You Crane?

Ahhh... The Ukraine. This country was not on my original trip itinerary, but Bryn discovered the "Crimean Dance Camp" was taking place during our trip to Turkey. We found a ferry across the Black Sea and things were set for 10 days of Swing dancing with Russians and Ukrainians. It was going to be our wild and wacky experience in the Former Soviet Union.

It started auspicious enough. Pretty much as soon as our boat left Zonguldak, Turkey, I came down with a terrible fever that I'm pretty sure broke my thermometer. I spent the first 6 hours of the ferry shivering under three blankets while a full moon shone orange over the Black Sea below us. The second 6 hours i spent in and out of the bathroom, either on the toilet or in the shower trying to cool down my fever that peaked at 102. The final 6 hours, my fever finally broke and I was able to go up on deck and see the Black Sea. Early in the morning, the sea is so flat and glassy. It was still as a lake and you could hardly feel the boat moving at all.

My first day at the Crimean Dance Camp was a wash. I spent just about all of the time in bed recovering from my fever. After three days of diarrhea, I broke open my emergency ration of antibiotics that had cost me $130 back in Austin. Within a day, I was feeling much better though, so thank god for Azithromyicin.

My body on the mend and my head clearing, I was able to take in the anachronism that was the Crimean Dance Camp. We had a total Soviet-lite experience. We were issued food tickets at the beginning of the week which we could exchange for wheat or pork based gruel during one hour windows throughout the day. We stood in line for this gruel, served in abysmally small portions. I'm sure that our daily servings didn't add up to 2000 calories. Maybe more like 1000 - and most of that came from oil. I could go on about the food, but I'll just conclude by saying that we gave up on the meal tickets and adventured on our own in town. We ended up doing much better for ourselves - budget be damned.

Our Savior in Nikolaevka - Meat on Stick

Our "hotel" was more like a dormitory. Four toilets and four showers for about 60 people. Hot water was rare and there was no ventalation in the showers so they were cesspools of stink and soviet germs. No toilet paper, no towels, sheets that wouldn't even fit over the hard bed (we ended up using our sleeping bags). The place did have lots of roses though. Apparently, we were supposed to stay in another part of the hotel that hadn't been completed in time, adding a huge construction site to our situation.

Our bed and room

As for the dances, all 150 of us were supposed to meet each evening in a little activity room that fit maybe 50 people. We ended up rationing the dancing - as one person passed out from the stifling body heat and bad air, another would step in and take their place while they recovered outside. We were supposed to have danced in an open-air cafe in town, but the organizers of the camp screwed that up and we were kicked out after the first night.

It wasn't necessarily the conditions that piss me off, it's the fact that we were paying $70 each per day to stay at this place. I don't mind third world conditions - that's the whole point of this trip - but I hate paying first world prices for third world conditions. Like all other dance camps, we paid for our spots ahead of time, before we knew what we were getting into. It reminded me that package deals should be avoided.

Don't let the cuteness deceive you, this place was way ugly on the inside.

It was interesting to be the only Americans in the whole town. Bryn and I got a good glimpse of Russian style vacationing. The beaches were packed with blubbery, hairy backed, reddened men and women from sunrise to sunset. All the restaurants were identical - same food, same design (think barn with benches in it) and same bad, karaoke music. The saving graces were the fresh peaches and cherries in the market and street venders selling roasted meat.

It was nice that I was with Bryn for these ten days, but other than that, I'm not proud of how I spent the last ten days of my trip. On top of all that - the boat that I was supposed to take back to Turkey (God, how I've come to miss that beautiful country) left earlier than I was told, so now I'm stranded in Ukraine. My choices are either to stay here another 4 days or go on with Bryn to Moldova and return to Turkey from Romania - backtracking the trip I took about a month ago. Sigh. I need to get moving east again. Asia beckons.

The next few days will probably mostly be spent on buses or trains. Next stop should be Diyarbakir or Van, Turkey. I can't wait.

Taking the Ferry from Zonguldak

Bryn and I are in Zonguldak, Turkey - up on the Black Sea coast of Turkey - about to get on a ferry for the Ukraine. We've been trying to organize a ferry to the Ukraine for some time (she's been looking into it for the past few months) because a) it'd be cool to take a ferry across the Black Sea; and b) there is a ten day swing dance camp happening in Mikolavka, Ukraine, from the 16 - 35 of June. Swing dancing has proven to be a very successful way to meet people and get to know an area, so we're both really looking forward to the Crimean Dance Camp 2011.

Our ride coming into the Port of Zonguldak, Turkey

According to the website, everyone else attending the camp is either Russian or Ukrainian. A few of the instructors are western European, but there's a good chance that we'll pick up some Ukrainian/Russian after all of this. As of now, I've only really got Nazdravya and Dobra Den. It should be fun.

And maybe the best part of it is that we're taking a boat there. And we're taking a real BOAT. None of this cruise liner stuff like I took from Iceland, this is an honest cargo ships with trucks and truck drivers and hardhat areas. The boat got into Zonguldak yesterday afternoon full of trucks from Yvpretoria, Ukraine (the boat only services the Zonguldak-Yvpretoria route) and we boarded it at around 7pm without having paid because the office was closed. It was a classic hand-signals and limited vocabulary conversation between us two Americans, an employee of the ferry company, the customs guy and the ship captain. I don't know exactly how it happened, but within about 10 minutes we had a cabin on the top deck with a nice view of the orange life boat.

Our home for three nights (note approach of full moon in top left corner)

We sail tonight at 1am, assuming that we have enough cargo on board to justify departure. We might have to wait until tomorrow morning to leave. No tellng. But the trip will take about 36 hours so we should be in Yvpretoria Friday afternoon - Mikolavka within an hour later.

The deck of our ferry at sunset. Trucks hadn't started loading at this point.

It's not exactly a passenger ferry, which makes the trip even more cool. There's a good chance that Bryn will be the only female on the boat surrounded by a bunch of Turkish and Ukrainian truck drivers, which is a little intimidating, but everyone we've met so far has been friendly and non-leary. We met the cook this morning, who served us breakfast, and he was very friendly, despite our inability to communicate with each other. It's been really helpful to be able to stay on the boat in harbor as it saves us money on hotels AND they feed us three meals a day. So far, so good. Will report on the more specific details once we get to the Ukraine.

Like a Good Wine...

I've taken the opportunity to read a lot of books during my trip so far and will no doubt read many more before I'm through. At the risk of sounding snobby, I think picking books to read during trips is like picking out wine to pair with a good meal. I'm not a wine expert, so this analogy doesn't resonate too much inside of me, but it makes sense from what I've heard about good wine.

I want to make a list of the books I've read so far and quickly note what they're about and what I thought about them before they become indistinguishable from each other. Since leaving the US, I've made a point of finding English language book stores in major cities along the way and have stocked up there. I haven't had to suffer any breaks between books so far and, at the moment, I'm carrying five with me, so I should be alright for a while. I try to always read a book fitting to the area I'm in but, that doesn't always work out perfectly. I've donated all the books as I go, unable, of course, to bring them all back home with me.

Hisotry of Warfare (John Keegan):
I actually started this book before I left Austin, but I felt like it was a good introduction to the world through a realists eyes. I learned about the spread of military technology and how Central Asia is where our modern idea of "invading armies" began. It inspired me to read about Genghis Khan or Tamerlane later on.

History of the Natchez Trace:
Explains how the Natchez Trace formed a land bridge between the lower Mississippi River and the Cumberland River between Natchez, Mississippi and Nashville, Tennessee before the steam boat came along and made even upriver travel cheaper than land. This was highly appropriate for my bike ride along the Natchez Trace, but it was poorly written and often devolved into laundry lists of demographic and economic facts and figures.

The Corrections (Jonathan Franzen):
A great novel about contemporary American life. It's about a family of five from the midwest whose children have moved off to the corrupted east coast. Great novel for "getting a feel" for the US; my first country on the trip.

Absalom, Absalom (William Faulkner):
I found this at a used bookstore in Natchez that was suffering because of Kindle sales (I maybe should have bought one for the trip) for about a buck. Read it in Mississippi in honor of Faulkner and was almost finished with it before losing in New York City. It was a challenging read that kept repeating itself. I felt like the plot progressed two steps forward, one step back the whole way, with plenty of foreshadowing so that you knew the whole way that the outcome would be disastrous. I'd like to give Faulkner another try.

The Long Ships (Frans Bengtsson):
The novelized Saga of Orm, the youngest of a family of Vikings from Scania (modern day southern Sweden) who adventures around Europe looking for wealth and fame. I read this in Iceland in order to get a feel for the Nordic Viking life. I should have read the Icelandic sagas instead, but there were too many "begots" through the whole thing. I still liked The Long Ships though, and inspired me to take a trip from the southern most tip of Scandinavia to Nordkapp - only hitchhiking and camping and thereby barely spending any money at all.

Emma (Jane Austen):
This may seem like a strange novel to bring along with you on a ferry from Iceland to Denmark. Again, one of the viking sagas would have been better - maybe some Faroese literature? This was the first book I purchased abroad and I got it in Akureyri, Iceland. The bookstore there had a very limited English language selection and, foreseeing an uneventful ferry trip, I bought the thickest book I could find there. This happened to be Emma. I like Jane Austen, but after reading "The Corrections" and "The Long Ships", both rooted in the gory and often unsavory realism style, "Emma" seemed too uptight and proper. It only showed life in the parlor and didn't get into the juicy details of everyday 18 Century life. I supposed "uptight" and "proper" was good for me coming into Denmark and Germany, though. And, my ferry ride was the closest I got to England.

Balkan Ghosts (Robert Kaplan):
This book had been recommended to me on numerous occasions by several different people. In a flash of forethought, I ordered the book online and had it sent to Germany so that I wouldn't have to carry it there. No way was I going to find it in English there. It's a travel log of an American journalist going through the Balkans in 1990-1991 - right after the fall of the Soviet Union and just before Yugoslavia's messy break up. It was a good crash course in Balkan history - an area where I was sorely ignorant. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to make it to a lot of the places he went, but it was good to at least have a frame of reference for the region. Several of my hosts in Bosnia, Montenegro and Serbia commented on how it was useless since it was written by an American. They're probably a little right.  Nevertheless, it made me want to read Rebecca West's book about her trip through the Balkans in early 20th century, "Black Lamb Grey Falcon".

The Importance of Being Earnest (Oscar Wilde):


Bridge on the Drina (Ivo Andric):
This was the first, truly "foreign" book I bought and read. Lots of people in Belgrade had recommended it and I found it easily in several Belgrade bookstores. Andric won the Nobel prize for literature and so is nearly a Serbian national hero. The book covers nearly 500 years of the history of Visegrad - a little town in current day eastern Bosnia. I had already passed through this area once I got the book, so I didn't get to visit it, but the book is an amazing portrayal of the history of the Balkans through the eyes of a famous bridge. From Ottoman occupation to Serbian uprisings to Austro-Hungarian occupation and their departure during World War I, it covers it all.

Bridge of San Louis Rey (Thornton Wilder):
Bryn brought this book for me from Australia when we met up in Istanbul. It's about life in 18th century Peru, so completely removed from Istanbul, but still a good, short novel about a group of people who die in a bridge collapse. I liked to continuation of the bridge theme after reading "Bridge on the Drina" but I mostly liked the book for it's sketch of the characters' personalities, motivations and inner struggles. It's framed by a friar's attempt to explain why these specific people died by the bridge collapse. Bryn thought that the futility of this effort was the central theme but I disagreed. The frame was ultimately an excuse to write about fictional, obscure individuals in 18th century Peru. 

Portrait of a Turkish Family (Irfan Orga):
This was another local recommendation that I bought in Istanbul for way too much - about $30. But that's just how things are in Istanbul. Way too expensive.  The book was a huge success when it came out in 1950, but has since fallen out of print and, according to the bookstore owner, there is only one version out now, which explains the high price. It's good portrayal of Istanbul during the fall of the Ottoman Empire and beginning of the republic; a riches to rags autobiography that kind of reminds me of Dickens, except that the author inserts too much of his own self-pity and conceitedness. At times, it pissed me off. When he whined about how his family had to get rid of one servant and were down to only two during hard times, I lost a lot of respect for the guy. Also, reading the afterword by his son made me respect Orga less. It sounds like he failed to learn from his hardships in WWI Istanbul and kept making lots of financial mistakes throughout his life. Still, you have to respect the insight he provides on Istanbul during an important time during its history.

Snow (Orhan Pamuk):
I was strongly encouraged to read Orhan Pamuk by several Turks. He's a contemporary, Nobel Literature Prize winning author who writes all about the experience of living in Turkey. He was exactly what I was looking for in Turkey. One of my hosts recommended that I read "Snow" as it is about eastern Turkey whereas most of Pamuk's books are about Istanbul. As I had already covered Istanbul in Orga's book (see above), I went for it. Snow is a story about a fictional week in the eastern city of Kars where an actor joins forces with the local military to take over the city. A journalist is caught in the middle of it and is manipulated by all different sides (Islamists, Kurds, Leftists, the military, etc.) to push their own agendas during the crisis. I thought it was a great introduction to all the different forces spinning around in Turkey, but it wasn't a great introduction to Kars, which I visited towards the end of the book. Pamuk's main character (the journalist) is also a bit of a wet-blanket. He reminded me of Goethe's "Junge Werther" who nearly made my head explode with his indecisiveness and hand-wringing and self inflicted pain. Pamuk could have cut about 100 pages from his book if he his lead character only thought things over three times instead of five. I guess that's what gives the book its texture, though.

To Catch of Tartar (Chris Bird):
Bryn brought this book for me from Australia as I'd be heading to the Caucasus after Turkey. To Catch a Tartar is advertised as a travel journal through the Caucasus, but it's actually a British journalist's account of the first Chechen war in the mid 1990s, which was fine by me. But Bird is a terrible writer. At one point, he strung together four totally unrelated metaphors in four consecutive sentences. His style really reminded me of Robert Kaplan but at least Bird didn't over inflate his own importance in the matter and paid more attention to the people around him than how awesome he was for hanging around in Chechnya while the Russians were shelling him. He jumps back and forth between the current and numerous former Russian incursions into Chechnya which, when mixed up with all the various names throughout history, was very confusing. But overall, he gets across the idea that the Russians have been trying to nail down the Caucasus for centuries and have never quite got it down pat. Great on the ground account of all that went down, too.

The Travels of Marco Polo
This is one of the few books that I didn't finish on this trip. It's basically just a collection of his notes that may or may not be fabricated. Marco spent most of his time in the service of Kublai Khan, the grandson (or son?) of Genghis Khan who ended up ruling the Chinese district of the Mongol Empire. There are some interesting stories in there from old, obscure leaders in places that were long ago erased by war, famine or the desert. I feel like you have to be more of a Central Asian history scholar to be able to put any of this stuff into perspective, though.

Tamerlane: Sword of Islam, Conqueror of the World (Justin Marozzi)
I had a clear objective from the beginning of my trip to read a book about Atilla the Hun, Genghis Khan or Tamerlane while spending many, many hours on Kazakh trains. I was able to carry out this objective flawlessly thanks to finding this book in a bookstore in Ankara back in June. Marozzi does a good job of displaying Tamerlane as one of those pragmatic, Machiavellian leaders who would massacre whole cities and pile their skulls into pyramids as a way to achieve empire. It was a reminder that often the most successful war is total war. Tamerlane is probably one of the least politically correct figures of history (probably the absolute least before Hitler came around). But Marozzi also writes about how modern day Uzbekistan (the heart of Tamerlane's 15th century empire) is rehabilitating Tamerlane's image in order to manufacture some kind of national history and pride. While I wasn't able to make it to Uzbekistan, I saw Kazakhstan undertaking very similar efforts with even more obscure historical figures.

The Great Game: The struggle for empire in Central Asia (Peter Hopkirk)
This was a continuation on the Central Asian empire theme, only brought forward about 400 years. This time, the empires are Britain and Russia, competing sometimes passively, sometimes aggressively, over the fractured kingdoms, emirates and principalities of present day Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Afghanistan and Western China. It has such resounding relevance to what is happening today and, generally, what is always happening in Central Asia. It also reinforced the theme from Tamerlane that to rule in Central Asia, you have to be a ruthless, cut-throat, sneaky bastard. It also reinforced my desire to go to Uzbekistan. Hopkirk has three other books on the subject that I hope to read once I get back home.

Underground: The Tokyo Gas Attack And The Japanese Psyche (Haruki Murakami)
Ok, so I didn't go to Japan and I never really planned to go to Japan on this trip. I actually read this book while traveling through Korea. I found this book in Almaty, Kazakhstan, which was a really weird place to find it, but couldn't resist. I've known about the 1995 sarin gas attacks in the Tokyo subway, but never really studied it in much detail. This book, on the surface, will tell you everything you'd like to know about how the attack was carried out and what witnesses experienced, but it's also a great novel. The format is a little strange: the author has basically woven together testimonies from over a dozen people who were directly affected by the attacks to give the event the most personal texture possible. Then, at the end, he interviews another 6 or so members of the cult (Aum Shinrikyo) who carried it out. It's the kind of excruciatingly in-depth, detailed exploration of the attack that I'd love to be able to read about every major attack ever carried out.


No plans for the next book yet. I'm off to India and should have no problem finding a good Indian novel in English though. As always, suggestions are welcome.

Snapshot of a Turkish Family

In Istanbul, I started reading "Portrait of a Turkish Family" by Irfan Orga. It's a riches to rags story about a family in Istanbul during the first world war. I'm enjoying it and encourage any of you to check it out for some good stories of Istanbul as the Ottoman Empire was crumbling. One hundred years later, I got a very different look at a Turkish family. This family lives in Serik, just outside of Antalya on the southern coast. Bryn and I stayed with them for four days and just left them this morning. Allow me to introduce them.

Our official host was Ummit, a 23 year old computer teacher who just finished two years of university. He lives with his parents, as most single, young men do, in the same bedroom where he grew up. He speaks limited English but had a tremendous amount of patience with us. He was bashful around Bryn and seemed a very innocent, protected only child. We were his first couch surfers and he was eager to please. Ummit was our favorite member of the family.

Ummit and I waiting for dinner

His mother, Sabriye, had the looks of a one-time beautiful woman, but years of cigarette smoke, black tea and non-existent dental hygiene had knocked her down a notch. Her smile made my teeth hurt for her and gave me a great urge to floss. She smiled often, and it was often accompanied by a laugh that had been corrupted by cigarette smoke and sounded more like a hoarse cackle. Her family was from nearby Antalya. We had the pleasure of eating dinner at her mother's apartment about a five minute walk away. A photo of Sabriye's grandmother hung over the living-room door. A fat, severe looking woman wearing a frown and a white headscarf on a bright red background.

Sabriye and Mehmet washing veggies in the river. We aren't sick yet!

Mehmet was the father. He was Kurdish and had come to Serik to be with Sabriye. He has worked dozens of jobs over his life, mostly as bartenders in nightclubs and hotels all along the Turkish Mediterranean coast. He had most recently bought a 1985 Peugeot van, loaded it up full of cheap plastic stuff made in China and drove around to various bazaars in the region selling it. At the end of our stay, he insisted (with much force) that Bryn and I take something from his shop. Bryn took a pack of tissues, I took some purple earrings for Bryn. Mehmet was the kind of dad who would come up from behind you during a game of backgammon and tell you what moves you should make before you had time to count up the numbers on the dice. He had good intentions, but he smothered you with hospitality. We had to fight him on several occasions to go out on our own. He was a very protective dad with an out-going, playful personality that one needs to make money at the bazaar. His English was about as good as Ummit's, but he spoke with more confidence, so the family was under the impression that Mehmet should be the ambassador of the family.

Like I said, Ummit was our official host, but Mehmet pretty much set the agenda. He insisted that we go to the "beachpark" nearby and that Ummit accompany us, even though Ummit didn't want to swim. Bryn and I had a great time in the Mediterranean, but felt bad looking back at Ummit sitting on the beach, fully clothed and bone dry. Despite the fact that Bryn and I wanted so badly to repay their hospitality and kindness by making them dinner Thursday night, Mehmet disrupted our plans and took us on a picnic instead. Then, afterwards, he dispatched Ummit and his cousin, Hussein, to accompany us to an opera (Carmen) in an old, Roman amphitheater in Aspendos. Bryn had bought these tickets months in advance and this was the real reason why we were in Serik in the first place. (Aspendos is a Roman town and only exists as a tourist destination now. Serik is the nearest modern day settlement about 5 miles away.)

Ummit, despite his sympathetic and sensitive nature, is definitely not the opera going type.  But he acquiesced his father without the slightest protest. He got in for free through a family friend connection; the friend appeared to be some sort of custodian, as he locked up the old, open-air amphitheater just before he drove us all home.

Then, on Friday, as Bryn and I were leaving Serik, Mehmet asked us why we were going so early and if there was some sort of problem, even though we had made it perfectly clear from the beginning that we would leave Friday. He was almost aggressive in his incistence that we stay. Then, when we finally won that battle, we had to fight another one to convince him not to drive us to the bus stop - that we were perfectly capable of finding the bus station on our own. Ummit, of course, was sent with us to make sure we didn't get lost in tiny Serik. 

As Bryn and I collapsed on the bus to Alanya after an hour of confusion, I wondered what was it that made Mehmet so tyrannically hospitable. I could never imagine contradicting a guest in my home and insisting that he or she see my town only as I would have them see it. We made it very obvious on several occasions that we appreciated their offers, but that we'd rather take care of this or that on our own, in our own way. I am fiercely independent when it comes to how I travel and I find that locals are often terrible sources for information on what to do in a place. Usually it's better to just set out on your own and many times I'll come back with something to teach my host.

Mehmet insisted that we do things his way. I never got the feeling that there was any mean-spirited intentions behind it, just a very deep-seeded, despotic approach to hospitality. I think Mehmet wanted to show that his family could provide for us. They were not poor, but obviously not rich. Providing for guests would show that they had excess. I can see how he wanted us to take things from his shop and value them since they were his livelihood. He wanted us to share in his pride of things. I think he also got a little excited and carried away at times. Serik does not receive many strangers as guests. I tell myself that his eagerness to share his life with us came out more aggressively than maybe he had intended.

All these experiences are teaching me how to be a  guest. I've learned to have faith in my hosts and just go with the flow. Things usually work out and I'm staying with locals precisely because I want to see their lives and how they present it to me. I have to allow them to do that, even when their way of doing things are convoluted and unnecessary in my eyes.

On a parting note, Bryn and I have seen two musical performances in the past 24 hours. The first one was a production of the opera, Carmen, in a Roman amphitheater in Aspendos. The second was an impromptu practice session in Jam's apartment - Jam is our host in Alanya. He had just dropped Bryn and me off at his apartment when there was a knock at his door and seven musicians filed in and started playing. Both were magical and surreal in their own, distinctive ways.

Amphitheater at Aspendos

Jam Session in Alanya Apartment

Gobble Gobble

This entry is coming at your from Istanbul, Turkey- the Asian side. Getting to Istanbul was a tough journey, but well worth it since Bryn joined me here. We spent the first 3 days on the European side of Istanbul; the touristy, overpriced, hustler side of town where everyone is trying to make a buck off of tourists. It is a necessary evil one must endure in order to see things like the Hagia Sofia, the Blue Mosque, Galata district and other places that embody the grandeur of Istanbul and the former Ottoman Empire. But the Asian side of Istanbul is much more appealing to me - and Bryn. This morning, we headed out to the hills just west of town and saw everyday life in Istanbul. We distracted a high school class by waving to them from the sidewalk, causing about a dozen heads to stick out windows and call out to us in English, waving to us. We had to slink backwards down the street like movie stars.

Blue Mosque

Few people spoke english, so we had fun figuring out what was going on and letting others know what we needed. It's intimidating at first, but becomes surprisingly easy. For food, just point at what you want and hold out some change. Watch how much other people pay and give them the same. For transportation, just get on a bus and say the name of the place you want to go in a questioning tone. People here are very willing to work with you on communication and come up with creative ways to do it. Much more adventurous and fun than dealing with all the slick, English speaking merchants on the European side.

We're in Turkey at an interesting time, too, because elections are coming up next week. Current Prime Minister, Recip Erdogan, is confidently appearing in posters all over town next to the number 2023 -  the 100th anniversary of the Turkish Republic and two elections away - as if to  say that 2011 isn't even a question. There are also tons of vans driving around with loudspeakers on top blasting either speeches from the politician whose picture is on the bus, or some techno song that he thinks his constituency would prefer.

Phoenix: The most famous band in Romania!

Getting to Turkey was complicated, though. I left Sunday morning at 1am, after seeing the most famous band in Romania play live in Barlad. I rode the train 6 hours south to Constantse, Romania, right on the Black Sea and near the Bulgarian border. I had an 8 hour wait in Constantse, leaving me time to see the Black Sea up and personal for the first time and meet up with one of Chelsea's Peace Corps friends for lunch. Then it was an 11 hour bus ride through Bulgaria to Istanbul. One interesting observation during the bus ride to Istanbul was that the bus driver passed out bottles of liquor to most of the passengers in Bulgaria in order to "legally" smuggle liquor into Turkey. Each passenger is allowed one bottle, so customs couldn't do anything when they came on the bus and found most of the passengers (even little old ladies) clutching bottles of tequila, rum and vodka that were obviously going to be returned to the bus driver once we entered Turkey. I guess they're just looking to stop the most flagrant of offenses. Sure enough, as we got into Istanbul, the bottles were collected and loaded into the bus driver's suitcase to be sold to someone for about half the price of normal liquor in Turkey.

 

Black Sea in Constantse

Road Sign in Constantse

I arrived in Istanbul at about 2am, just over 24 hours after I had left Barlad. I don't know why these train and bus schedules are so goofy. They are good at finding the absolute WORST time to leave and arrive at their destinations. I guess we were spared traffic, but I wouldn't have minded arriving in Istanbul at, say, 5 am and so avoid paying for a room that night.

On Sunday we're heading out of Istanbul along the Sea of Marmara down to southern Turkey. They we'll cut east and go out into the hinterlands of Anatolia. My goal is to see the Euphrates River.

Dancing the Charleston in Romania

I crossed the Serbian border into Romania May 19. My route was Belgrade to Timisoara - one of Romania's westernmost cities and, incidentally, where their 1989 revolution started. I rode in a mini-bus with three foreign students; two from Portugal and one from Finland. They were on their way to Cluj, in the heart of Transylvania. They ended up missing their train in Timisoara, though, because we were held up at the Romanian border for about 1,5 hours waiting for the computers to kick back on. While annoying, this delay was worth it since I had the experience of listening to a Serb (our bus driver) curse at the border guards and then turn to all of us and say, "Welcome to the European Union".

This delay was notable because I had crossed seven borders in the Balkans without ever having a delay. I was almost disappointed at how slick and smooth all of the border crossings were. No half-wild canine units intimidating us, no torture and no bribes. It was surprisingly tame. Then, as soon as we got to an EU border (Romania) we entered a land of considerably higher dysfunction. Beyond the border crossings, I would say that, all in all, the Serbs, Croats, and even Bosnians, to a degree, have their country in order more than Romania.I might be a little biased though. After "getting to know the Balkans" for a month, familiarizing myself with the language and culture, it was a big shock to come to Romania, where the language is completely different and I am hard-pressed to find similarities. I'm having to start over here, which is a little tougher than when I arrived in Serbia.

I stayed a night in Recas (just outside of Timisoara) with a peace corps volunteer who was friends with Chelsea, my friend from Austin who is one year into her 27 month term as a peace corps volunteer in Romania. I met Chelsea in Bucharest on May 20 and then we came back to her town in eastern Romania - Barlad. After traveling all the way across Romania, I will say that transportation is much easier here. Compared to the Balkans, where mountains make train travel very limited and bus travel extremely bumpy, gliding along smooth tracks across a very (mostly) flat Romania for the same price as in the Balkans has been a welcome relief. The trip from Bucharest to Barlad was plagued by a broken WC that filled our whole wagon with the stench of sewage, but if you sat next to the window, you could hardly tell.

Star-Students dancing the Charleston







I've had an amazing time in Barlad so far. Chelsea teaches English to tenth graders here and I've offered my limited teaching skills in exchange for a place to stay. We came up with a lesson plan Sunday night on the train and have been implementing it to all of our classes so far this week. The lesson basically consists of handing the students a piece of paper with instructions on how to do The Charleston (the dance, youtube it if you aren't familiar). So after they figure out the vocabulary and what all the words mean, we all stand up and actually do the dance together. Hopefully, by the end of the 45 minutes, everyone has perfected the charleston, we put on some White Ghost Shivers jazz music from Austin and we partake in what is technically called "cultural exchange". If the class is particularly quick, they will teach us a traditional Romanian dance as well. Only two classes out of five have managed this though.




This was one of the most enthusiastic classes. They were a really fun bunch. 

Getting into a rural Romanian classroom has been fascinating. The most shocking thing so far has been when, a few times when Chelsea is calling role, we find out that a certain student (female) is no longer in school because she has dropped out and gotten married. This doesn't seem the least bit strange to the kids. Chelsea and I try to stifle our surprise, but it's tough to do.

It seems like each class has a few students who carry the lesson. About 10% of the class really, whole-heartedly participates while the rest sit in the back wearing aviators and playing games on the cell phones. Chelsea admits that discipline is a problem. Apparently, they've been on better behavior for me, their guest. It doesn't help that the classrooms are little echo-boxes of tile and concrete so that the slightest shuffle of papers consumes the whole room. Some carpeting in those rooms would really help the noise levels.

I was talking to Chelsea last night about my impressions of the first day of class and my general observation was that, like in most small towns, you can tell that these kids' world is pretty small. They have grown up with a very small, limited number of people surrounding them and, as long as they can master these people with charm, humor, flattery or whatever little tricks, they have won. I see an inability to think beyond the borders of Romania and sometimes even beyond the borders of Barlad. English is a very abstract idea to them - a kind of plaything and they aren't really sure how it can be applied in life. I tried my best to teach them that they needed English to talk to me since I understood no Romanian, but I don't think it really got through to them. A few kids engaged with me and responded to questions - mostly after class when their classmates were out of range. One kid came up to me and volunteered "Osama bin Laden. Shot in the head."

"Yes," I replied,"do you think it will make a difference?"

"Yes... difference... no more September 11"

Then he smiled and walked away. I guess this was a success. It was about a deep as a one on one conversation I've had with a kid here. I don't tell this little story trying to make the kids look dumb, I really just want to get across the idea that it's hard for these kids to relate to anything in English when the only time they speak it is in the classroom. In cities like Belgrade or Budapest, there are English language movies, tv shows, advertisements and all, but out here, you don't see any signs of English (there is no movie theater) and so they are victimized by a centralized education policy that says they must learn this language without them really knowing why they need to. These kids aren't the type that want to learn for the sake of learning (they are at the second tier high school - not bound for university), so their question is valid.

Their worlds are smaller because of it. These kids aren't diplomatic. They don't see much value in interacting with an American beyond making fun of their funny talk in order to impress the girl sitting next to them. This sounds too harsh now that I write it - it's not like every kid is an indolent country bumpkin. You can see in the video that some kids really did want to participate. It's just that most kids know their audience and who they need to please to make it in this little town. I am not on that short list. I'm ok with that, it's just an important thing to keep in mind when traveling around rural areas.

Made it to the Metropolis!

I made it into Belgrade, Serbia Saturday afternoon after a 10 hour bus ride from Podgorica, Montenegro that left first thing Saturday morning. I had ended up staying up all night in Podgorica. When I noticed the sun coming up as me and my (British) host were in the middle of a heated debate over US world supremacy and China and all that type of stuff, I figured that I may as well get a headstart on my trip to Belgrade and so made my way to the bus station. The sun was already fairly high in the sky bt 630am and I was completely blinded by it. The central European time zone borders go WAAAAYYY too far to the east. I guess that's just another example of these ex-commie states wanting to be more like the west....

The last time I posted was Sarajevo, Bosnia & Herzogovina - in other words, three countries ago - four countries ago if you count the 15 minutes I spent driving through the little sliver of Bosnia along the coast that cuts Croatia in two. From Sarajevo, I took the train further south to Mostar, then to Dubrovnik, Croatia along the coast. Then to Kotor, Montenegro, then Podgorica, then Belgrade. It'd be ideal if I could add a little map to the side of my blog that shows my route. Does anybody know how to do that?

I've been trying to avoid being a tourist this past week and trying to get a feel for real life, but the Dalmatian coast is not a good place to do this. Not that I'm complaining. A friend of my host in Zagreb was kind enough to put me up in his five star hotel in Dubrovnik for two nights - he even gave me a seaside view! IMPORTANNE RESORT, people! If you ever go to Dubrovnik or are thinking about a good place to go for a summer trip, I highly recommend Importanne Resort in Dubrovnik, Croatia. See the pictures I added to my flickr stream for some visuals.

I used my time in Dubrovnik to catch my breath a little. The hotel was a few kilometers outside of town and was nice and quiet -  a perfect place to decompress after spending about 10 straight days in the city. Mixing up city life with more rural life is very important. I guess I can hardly call Importanne Resort rural though... but you know what I mean.

From Dubrovnik, I took the bus along the coast to Montenegro - The Bay of Kotor. This place is amazing! The largest fjord on the meditteranean. Kotor is located at the very southeastern most tip and is the biggest town on the fjord. It is also the home of the oldest and most well preserved walled town and fort on the fjord - an example of how their strategic location at the end of the fjord appears to have helped them over the years. I actually got to stay with a host in the old town, behind the walls and everything. It's amazing how you can really feel the effect of the walls. Passing from "new Kotor" to "old Kotor" is full of contrast. Inside the walls, you don't hear any cars (they aren't allowed in the old town, and probably wouldn't fit, anyways) nothing is more than about a 5 minute walk away. I got a good taste of the village life there.

View from our fishing spot in Kotor Bay

However, I can also appreciate modern amenities now. My host was great in Kotor, but his apartment, to be honest, sucked. He was in a tiny basement flat where the water would spontaneously shut off and his cat would take morning shits in the shower. He was also hosting four of us couchsurfers, which was about 3 more than he had space for. I ended up sharing a bed with two other people one night, sleeping shortways across the bed to make space. I value this experience as insight into the life of poverty in a tiny, walled, old Adriatic town. It was a great time, though, and Micky, our host, was very gracious. He took us fishing and "octopus hunting" at this beautiful spot along the fjord.

View of Kotor from the fortress

Even though everyone told me not to go to Podgorica, the capital of Montenegro, because "there was nothing to see there", it was perhaps my favorite city since Sarajevo. It was the perfect example of how you shouldn't just blindly follow Lonely Planet and, that if you have someone to show you around, you can have a great time anywhere. In this case, couchsurfing came through again. I stayed with a Brit teaching english there and we met up with two other couchsurfers at a bar and had a great night. In the process, I learned a lot about Podgorica, too. Sure, it's not the most tourist friendly town. No sections of the original wall left, no Austro-Hungarian era administrative buildings or old Ottoman markets left. Instead, Podgorica sits in a plain in southeastern Montenegro that gets invaded and destroyed about every fifty years, according to my host. This allows the city to reinvent itself about twice a century, making it much more modern and less distinctive. But, as I learned in Podgorica, "distinction" and tourist attractions do not necessarily make for a livable city. Podgorica seemed very livable to me. Small town, but a capital so there were things going on and young people and liveliness. Podgorica was free of the single file lines of middle age American tourists shuffling through narrow streets complaining about all the walking and wondering when was their next meal.

Blankets for Pilgrims to Ostrog (Orthodox monestary near Podgorica)

And now I'm in Belgrade. The capital of former Yugoslavia and my last checkpoint during my stay in former Yugoslavia. It has been cool to see all the provinces of Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia and Montenegro first before coming to see the center of it all. I think being able to contrast Belgrade with its surroundings has allowed me to appreciate the city more. You can see how it really is like a London, Paris or Berlin for Southeast Europe. Compared to the rest of the cities in the neighborhood, it's clear that Belgrade is the most metropolitan and "capitalesque" of them all.


Friday I take off for Romania, where I'll meet up with a friend from Austin who is doing peace corps in eastern Romania - a little town called Barlad. I'll be sure to update from there.