those DSLRs, but this Z5 is actually pretty great. I'll add a bunch of shots at the bottom of the page.

Prague is, despite the crowds, pretty fun. The views from the Charles Bridge or from atop the Prague castle are worth a gasp or two. I'm undecided as to the feel of the city, since I'm not sure there is any industry other than tourism (and it's auxiliaries). For example, all the jazz bands that fill clubs at night seem to spill out onto the squares and bridges for some practice in the daytime. But then we have tons of awful street performers competing for change. The city has thousands of trinket shops lining streets, which can be a sad sight. But then the "other" vendors come out after sundown, and it's a good laugh to hear the "Weed, speed, whatever you need!" chants. I guess once I accepted the fact that this is Prague, I started to appreciate the benefits of touristdom.

The city does feel completely different in daytime and night-time. Aside from the traits which I've hinted at, there's also a teriffic pub and club scene, and thousands milling about to join up with. The beer is also another plus. Whereas the Czech Budweiser isn't much better than the Busch Bud, Pilsner Urquell is simply delicious. This is coming from someone who isn't a beer fan. This is the original brew invented in Plzen in 1842, and yes, this is the original Pilsner.

So, I'm very glad to have seen Prague, though I'm just as psyched to be moving South. I got into Munich today, albeit with an hour of sleep (hence the dull, short post). Right off the bat I was served Schweinsbraten (Pork and sauerkraut) by a lady wearing the full Bavarian garb. I had to pass at the litre of beer. Somehow, I have a feeling I'll enjoy this town.

Stick around.

Danes and Deutschland

2005-08-30T18:47:00.000-04:00

No refund yet. But, I opened the camera anyhow, so I now have some pictures to throw up here! I just peeled the "Global Refund" seal back, hoping to fool the customs folk when I finally leave Europe.

But there's way more fun before it's time for that. After my little Oslo trip, I hopped down to Copenhagen/Kobenhavn, or rather, Oslo to Malmo (to try for refund), Malmo to Copenhagen airport (to try for refund), Copenhagen airport to Copenhagen train station (to try for refund), and so on. Soon after that was when I finally broke down and did the deed. No more harpin', I promise.

I had some beautiful weather for Copehnagen. The city was quite nice, though still too expensive for my blood. At $7.50, the Danish Big Mac's have taken the prize so far. I did manage to find some nice buffet's and Smorrebrod for meals, so there was no 7-11 stretch a la Oslo. I tooled around, hitting some of the more notable tourist sights of the Danish capital, and I stumbled upon a nice little Ballet festival in the old fortress. Cool stuff, though they lost me with the dancing rats. Just a simple boy, I am.

The following day was a bit more rainy, so it mostly museums, and finally a trip out to see the Little Mermaid. Why, didn't you know Hans Christian Anderson lived in Copenhagen? Well, Copenhagen certainly won't keep it's visitors in the dark to that fact. In fact, I don't know if anything notable has ever happened to that city before or after the Great walked those streets. So, it was a cool city, though not one of my fav's.

On the other hand, we have Berlin. This place is amazing! First, the city is huge, 80km East to West. Then we have the Berliners (yes, JFK was correct in using 'Berliner'), who really are a hoot. Then we've got history. If you can't think of a couple reasons why Berlin might be a fascinating stop, go eat some bleach.

As soon as I got into a hostel, I signed up for an all day walking tour, which, lasting from 10am to 8pm, I will attest was an All Day walking tour. The guide was a semi-geeky history buff working on his Masters in German History. Naturally, I was eating it up. I wish I could get a tour that great in every town I hit, but again, perhaps every stop isn't as historical as Berlin. We made a huge loop around just about everything one might care to see in the city, and, of course, the little side-notes and context were the best part.

The Berlin Wall, for example, was being chipped away for so many souveniers that the government had to put up fences around the remaining bits. Also, the Luftwaffe building, a gigantic structure where the precision bombing raids on Europe were planned, was untouched by allied bombs that levelled the rest of the block. And some of the ironies can get pretty dark. The new Monument to the Murdered Jews of Europe, a field of concrete blocks without any placard of what they commemorate, cause many Berliners to worry that it would be a target of vandalism. Luckily, the city found a coating resistant to spray-paint, supplied by a little chemical company that also made that doosie Zyklon B. Hmm.

Anyhow, tons of history here. Yesterday, I was content to run errands (wash disgusting clothes) and do a bit of shopping (buy replacement clothes), and the rest of the day I was absorbed by a text on German History I picked up at the Deutsche Dom (pictured to the right). Great little book, and to all of the kids who teased me from the back of the classroom, yes, I guess I do read the textbooks for fun.

Today was a museum day, and I got to see some gems in the Olde Museum, the Pergamon Museum, and the Topography of Terror Exhibition. Great stuff, notably the latter two. The Pergamon is a collection of a whole bunch of huge stuff which some German dudes went to the trouble of finding, painstaikingly excavating and cleaning, and then, after pondering "Hmm, Ich Wonderin vere zees might loook Gut?", shipping off to Berlin. Example, an entire friggin' Greek altar. Imagine somebody picking up the Parthenon and shipping it. But, very neat stuff, which also led me to think about the merits of archeology as a whole. Service to mankind?

I also noticed that many collections didn't mention how the pieces were obtained. Surely a cruel insinuation, but is it justified? I know not.

The Topograophy of Terror is another exhibition on the Gestapo and SS, located in the ruined basement of their former HQ. Very well done.

Anyhow, I would LOVE to go on and on about this fantastic city, the biergartens, bratwurst, and all things crazy about Berlin, but lo, I have a bus to catch in a few minutes. Can anyone tell this post seems a bit rushed? Apologies for that, but hopefully notes from Prague will make up for it. Stay tuned.

Scandinavia

2005-08-26T18:50:00.000-04:00

Whew. It's been an interesting stretch between posts.

I started tooling around Stockholm on Tuesday, and was amazed by the gorgeous sights, such as the city architecture, the greenery, and the blondery. Upon pulling out the camera to snap a few shots, however, I found that the LCD was cracked, and my camera was pretty pissed about that. So, no camera. I spent most of that day researching a replacement on the web, finding camera stores, and making the decision. Finally settled on a nice little Konica Minolta that was pricier than in the States, but only due to the 30% tax that I would get back at the border. I would just have to go to Norway next instead of Kobenhavn (Copenhagen), and get my refund by leaving the EU. Settled.

So I bought a little disposable camera and started on Stockholm. In the evening I went out with a Frenchman and two Germans, fixing to go to the Ice Bar. Everything, including the drinking glasses, was promised to be made of ice. Parkas and gloves free at the door, since the whole place was kept at -5*C. Sounded cool enough, except the bar turned out to be smaller than a public bathroom. There were four patrons inside, and the bouncer turned people away because it was full. Ended up wandering around until we found a nice pub, and we had a nice night.

The city of Stockholm is, I'll say again, gorgeous. I wandered around for some time, watched the changing of the guard at the royal palace, toured the Nobel Museum, and chatted up some locals. Cool enough. The folks in the hostel were also very fun, and I've come to the conclusion that all Italian backpackers are slightly nuts (in a loving way).

Then I got to Oslo yesterday after a gorgeous bus-ride through the Swedish countryside. Great little tour, though a toddler in the back was screaming the whole time. Really screaming. I soon realized he was indeed saying "F*** it!" over and over, much to his parent's chagrin, and it took every ounce of patience not to go back there and give the kid an additional 'vocab lesson'. Then, got into Oslo to find that the Global Refund folks wouldn't give me a customs stamp or refund for my camera, but I had to wait for the customs house to open the following day. Went when they opened, and they wouldn't do it either. Now I'm being sent back to Sweden to get this damned refund. Blah.

I also hiked around Oslo looking for a hostel. The only non-full place turned out to be closed for the summer, but I was directed to another hostel nearby. Nearby was way the hell out in the suburbs, sitting atop a nice little fjord (which isn't a fjun climb with all of one's crap on his back). Finally got there, and it's closed for the fall. Blah.

Anyhow, got a nap on the bus to Oslo, so I took a nap in the train station and figured I'd be set for a Dave Attel evening. Couldn't really go clubbing or anything since prices here are nuts. $5 Big Macs, $13 Whopper meals, and those are relatively cheap. I toured the city at night, though I was surprised by the number of non-Nordic minorities. This took a rather sad turn quickly, though, as I was hassled by a group of sketchy characters, and soon the fat African women were calling from street corners. Wished I could instead report something about the "virbrant cultural community", but them's the cards, folks.

I guess I did have a fun time, though. I ended up chilling in "Dennis Kebabs", even though I couldn't afford an $8 kebab. Had a Coke and did some reading. I wasn't reading for long when I ended up watching the in-house entertainment. A black girl (who looked rather like a street-walker) had taken some fries from a crazy old Italian guy, who was screaming about his fries and smashing his cane on the table. Another black dude tried to calm him down and give him some of his own fries, but then the African girl, speaking a bit of French, a bit of something, and a bit of broken MTV, started telling Black Dude A how she was going to kill him for interfering. She presently brought her friends, rather large black men, into this, who were describing how they would shoot BDA. BDA dared them to, as his Hispanic friend had his back. Some Spanish speaking chick then started yelling at Hispanic Friend for something or other. Mediterranean Owner was trying to calm everyone down, and Young Kebab Guys and I were just trading smiles every now and then, enjoying the show. Couldn't help but wonder which was a better analogy; the outbreak of WWI or Sal's Famous Pizzeria. Somehow the situation was diffused, with only a few slaps traded, Old Crazy Italian wandering around shirtless, and no race riots. A Coke and a Smile.

So I did Oslo today, going to a bunch of Viking museums (the Viking ship museum is quite cool), some castles, parks and some more 7-11's, my only culinary option. The Vigeland statues in Frogner park were pretty funny. The statues display the "dynamic range of human emotion," according to pamphlets, or a bunch of nudes, according to observation. Mostly, nude males. There's also a large columnar "monolith" thrusting up into the sky, and the entire park, as seen on maps, takes on an odd shape. I guess Georgia O'Keefe has her male counterpart.

And to support Lewis Black, I must say, it is the end of the world. Proof: Walk into Oslo station, stand in the doorway of the 7-11, look right, and observe the competing 7-11. Or, walk outside into the square. Look at the McDonald's to your left. Now, turn your head 180* and note the McDonald's, less than 100 yards away from the first.

Maybe I really am just going nuts. Crap, I forgot to write about the escaped convict. Maybe later. I've gotta go get dinner at 7-11.

Stockholm

2005-08-23T13:10:00.000-04:00

Well, another day, another adventure. I was scouting around for ferry prices and found a great ticket that was much cheaper than another night in Helsinki. So, I'm in Stockholm.

The trip was quite cool, since the "ferry" was actually one of those leviathan Cruise ships. The views from the top deck were gorgeous, and I (never having been on such a ship before) was struck by the size. There was a mall in the middle of it.

Of course, my ego was kept in check by my status on board. My cabin had no windows being so far under the water, deck two of twelve. There were two floors of automobiles above us. It would have been nice to be 4th or 5th class at least, but lo, I was ballast.

This wasn't a bother, though, since the ticket very cheap, and I had two young backpackers (French Canadian and Japanese) as cabin mates. With cheap wine from the duty free store, great views from the ob.deck, and a large onboard sauna, it was smooth-crusing.

Helsinki was okay, but nothing to wet myself over. Most museums were closed on Monday, but there wasn't really anything I cared to stay for. I've only been in Stockholm a few hours, but I'm already excited by what I see. Maybe I'll spend more than a day in this here country.

P.S. Maddox put up a neat little summation of everything wrong with "Blogging" recently. Seems to have forgotten he´s pretty much a blogger himself, though. If you don´t know who Maddox is, you'd better not try finding him.

Helsinki

2005-08-22T11:05:00.000-04:00

This town is all right. Things are indeed quite expensive, but the Finns seem friendly and laid back, and I have yet to find one that speaks flawed or accented English. Also, I was rather embarrassed the first few times I heard "Hey!", and slipped into friendly colloquialisms that left Finns a little confused. I then looked up some Finnish phrases, and found 'Hello' is 'Hei'.

Since it was free, I hopped over to the island-fort of Suomenlinna yesterday, a really picturesque little set of islands just off Helsinki. This place is home to several museums, an old fort which was said to be a "second Gibraltar" in its day, a little community, and the Finnish Naval Academy. The middies are all on a cruise to Maryland, and I though it would be best not to wander through a military compound, so I only snapped pics of the exterior. Great late-evening sun off the southern tip, but I didn't want to wait around a few months for the sunset.

Anyhow, my day is just getting started, so I'll keep this short. If I can't get tickets to Stockholm for tonight, I'll likely spend another night in the hostel that occupies the Old Olympic Stadium. Sort of a sad sight, but since my sleeping bag was pilfered in Talinn, no more parks for a while. I still have to find a sauna and some herring. More soon.

Talinn

2005-08-20T13:22:00.000-04:00

I meant to go out last night, I really did. Still, I just couldn't put off finishing East of Eden. It's fantastic, and I'm just giving it some time to sink in before I declare it my favorite book.

Still, I wish I had known last night that today is some Estonian holiday, meaning I now have plenty of time to read. If it were a festival, things would be bangin', but a holiday just means everything is closed. It's a shame, because I was really excited yesterday to see all the great museums. I only made it to the Mine (boat-go-boom mines) Museum, Maritime Museum, and a few of the churches yesterday. So far today, it's been a lot of hiking around the green parts.

I still can't decide whether it seems a more authentic Old Town than others, or more Disney-like. The architecture and churches seem to be older, but there are busloads of retired German dentists arriving every few minutes. Also, a great number of locals have decided to dress in medieval garb while selling postcards or trinkets, which certainly lends a Mickey-Mouse touch.

On that note, yesterday I lunched at 'Olde Hansa', a sort of local Estonian 'Medieval Times', only the servers didn't have New Jersey accents. It was, in all truth, great fun, and it was neat to much on Juniper-flavored beef, orange tongue jelly, French Royal pate, onion jam, quail eggs, herb and nut bread, Hansa house smoked herring, and oven baked herb & juniper cheese. Washed this down with a pint of dark honey beer, joked with the waitstaff for a while, and had a very pleasant time. A bit expensive, but that held me over until brunch today, so it worked out. Perhaps the most famous, most touristy, and most enjoyable fare in the Baltics.

Talinn is however, really, really crowded. I mentioned this earlier, but I didn't mention that all the hostels are booked for about a week. Last night, I managed to find an old farmhouse hostel that still smells like pigs (or some livestock, but something worse than the usual backpacker stench), though it's filled up for tonight. When I got in at 1am Friday, I searched for a place for a few hours before finally finding a cozy bench in the park, and I'm thinking this also may be tonight's accommodation. I can swallow my pride, and this isn't the first time I've been glad to have a sleeping bag. Ferry to Helsinki tomorrow morning at seven, which is a bit early, but it was also half the cost of the next cheapest boat.

I haven't shaved for three days now, so I'm pretty stubbly, but we'll see how things develop. I also bought two more Lonely Planets and a self-study language book yesterday, which I won't say more about. All you lovers of mystery novels, or anyone looking for a hint as to my itinerary, can put the clues together.

I think a little hike by the coast would be nice now. Maybe I'll bust out the Mark Twain.

Riga

2005-08-18T13:50:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm off to Talinn tonight at 1900. Since I've essentially exhausted the museums and chapels here, I thought it might be a good time for an update.

Riga's pretty cool. The Old Town is quite small, but very lively. During the day there's nothing more fun than meandering through these tiny streets which seem to follow no plan, passing chapels and chic shops, museums and souvenir stands. It's pretty funny getting around, too, since if I walk for ten minutes in one direction, I'm off my maps. Quite a change from Beijing, where a map's journey of two inches means an hour's cab ride.

At night, the lights flicker on, and there's nightlife for any taste. Indeed, there's tons of bars, discos and clubs (which have been closed on MTW), and also a fair number of more racy establishments. If any of you are wondering, please remember that I barely have the cash for washing my grimy clothes. I've been sticking to the English and Irish pubs.

Food is also pretty good, though I've had a hard time finding out what "authentic" Latvian food is. I've had some pancakes with meat, and I tried herring for the first time, but for the most part, the joints around here serve pretty worldly fare. I've had some vegetarian Indian food and spiced tea, an English meat platter with beef, liver, onions, and chips, and of course, some great Pelmeni. I'm really starting to appreciate this up-to-date Lonely Planet book, since never before have I been able to try the recommended restaurants and bars (from my '95 version, the recommendations were always been long-gone).

The Museum of the Occupation of Latvia is excellent, and really powerful. These little bits about the USSR are starting to sink in, and they provide a much wider context for looking at current issues. Very worthwhile. On the opposite end of the spectrum, the Museum of the Latvian Army was about as
worthwhile as the Chinese Museum of Political Freedoms. I can't fault these folks too much, though, as their military history, and national history, only go back about eighty years. I mentioned earlier that I've done pretty much all the historical sights, so I've spent some time in the gardens reading "East of Eden" since then. And right next to this park stands the "Travel Agency", a monument to Latvian freedom that was erected before occupation. The Latvian joke refers to the fact that, during the Soviet era, placing flowers near the base meant a free trip to Siberia.

Last night was the performance at the National Opera House I was so looking forward to. I learned a lesson in reading the fine print, however, as it turns out "Karmena" wasn't Bizet's "Carmen", but instead Schedrin's "Carmen Suite". I groaned at first, but I sat through it with an open mind, never having been to the Ballet before. I actually quite enjoyed it. It also turned out that Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring" followed. A fun evening, and the music was outstanding.

So, overall, Riga's been a fun stop with plenty of new experiences. As Capitol Hill's crazy bus driver Lawrence once said, "You're never going to get a bigger database if you don't have the keyboard for input!" Well put, Lawrence. Here's to travels, to input, and to the Database.

More soon.

Long live brevity

2005-08-15T22:39:00.000-04:00

I got into Riga at three this morning. I found a great hostel I've been hearing about, right in the heart of the Old Town (have you noticed a trend with these countries?), though there were no beds until noon. Thus, I ended up chatting with some folks in the Hostel pub for a bit, and then went out by the National Opera house to do some reading. The sun came up around five, so I took the cue and explored the city while it slept. Even without anyone on the streets, there seems an energy unique to Riga. This energy is quite apparent during the daytime, and from all I hear, during the later hours. The full update will come.

I bought a ticket for Carmen on Wednesday, so I'll be here for a bit. Might as well get to know the locals in the meantime.

Also, the currency is really crazy. The Lat is more valuable than the British Pound, so everything is priced in really low numbers. On top of this, since everything up to five Lats (ten dollars) is in coins, I can buy a beer and lunch with small change. I feel like I'm living in the old West or something.

***

Last crazy thing before I leave you for tonight; Today, while wandering around Bastion Hill, I stumbled upon the US embassy. I don't know what it was, whether me having been away or what, but just the sight of the flag hanging high above the building filled me with an indescribable awe. Was it pride? I don't even know... it was as if all the BS we hear half-baked Congressmen spouting had been stripped away, and a true love of nation revealed itself. Like at the sight of a pretty girl, I only caught my breath.

I remember once talking with a US national living abroad, and in due course, something I said (likely regarding Naval service) caught his curiosity, and he asked in a slightly surprised tone, "You're a patriot?" It was the oddest question, a serious, slightly incredulous inquiry, just as if he were asking a man chowing on a Whopper, "you're a Vegan?" I didn't know how to properly express my answer. I was a man of faith trying to express himself to he seeking faith. But I did my best, and I'm proud as hell that I can speak of these feelings with the utmost honesty.

To travel the world only to fall deeper in love with my Home; this, this is nothing short of sublime.

Two countries, or three?

2005-08-14T19:50:00.000-04:00

Well, I made it to Warsaw, with only a few glitches. The first problem; missing my train. Whereas most little situations leave me all the wiser, I still don't know what happened with this one. I was waiting at the right platform under a blinking sign for Warsaw, but the train didn't show. Who knows. Anyhow, I got this ticket switched for another on a slower train, which was supposed to get me to Warsaw at 0100 rather than the 2200 of the first. This wouldn't have been so bad, had I not misunderstood the conductor. I was pretty sure we agreed that she would wake me before my stop, but somewhere along the way we got a new conductor, one who only introduced himself after the train was a hundred kilometers beyond Warsaw. I tried to convince him to let me stay on the train until it terminated and came BACK to Warsaw (which would give me a few hours to sleep), but he kindly asked me to just buy a new ticket at the next station. Did this, got on another train at 0400, and hopped off in Warsaw at 0600. Then I discovered that I had stopped at a suburban Warsaw station, so I tried to catch a bus into the center. The bus system must have been jealous of all the fun, however. What I thought read "Stare Miasto" on the bus sign was actually "Stare Mieste" or something, so I ended up getting an hour-long tour of Suburban Warsaw. Finally, back at the station where I boarded the bus, I decided to boot into the Old City of Warsaw, which, as it turned out, was barely a 3km walk.

Why do I write this in detail? Well, friends; the whole time, I couldn't help but wonder: Who do the Poles tell jokes about?

I really liked Warsaw, however. The hike into Warsaw took me over the Vistula river on a bridge next to the old Royal Castle. I got some breakfast, then bought a ticket to Vilnius at a travel office. I trucked around some of the Old Town sights, and after lunch, received a great little Warsaw Walking Tours book from the friendly, septlingual waitress. Found a cozy hostel just north of Old Town.

So for Warsaw the city, most of it was rebuilt after WWII. After the "Ghetto Uprising" of the Jews (known to many thanks to the NBC mini-series starring the whinny guy from "Friends"), there was a much larger, citywide uprising that proved quite the headache for the Germans. The Germans eventually put down the rebels, and then set about deporting/eliminating remaining citizens and leveling the city. Demolition crews managed to destroy 87% of the buildings. Thus, many of the monuments stand in the memory of the Uprising, and it seems every building I went into had a plaque that read, "Rebuilt after it's destruction in WWII..."

Oddly, I think the statue of the Legendary Mermaid, reputed to have sworn to come to the rescue if Warsaw were to see trouble, is original.

The city had some beautiful gardens and parks, a whole bunch of museums to Chopin and Mme. Curie, and tons of churches. The National Museum was quite a nice mixture of gorgeous classics, and also some funky crap glued together by a Polish artist. Call me a boor. The Royal Castle impressive, though it's art, like that of all castles, was mostly portraits of fat white people.

I did think the city was pretty cool, with what seemed very few tourists, but dreary weather naturally dampened my enthusiasm just a bit. The sun was struggling to show it's rays, but usually it was everyone walking around in a light mist, umbrella in hand, waiting so as not to be the first wuss to open it.

Yesterday, I got into Vilnius, Lithuania, and headed for the first hostel I saw. This Old Town hostel turns out to be very cheap, clean, and social. The LPs, I later found, warn that not much sleep goes on here, so perhaps this will help explain my scatter-minded writings. Indeed, even with ear-plugs, I'm currently having quite the time putting down thoughts, as my fellow travelers are quite "jolly". For all I've heard of Italians talking with their hands, they certainly don't relegate their mouths to an auxiliary role. But these Italian are, in a truth, great guys. I don't think they leave the hostel, as they always seem to be here cooking, ensuring that if anyone is in the common room, he's well fed.

That being said, this has been a very social leg of the journey, with mates to tour the historical sights during the day, and the pubs in the evening. The LP knew something when it reviewed hostels.

But night-life aside, this town is old and quirky, just like the old dude who Boogies for Beer outside of the 24h liquor store. Much of the city is medieval, UNESCO Old Town, but the inhabitants seem to harbour a flamboyant streak. It seems that one of the main tourist draws is the Frank Zappa statue, the only statue of said rocker in the world. Though a few of us thought this was a bit of a let down, finding it's only a bust, we certainly enjoyed the Republic of Uzupio. Uzupio, a little hippy commune started by some of the more Bohemian residents of Vilnius, lies in a corner of the city with its own borders and Constitution. The constitution of this "independent republic" is displayed next to a pizza shop in three languages, and includes such gems as "Cats are not obliged to love their owners, but must help out in times of need." Just some neat, crazy stuff.

Anyhow, I hiked around today, and went to the top of a nearby hill to get some shots of the city. The battery of my camera died as soon as I reached the top, but the old lick-the-battery-and-cross-fingers trick managed to eek out a few shots. Everything else being closed on Sunday, I lunched and then relaxed in a park for a bit, finishing up Moby Dick. Let's see if I can't make another good trade for this one. I got a "LP Europe on a Shoestring" for an out of date "LP E.Europe" and "LP W.Europe" (and neither covered N.Europe). For those, I think I started with a copy of "Heart of Darkness". Man, if only I were back trading scout patches.

For now, it's off to dinner, and then up to Riga on a ten-euro bus ticket. I'll learn to sleep on buses yet. More soon.

Krakow

2005-08-10T14:53:00.000-04:00

Yesterday it hit me. I went to a concerto at this gorgeous little church across from the Wawel castle, but looking around at my fellow fogart-ish audience goers, I realized that I really am boring. Have I ever been to the Warped Tour? No. Have I seen an O.A.R. gig? No. Not even a wimpy Coldplay concert. But Vivaldi & Friends? Let's go!

I really do enjoy this stuff, though. Walking through a park atop the bluffs of Kyiv and hearing Rachmaninoff drifting my way, I rescheduled my afternoon to listen to the Ukraine Philharmonic's afternoon practice. Marvelous.

All that aside, this is a neat town. Unscathed in World War II, Krakow sports a great little medieval center, and ten minutes south, the Wawel castle. It's all beautiful, though I have yet to see the Screen-door submarines, the piles of rejected "W's" outside M&M factories, or any of the other fabled examples of Polish intuition. And despite what The Sun might have you believe, there are no Normandy-worthy massings of plumbers and electricians preparing their landing in Western Europe.

Perhaps the one major downside I see, now that Poland is in the Big, Happy, EU family, is the huge number of us tourists in this city. Being such a small town in relative terms (Chicago is the second largest Polish "city"), their presence is easily felt. For example, I'm sitting in a small XIV century cellar, now an internet cafe with ten computers. Four of the screens display Hotmail compositions with "Greetings from Krakow" in the subject lines. No joke.

But it gets wierder. My hostel is smack in the middle of Kazimierz, the historical Jewish quarter. I say historical, because what was a thriving population of 70,000 Jews, before WWII, now hovers around 100. But it seems a huge percentage of my fellow guests, at least at my hostel, are German. I know, 'gather the lessons from history and eschew the prejudices', but it's still just a titch odd.

Perhaps I wouldn't have thought much of this if it weren't for the realities of Krakow travel. Most of the tourists that come through here, me included, use this city as a jumping-off point for excursions to a small town to the West, Oswiecim. I hadn't heard of the Polish name when I came, but I had certainly heard it's German transliteration: Auschwitz.

So that was my day yesterday, touring Auschwitz-Birkenau with a bunch of German backpackers. It didn't help, though, that I was the only blonde, blue-eyed person in the whole group of 30+ tourists. I was tipped off to this fact by the many sharp glances thrown my way during the tour-guide's simmering accounts of Nazi "Master Race" ideals.

The world today is, thankfully, pretty much free of the "but Pa says it ain't really happen" idiots, so I'll spare the era's background. The camp itself, though, is made up of two sites, Auschwitz and Birkenau, separated by about four kilometers. A third site, and forty smaller sub-camps, also originally existed. Auschwitz, sometimes referred to as Auschwitz I, was originally Polish army barracks before being adapted by the Nazis to their purposes. The camp is smallish, yet terrifying, with an execution wall, 1meter x 1meter chambers where four prisoners were kept at a time, "dark rooms" which had just enough ventilation to maximize the suffering of those who suffocated, and a gas chamber. The gas chambers were, after Birkenau's construction, converted into ammo storage, so they escaped destruction by the fleeing Nazis. The Ovens were also rebuilt from original materials.

Birkenau, 4km down the road, seems to take a very different approach as a museum. Rather than converting old buildings into exhibitions and display, it stands just as it did at liberation, save a memorial to those who died. Auschwitz II, as it is sometimes known, was built solely for elimination. Compared to Auschwitz I, Birkenau is enormous, with train tracks running right into the center of the camp. The ruins of the huge gas chambers and crematorium stand off at the far end, by the memorial.

I waited to make an update so I could process what I saw, but I still can't make up my mind. Obviously, it's an emotionally charged place. Still, I couldn't help but cringe at the large, movie-style posters advertising the museum. "Site of the worst Murders the world has ever seen. Open 10am-8pm." The exploitation was a bit shocking. I also couldn't help but think of the largely ignored Soviet genocides, which only carried a few sentences in the Russian and Ukrainian museums I've visited. Of course, liberal guilt then got to me for not immediately also thinking of the tragedies in Sudan, Timor, Rwanda, the Balkans, and elsewhere.

But the most disturbing thing about Auschwitz-Berkinau is the direct human involvement in the killing. When Stalin wanted to crush Ukrainian nationalism in the 1930's, he just engineered a famine that killed nearly eight million. He placed unrealistic quotas on grain production, and simply shut off food supplies until those quotas were met. Simply, Soviet beuracracy. Impersonal death. But Auschwitz? What was going through the mind of the bricklayer building the ovens? The man operating the electric lifts for corpses? I guess the thought of this shocking 'efficiency' was what got to me.

But I can't close with such morbid impressions. If you're willing to stick with me as I retreat back into trivial matters, the tourist-scene does have one other advantage; restaurants. Whereas I was so disappointed by their rarity in Ukraine and Russia, there seem to be a large number of cheerful, inexpensive restaurants serving Polish food to hungry 'packers. The pierogi are fan-TAS-tic, as we all knew they would be. But ahh, to find such treasures as 'nalesniki', little pancakes filled with fruits or cottage cheese, and covered in (no, not sour cream like it's fellow slavic dishes) sweet yogurt, or obwarzanki, ring-shaped donuts hawked by the old ladies with street carts! This is joy. It's great to just stumble upon a neat restaurant, and stumble upon a neat dish. I think my new favorite is Czulent (pr. Choulent), a Jewish dish traditionally served on the Sabbath. It looks rather scary, like pulled pork and baked beans put in a blender, but it is indeed the tastiest mixture of meat, beans, and veggies you'll ever want to try.

So I think that's it for now. Time to get out and explore some more of these museums (see? a Bore born and bred). I'll probably hop up to Warsaw tonight. More from there.

Loose ends

2005-08-08T13:54:00.000-04:00

Well, I guess I broke my promise not to post again for a few days. Just thought I'd address a few things...

So I started this blog (okay, its a blog, and I too am an unemployed crank) thinking it would only be read by friends and family. After putting in a counter, which I expected to increase at the same rate as the population of Shunk, PA, I found that I've had many more visits than expected. So,

A) Cameron is our family dog. She isn't a comatose relative, or an Amish friend to whom I can't write email. I miss my dog.

B) As delightfully sad as it would be to write my own comments, I don't really have time for such a thing. Reading any comment with half a compliment under an anonymous name, I assume it's my dad reading from home. By all means, I love feedback (do help me make this blog better), but if you could leave a name in the body of the comment, I'd be very appreciative.

C) The phrase is "Trudni no pravda," which has a completely different meaning from "Trudni na pravda." I still can't get the transliteration thing down with the Russian o's and a's. Sorry if this has caused anyone material harm in the meantime.

D) Do let me know if the counter starts launching pop-ups or anything. I'm always a bit suspicious of free programs on the net.

E) I've put in some pictures, and will probably continue to post some shots. They may not be timely, though, as finding computers with USB ports can be tricky.

Lastly, I wanted to drop a link for Belarussian Adam's blog, Being Had. It has a lot of great writings, full of all that commentary on life in Belarus which I so enjoyed. Though his book has been taken down for a bit, I'm sure it will be revised and back online soon. Check it out.

Much love from Lviv.

The Old Country

2005-08-07T21:57:00.000-04:00

You'll have to forgive that last post, both for the brevity and for the Mc'Ds rant. Perhaps I can add a little background to help explain my gastronomic exasperation:

See, since I stepped onto the TSR (in truth, the Trans-Mongolian rather than Trans-Siberian railway), I've been living on a steady diet of bread, cheese, and yogurt. But what of all those delightful Slavic dishes, you ask? But what of them? They're fantastic, when I can find them. It seems that, for the most part, eating out is still far too expensive for the general populace of these post-Soviet economies. Thus, when I find restaurants, they seem to cater to wealthy entrepreneurs and those who have grabbed their fortunes in the past fifteen years of kleptocracy. Who amongst them wear the Gucci-suits, and who the track-suits, I have still yet to discern.

In any case, these restaurants are priced far beyond the budget of a traveler like I, striving to break below the $20 per day mark. Common here, though, are 'produkty', shops stocking every type of bread, cheese, and sausage your heart may desire (and arteries, fear). Also, hundreds of kiosks lining streets sell similar items, so my diet has, for lack of healthy alternatives, been rather basic. A few bananas and a kilogram or so of "kefir," a delightful drinking yogurt, often prove a hearty meal. Also, as for this kefir, a liter a day keeps the immodium away.

If I'm in luck, however, I may find one of many "Shaverma" stands manned by a Tajik, Azerbaijani, Uzbek, or other Central Asian. In St. Pete, there was a very decent schwarma stand right across from the metro station near my hostel, so through my frequentings, I quickly developed "regular" status, and often chatted or received travel tips from the friendly, young kids.

The other occasional delights are "kookhny", little cafeteria style restaurants that do indeed have authentic, home-style dishes. Though cheap, these can be hit-or-miss when it comes to the quality of the food, and these "authentic" dishes are usually dripping with grease of some kind. Anyhow, all of this explain my delight when I find the Ukrainian and Russian fast food joints, and my newfound appreciation of the clean, quick, cheap traits of the American Fast-Food model.

But, oh, Lviv/Lvov/Lwow! Shall you go unmentioned this post around?

No, for I'm currently sitting in a 'net center in downtown Lviv. It's a nice city, though most of the novelty lies in its absolute Ukrainian-ness. The Ukrainian language, though to me it seems a kissing cousin of Russian, is still spoken rather widely here. The architecture seems charmingly Eastern European, and for every monument to a downplayed defeat that stood in Sevestapol, Lviv sports a museum or monument to Ukrainian heritage. And finally, verifying the adages that have been passed down through my paternal bloodline, the women are indeed less than spectacular.

I would be fine moving on tonight, but I have a ticket to Krakow for tomorrow evening instead. The weather here has been rather dreary, but hey, "Trudnuy na pravda." Also, I have finally managed to locate Kosiv, the little hamlet from whence Great-grandpa Malkawizcz came, but my approaching visa expiration seems to prohibit any sort of excursion to the Carpathian region near the Romanian border. Someday...

So all in all, it has been a terrific little journey exploring the Slavic lands. Russia was neat; Moscow had its Kremlin and New Russians, though I'm kicking myself over not chatting politics with Muscovites. My knowledge of Putin's hidden fist, and all of the Periwinkle, Fuschia, and Baby-blue revolutions that worked to escape it, are still limited to what I can get from Western media. St. Pete of course was fantastic, though I spent too much time there. This was my lesson in booking tickets far in advance, and of course, led to my lesson in making sure my train doesn't go through, lets say, BELARUS. But more on that later.

St. Pete was, for someone who enjoys museums, waterfronts, tourist-packed symphonies, and parks, a heaven. I also got to swap out most of the books I'd torn through since Beijing, thanks to my Hostel's book exchange program, so I should be set for some time. The museum fares would have added up quickly, but when buying tickets I would muster my best Volga accent, and with arms thrown wide, exclaim in Russian, "Hullo, comrade!" This worked for getting me the Russian rate about 70% of the time, if only because it succeeded in cracking up the ticket-babushkas. But for the difference between a ten dollar foreigner's ticket and the fifty cents for RF citizens, I was more than willing.

So then came the following little episode on the way to Kyiv, beginning with a customs officer waking me on the train at three in the morning.

"Where is visa?"
"Oh, right here."
"No, this is Ukraine visa."
"Where am I?"
"Belarus."

Yes, I'd screwed the pooch on this one, and trusting the travel agent who assured me the extra $10 dollars was because my train would travel via Moskva. For believing that, I was an idiot. Anyhow, I was gently removed from the train, where I learned that I had been pulled off about 30km from the Ukrainian border! No, you don't need a visa to get INTO Belarus, but you're just not going to get out of there. Anyhow, I sat there for a few hours, a couple of miles across the border from Chornobyl, right in the area where 80% of the fallout settled. What radiant smiles those folks had. Also, to my classmates from Mr. Rob's English class, and anyone who's read Don DeLillo's "White Noise," environmental disasters really do make for gorgeous sunsets.

Meeting with a Latvian woman, Valentina, who also thrown off, but because she had come into Belarus two days before her visa went into effect, we set about trying to find a solution. This at times proved quite comical, since neither of us understood eachother. She was, however, the one who came up with the idea of going to Minsk, and I was all for it, the tickets being five dollars, and there not being much reason to not explore the country, save being an illegal alien in a backward nation ruled by an avowed Anti-Western dictator.

We got to Minsk early the next morning, and while enjoying a cup of hmm-what-to-do-now coffee in the train station, I spotted an American passport under the papers of a guy near us. Judging from his notebook, and perhaps because he was an American jotting notes in the middle of a Belarussian train station cafe, I announced my presence by venturing a guess that he was a writer. Click. Indeed he was a US citizen, and indeed he was a writer. Adam, I learned, had actually first come to Belarus in '97, eager to find some trace of his missing roots, and he had since started a family and settled down in Pinsk. This, my friends, was heaven shining down upon me. Not only did he speak excellent Russian, and finally clear up what Valentina and I had been saying to eachother, but he was actually on the way to take care of business at the same place we needed to go for a transit visa. Score.

So the three of us set off, getting spun around a few times by the helpful clerks juggling us around different offices, in different areas of the city. In the meantime, however, I garnered quite the tour of Minsk (and how depressing it was), with a very knowledgeable tour-guide. Adam seemed quite well versed in the recent history of his adopted home, and I got a very extensive opinion on current happenings. Indeed, I received (in my view) a pretty even-handed lesson on the Lukashenko regime and the effect it's having on Belarus. Later, reading his blog, I learned the paperwork he had been taking care of was for permanent residence in Belarus. This prospect was injeopardyy, however, as the buck-stops-here administrator who he finally won a meeting with informed Adam that American interests were covertly offering a $32million war-chest to any candidate willing to stand to oust Lukashenko. The Belarussian government was therefore not inclined to look favorably upon American citizens, and indeed was even considering a bar on visas issued to Americans. Whether this had some kernel of not-in-your-NYTimes truth, or whether it was merely a bribe shakedown, I do not know. In either case, however, it offers an interesting glimpse into Belarussian society. Moreso, I'm glad to be out of Belarus.

So yes, I finally did get a transit visa, after we were sent to a 'special' copy shop, since the photos and passport Xeroxes we already had weren't produced by the official's cousin. Of course, Valentina and I also had to write letters of apology, promising we would never do such a thing again. Since it had to be in Russian, Valentina wrote everything but the "Love, John" I affixed at the bottom. But after a full day in Minsk, full of little lessons on how not to drag your country out of the Cold War, we had visas, and we were on our way to Kyiv.

Travel plans going awry also proved to have an upshot when, returning to Balaklava for one more night, I found I had a new-roomie. An Italian in his late twenties, Luciano had been working in the diplomatic section his embassy in Kyiv, so he had an extensive knowledge of the problems of Ukrainian politics and economics. It was fascinating to hear about the rampant corruption that existed despite this very pro-business atmosphere (which seems to be taking off), the problems facing the Ukrainian steel industry, and a few other topics (the finer points of Ukrainian women, etc.). Anyhow, I love the little surprises that come with solo travel.

Having thusfar lost most of my readers (or are both of you still with me?), and having earlier described the beautiful ladies of Kiev, the hiking and diving of Balaklava, and the horrid visions of frying lard on the beaches of Yalta, I think this is a good place to call it a night. Now, it's time for me to fill out some Navy paperwork, making my crazy plans sound not so crazy. I should be back to the journal in a few days, perhaps with some impressions of Poland, and perhaps with some of the myriad stories that have accumulated since March. Anyhow, thanks for sticking with; much love for that, holmes.

Maladyetz!

2005-08-05T13:04:00.000-04:00

It's a Russian word roughly equivalent, from what I can tell, to "great!" or "awesome!," and I think this is one we need to steal. Maybe I'm just a bit jealous after a few weeks of hearing Russians using "Syooper!"

Anyhow, I just got in from Sevestapol, which was quite the long ride. My cabin mates, Vasiliy, Sergei, and Xenya were very fun, meaning a night full of beer & fish (Russian for Coffee & Cigarettes?), rough translations, and thrice declining offers of vodka every ten minutes. My Russian is terrible, but I managed to put together some basic jokes and one-liners, which had their desired effect. I was proud enough. Anyhow, all of this means that I'm now running on fourty minutes' sleep, so it's a short update.

I got into Kyiv this morning, I got to see the mighty Kievan Rush. From metro station to metro station, door to door, I had about eight cubic centimeters of personal space. It's nice to backtrack, however, to be back in Kyiv and to know where I'm going. Sad to say, but I think I know some of these slavic cities better than I do Manhattan. I still can't cross under the Kyiv streets, though, since the entire downtown area is sitting atop a giant underground shopping center. It's like mid-town Manhattan squatting over the Westchester mall. Point being, every time I try to use these 30-foot-long underpasses, I stumble into this mall and come back up halfway across the city.

Now, I think I'm going to go grab lunch at McDonald's. Yes yes... I, too, once shuddered at the thought of American's eating McD's abroad, but time has reshaped my opinions on this matter. I always know what time these restaurants open, and that they won't close at random intervals for "obed" (lunch), and I always know what I'm going to get, how it will taste, and roughly how much it will cost. These things are a relative luxury. McD's, with it's tight management and quality branding, really has earned it's place at the top. It rubs off too. I've been eating at a bunch of Chinese, Russian, and Ukrainian fast food places, all with a similar business model, only offering NuRouMian or Varenenky, Borscht or Pilmeny. This is culture finding outlets through globalization. This is the vehicle by which those who feel homoginized, who feel they've imported too much, can stand up and share a bit of their own flavour with everyone else. This is McWorld.

And this is preaching, so this is me going for fries. More later.

Crimea; check.

2005-08-03T10:43:00.000-04:00

I miss Cameron. Firstly, there's a guilty feeling because I can't explain to her that I'm not dead (fingers crossed for ESP though). Then, everywhere I go, there seems to be two stray dogs to every human inhabitant. It's nice to share my scraps with these poor things, but I'm still a bit concerned what would become of my hand, were it to reach out and pet one.

There's also a ton of stray cats wandering around, but they can go become doglunch for all I care. Every time I toss a piece of bread or cheese their way, they give it a suspicious sniff, then shoot me this evil glare, and then smugly back away. It reminds me too much of human coldness, I suppose. Drop a favor for a stranger in a big American city, and watch the little sniff they give that morsel of kindness, and then the manner in which they back away back into anonymity. Not everyone, but just enough to be disheartening.

By contrast, it hasn't taken long for me to notice the "Slavic hospitality" that every Russian/Ukrainian I meet goes on and on about. Offer a piece of gum, and you have a drinking buddy for the night. Offer to share your beer, and man, tis a party! Moving past the jokes about the "Slavic smile" (that half-gruesome, half-pitiful look usually reserved for funerals of those one didn't know well), there really are big hearts just under the surface. And not to sound too jaded, but it can also come in quite handy at times. When, in Kyiv, I couldn't for the life of me find my hostel, I spent the night in an internet cafe polishing IR skills/learning vodka toasts with a group of young Ukrainians, including the employees. I think it was because I complemented someone's taste in music. No cats here, just those pups who gobble up the favor and stick around to show their appreciation.

Anyhow, on Monday I went diving off of some WWII sub wreck that I know nothing about, thanks to our entirely Russian briefing. Our second dive was great though, squeezing through little nooks made by the eighty ton boulders that have, over time, hopped off of the sharp cliffs of the Crimean coast. No more geological formation on dive day, I'm pleased to report. Spent the evening chatting up a Dutch divemaster who's making a year-long diving journey. Sounds good to me, but, we know that it would. After dinner we made a nice little trek up to the sea-cliffs, measuring their height with the aid of a stopwatch and a few abandoned wine bottles... 247 meters.

Tuesday was my long-awaited Yalta excursion. Yalta itself was pretty much what I expected; Myrtle on the Black Sea. After hiking along the blubber covered pebble beaches for two hours, however, I found the tiny staircase that led up to the Lividisky Palace, location of the Yalta/Crimean Conference. The Czar portion of the history was a yawn, but the first floor was just oozing with historical significance. Every room had a little plaque that read something like "This, the Waiting Room, was where FDR and Stalin met on the third day of the conference to discuss Japan," etc., and I loved it. Anyhow, with the trip back to the center of Yalta, this was pretty much a day. The Swallow's Nest, a picturesque "castle, jutting off the cliffs into the Black Sea," turns out to be a chi-chi little restaurant about the size of my foot. The prospect of hiking another two hours to see a Mickey Mouse castle didn't really appeal, so I bought a postcard.

Tonight, I've gotta see where I can get to by bus or train. I'll try not to end up in Moldova. I'll mention Belarus in the next post.

What? A blog??

2005-07-31T20:27:00.000-04:00

No! It's not a blog, because then I'd fall into that pool of pretentious and unemployed cranks who, in desperate want of a title, call themselves "bloggers."

No, no dear friends! This is merely a journal, a little tool I can use to share my thoughts with all the friends and family reading this (both of you). There's a boatload of stories that I wish I could get out to all of you, like "the Indy-Jones Whip vs. Rabid Muscovite dogs", the "Crooked Cops and Their Bribe Shake-Downs", or the "Gangs of Russian Sailors Pursuing the Kid Who Stumbled into Black Sea Fleet Territory," etc... lots of stories.

But mostly, it's really nice to get thoughts down, to aid digestion, if you will. I'm keeping a travel journal, sure, but this is a great way to revisit thoughts and sharpen analysis. Surely you all know this is a fairly non-conventional approach to a college career, but every day I'm grateful for the opportunity to do this, and all the friends and family who support me in this regard. A big trip like this carries a tremendous element of duality; the introspection that comes with plenty of time to see, read, and think, vs. the extroversion that results from having to forge new bonds and friendships every few days; the feeling of independence of solo travel, vs. the realization of just how dependent I am on support structures. Anyhow, I'm really loving this excursion, and I'm sure I'll be able to offer a few thoughts along the way.

Anyhow, more of the flowery stuff will come. I suppose it comes from all the old texts I'm tearing through. Slim chances of finding English language bookstores, but alas, the Hostel International book-exchanges provide a wealth of well-traveled classics. Forgive me if I slip into the Quaker 'thees' and 'thous' of Melville.

But I've been seeing some incredible sights, and living the experiences to match. The place where I'm staying in Crimea, Balaklava (and the whole of Sevestapol), was officially off-limits until 1996. Rumor had it this was due to top-secret submarine facilities, which sounded pretty cool, thought I. As it turns out, the whole friggin' thing is right underneath this town, built into a mountainside. Of course, following its declassification in 2003, what do they do? What else, but ship out all of the nuclear warheads and sell tickets! So yeah, exploring this secret sub pen, while listening to the "Hunt for Red October" and "James Bond" soundtracks, was very, very cool.

The rest of this place is mostly monuments to the invasions Russia manages to invite every century or so, and the history in the museums is almost as warped as the history in the Yasukuni shrine in Tokyo ("When FDR came into office, he asked his advisors, 'How can we go to war with Japan?' He then took a series of steps to force Japan into a defensive war"). The versions of history presented here always make Russia out as, of course, the innocent peoples caught in the grips of evil (_____ power behind the _______ war). Seriously, what does Russia expect when they sign treaties with a powerful state that runs on an opposing form of governmennt? Of course, we won't apply this model to cozy ties between the U.S. and China while generals in Beijing are jumping up and down shouting "Well, if the U.S. intervenes when we 'reclaim' Taiwan, then we'll just use nuclear weapons." Anyhow, back to Ukraine.

The sunken subs and ships are great for diving, and there are old ruins everywhere. This little town where I'm typing still sports ruins from it's first inhabitants 2500 years ago. And on the agenda, I've gotta see Yalta, or at least the Livida palace next door, where the Big Three decided on how to divide up Europe.

So more to come, if you'll bear with, since I'm certainly no writer. I'll likely throw in a few things that have come up since the onset of this little trek, and of course, plenty of dogmatic world-commentary that people get to make when they sit behind a keyboard. Keep checking http://www.thebackpackersjoint.com for user 'Johnmalc' if I don't get to update this blog, and if you care where I am. I'll try to get some pics up too. Das vidanya.