Arrived in Plovdiv on a midday train, slept soundly the whole way there, likely because the majority of the ride was perfectly straight through flat plains. Upon arrival had to walk past the smirking taxi drivers a few times before I found where I could buy my train ticket. Walked up into the old city to find my hostel. Did not get lost!! Plovdiv already better than Sofia.
While walking up I stopped by the tourist office, which was generally unhelpful but I did discover that the ancient Roman amphitheater was having an outdoor opera that night, Die Fledermaus by Strauss, which I resolved to see.
Checked ınto the hostel and kıcked around a bit. 2 Polısh gırls also saıd they were goıng to the Opera, so I tagged along wıth them. Ended up that there was a Norwegıan guy who was planning on taking the 2 polish girls. He had nıce roses he had plucked for the gırls (roses are everywhere ın Bulgarıa). He had 3 roses, mine was just smaller. So I thınk I was what would be called a '4th wheel,' whıch ıs not yet in Urban Dictionary. The Norwegian guy and the polish girl he sat next to didn't talk much, so I dıd't feel bad. I just filed it away in the box with all the other strange cultural interactions / miscommunications
The opera ended up beıng ın Bulgrıa. (At one poınt I turned to the polish girl next to me, Carolıne, and asked "That's German, right?" laughs, "No, that's Bulgarian." "Right."). But ıt was pretty good consıderıng everythıng I knew about the plot was what I had gleaned from wıkıpedıa a few hours before, and the venue was super cool.
The followıng day myself, the two Polish girls, Carolıne and Sophıa, and a Welsh guy named Thomas, dıd a day trıp outsıde of Plovdıv organızed by the hostel. It was a slow day (we dıdn't leave the hostel untıl nearly 11), but we somehow managed to be absolutely exhausted when we all got back. We saw 2 monestarıes, Arapovo and the more famous Bachkovo. The super-old Orthodox chapels ın all of these are very nıce, but they defınately are startıng to look the same. But they are usually set up ın the mountaıns, and we dıd a nıce long hıke above Bachkovo to a small, run down chapel, and had lunch on the mountaınsıde.
We had some authentıc Bulgarıan food for lunch - everythıng we bought on the way and then prepared on the mountaınsıde - crumbly feta-lıke cheese (but saltier?), what I would call kebab meat (40% lamb, 60% chıcken; actually has a dıfferent name), a delıcıous dıp halfway between salsa and pesto, and a whole bunch of delıcıous tomatoes and cumbumbers bought from a roadsıde stand. At the roadsıde stand, our guıde asked to borrow my waterbottle, because ıt was plastıc. He draıned ıt ın the street, dısappeared ınto the house, and came back out wıth a bottle full of home-made Bulgarıan whıskey, whıch was for all intents and purposes moonshıne. Potent stuff. We trıed to drınk ıt durıng lunch, but none of us could hold ıt down.
Day ended wıth stoppıng by Assen's Fortress, perched on a clıff wıth sweepıng vıews of a valley.
I came back all sunburned, or as the Bulgarıan gırl workıng the desk saıd through gıggles, 'you look pınk.' I explaıned that I was Irısh. Thıs gırl was a hoot. When I checked ın the fırst nıght, the fırst thıng she saıd to me was that she was dısappoınted that I wasn't Brıtısh, whıch was what she had expected when she saw my onlıne bookıng. The hostel, Hıker's Hostel, was really nıce and homely, and the total staff of 3, the 2 gırls workıng the day and nıght shıfts and the guy who gave the tour, was all Bulgarıan, and they had good storıes to tell about all the strange people they had met comıng through theır hostel over the years.
The nıght traın to Istanbul out of Plovdıv was 30 mınutes late. It is always nervewrackıng when your traın ıs not on tıme, and all you can catch from the Bulgarıan PA system ıs '...Istanbul...Plovdıv..... thrıty....' My compartment-mate ended up beıng an Amerıcan, from Colorado and rısıng senıor at Columbıa, that I had hung out wıth at our hostel ın Sarajevo, and 2 Englısh gırls I was waıtıng on the platform wıth knew the Swedes down the hall. As one of my coworkers at Bain had once said, it's not a smaller world, but it's a small socıal class.
In Istanbul now. Twıddlıng my thumbs a bıt for now the thırd day ın 4, as I don't want to see any sıghts before my sıster gets here, but her flıght just got delayed for another 2 hours, so she won't get ın untıl near 5. Mıght go shower, haven't done that ın a few days
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Sofia, Bulgaria
My blog must be set to Bulgarian, b/c spellcheck is telling me everything is mispelled, and I know I'm not quite that bad.
Sofia, Sofia, you play with my heart. Promising start, miserable failure in the middle, great invigorating evening, and a night spent in eating my loses.
Sofia (from the Greek word for wisdom, but w/ the accent on the O) should host a winter Olympics. She could use the investment, is so close to being a beautiful European city, and has the closest ski resorts of any major European capital, Mount Vitosha [Or at least they claim to be. I tried to verify this and failed]
Upon being awoken in the Sofia bus station, I groggily walked over to the train station and exchanged 1,500 Serbian dinars for an unkown amount* of Bulgarian whatever-they-use. All I know is I now have 5 currencies in my wallet, and it is becoming quite crowded.
*At least in Thailand I made an attempt to judge how much things cost. I've kinda given up. Oh, 2 marks for the slice of pizza? Yeah, cool, I can do that.
I then found my chosen hostel, Hostel Mostel. Definately the sketchiest entrance I've seen on any trip, but very nice once you pass through the courtyard. Got oriented and got directions. Their instructions for how to climb Mount Vitosha differed slightly from my guidebook, but I wasn't too worried. I then tried to find food, and failed to track down either of the 2 resteraunts they recommended. Should have noticed the bad omen. As it was 11 (or maybe noon. I didn't catch that we had shifted time zones until around 2. I just assumed the buses were posting the wrong times, as the buses in Serbian, despite being on time, had blatantly incorrect clocks), I just grabbed a cheap slice of pizza (nothing special, but I'm liking my Balkan pizza so far. I think it is a slightly different type of cheese rather than dough or sauce, but I'll believ whatever you tell me) and then some bread and brie in homage to my travels with Juile last year.
I take the tram (trolley?) to its last stop. I get out at the base of Mt Vitosha expecting to find bus #61*. No dice. Walk over to a lady at a kiosk. She speaks some English, but not enough, so waves another lady over. She speaks more English and seems to understand my problem, but not enough English to give a solution. Lady #1 writes some stuff on a sheet of paper in Bulgarian with 2 bus numbers on it. Lady #2 puts me on bus #82, after first addressing the bus driver (confused) and the passengers. I ride the bus for the number of stops I think I want, and try to get off. An older lady stops me, and has me wait on the bus.**
*Never did find that bastard. At least bus#93 had some signs hinting at its existence.
**It just dawned on me. Bulgarians reverse the head-nod and headshake. Serious. This may have complicated things during the trip. Damn.
The lady eventually has me sit next to her. We ride 82 for a long time, to where me now thinks is the other (wrong) side of town. We get out, somewhere. Lady is confused, talks to a guy in a kiosk. After awhile, I am told I am to catch #92 and take it to the final stop. It appears that 92 is an express, as it only has ~8 stops listed. But it also appears 92 comes only once an hour. "Very rarely," as a Bulgarian tween tells me in English. Old lady leaves, saying lots of things in Bulgarian. I buy OJ and gum (both excellent purchases; foriegn gum is esp hit and miss b/c you can't trust the brand names to taste the same). I wait. Read SI on my kindle. Wait. Read. Wait.
An hour passes. After 1.15, I give up an catch an #82 it what I thought was the opposite direction. Ride a really long time. Recognize nothing*. Get off at last stop. Walk over to a tram. It's the 11 and 12; tram map is unitelligible**. I guess (correctly!) which way is back to city center. I get off after a few stops as a busy road. I ask a man which trolley to the city center. With minimal confidence, he says #11. I give up and flag a taxi. Amazingly, the words "city center" and the 5 landmarks I point to on my map provide no recognition. Eventually, he recognizes Aleksandur Nevsky Cathedral, this big big big Cathedral nominally in the historical center. About 5 minutes into the drive, we pass the bus station. Yelling at the confused driver to pull over, I pay him the 3 lev I owe, and blowing off steam I walk back to the city center.
*Specifically, recognize a lot. Look kids, there's another nodescript communist apartment block!
**Infuriatingly, the problem was graffeti and too small font, not the cyrillic alphabet as per the usual.
Checked out the City Art Gallery. Cool concept - had 40 odd art critics pick 1 work each from the musuem's collection and write a blurb on why they thought that work was the most important in the collection for Bulgarian art history (no repeats). Resulted in a broad selection of work, and I enjoyed reading most of the write ups and thinking of Lauren H my art history major friend. Interesting to see that art after 1945 wasn't all that different behind the Iron Curtain. Unfortunately, that meant that everything after around 1970 was crap. I was hoping that at least the grumpy commies would call out modern art for being, you know, not good. Or art.* And man, upstairs they had a few contemporary works, and those were just weird.**
*No, we are not debating what art it. But a video of casual sex is not art. Nor are a line of colored boxes, even if you call it "Circle." Come on, people.
**Weird - a (tilted) laptop that is simply generating new pages on a word document. Called, "the generator." Weirder - an upsidedown kayak you were supposed to stick your head into and interact with. Weirdest - a bed frame with springs that you, the viewer, stand up and jump up and down on. The faster you jump, the slower the projection of your image on a screen moves. Wave your arms about, and you image switches between being large and small. Got it? Yeah, me neither.
Day ends with a success! Quality (free) tour of Sofia, with a super nice old Belgian lady who travels solo b/c her husband doesn't like traveling (she was spending 3 weeks in Bulgaria before returning to work. Iran(*1) had been her previous destination) and a lady from Mongolian (new country for AJ!!! Did you know they use Cryllic there also? I was the only one in the group that couldn't read cryllic. American fail(*2)). Tour was very interesting, I learned a lot of history(*3) and culture, but won't bore you here.
*
Sofia, Sofia, you play with my heart. Promising start, miserable failure in the middle, great invigorating evening, and a night spent in eating my loses.
Sofia (from the Greek word for wisdom, but w/ the accent on the O) should host a winter Olympics. She could use the investment, is so close to being a beautiful European city, and has the closest ski resorts of any major European capital, Mount Vitosha [Or at least they claim to be. I tried to verify this and failed]
Upon being awoken in the Sofia bus station, I groggily walked over to the train station and exchanged 1,500 Serbian dinars for an unkown amount* of Bulgarian whatever-they-use. All I know is I now have 5 currencies in my wallet, and it is becoming quite crowded.
*At least in Thailand I made an attempt to judge how much things cost. I've kinda given up. Oh, 2 marks for the slice of pizza? Yeah, cool, I can do that.
I then found my chosen hostel, Hostel Mostel. Definately the sketchiest entrance I've seen on any trip, but very nice once you pass through the courtyard. Got oriented and got directions. Their instructions for how to climb Mount Vitosha differed slightly from my guidebook, but I wasn't too worried. I then tried to find food, and failed to track down either of the 2 resteraunts they recommended. Should have noticed the bad omen. As it was 11 (or maybe noon. I didn't catch that we had shifted time zones until around 2. I just assumed the buses were posting the wrong times, as the buses in Serbian, despite being on time, had blatantly incorrect clocks), I just grabbed a cheap slice of pizza (nothing special, but I'm liking my Balkan pizza so far. I think it is a slightly different type of cheese rather than dough or sauce, but I'll believ whatever you tell me) and then some bread and brie in homage to my travels with Juile last year.
I take the tram (trolley?) to its last stop. I get out at the base of Mt Vitosha expecting to find bus #61*. No dice. Walk over to a lady at a kiosk. She speaks some English, but not enough, so waves another lady over. She speaks more English and seems to understand my problem, but not enough English to give a solution. Lady #1 writes some stuff on a sheet of paper in Bulgarian with 2 bus numbers on it. Lady #2 puts me on bus #82, after first addressing the bus driver (confused) and the passengers. I ride the bus for the number of stops I think I want, and try to get off. An older lady stops me, and has me wait on the bus.**
*Never did find that bastard. At least bus#93 had some signs hinting at its existence.
**It just dawned on me. Bulgarians reverse the head-nod and headshake. Serious. This may have complicated things during the trip. Damn.
The lady eventually has me sit next to her. We ride 82 for a long time, to where me now thinks is the other (wrong) side of town. We get out, somewhere. Lady is confused, talks to a guy in a kiosk. After awhile, I am told I am to catch #92 and take it to the final stop. It appears that 92 is an express, as it only has ~8 stops listed. But it also appears 92 comes only once an hour. "Very rarely," as a Bulgarian tween tells me in English. Old lady leaves, saying lots of things in Bulgarian. I buy OJ and gum (both excellent purchases; foriegn gum is esp hit and miss b/c you can't trust the brand names to taste the same). I wait. Read SI on my kindle. Wait. Read. Wait.
An hour passes. After 1.15, I give up an catch an #82 it what I thought was the opposite direction. Ride a really long time. Recognize nothing*. Get off at last stop. Walk over to a tram. It's the 11 and 12; tram map is unitelligible**. I guess (correctly!) which way is back to city center. I get off after a few stops as a busy road. I ask a man which trolley to the city center. With minimal confidence, he says #11. I give up and flag a taxi. Amazingly, the words "city center" and the 5 landmarks I point to on my map provide no recognition. Eventually, he recognizes Aleksandur Nevsky Cathedral, this big big big Cathedral nominally in the historical center. About 5 minutes into the drive, we pass the bus station. Yelling at the confused driver to pull over, I pay him the 3 lev I owe, and blowing off steam I walk back to the city center.
*Specifically, recognize a lot. Look kids, there's another nodescript communist apartment block!
**Infuriatingly, the problem was graffeti and too small font, not the cyrillic alphabet as per the usual.
Checked out the City Art Gallery. Cool concept - had 40 odd art critics pick 1 work each from the musuem's collection and write a blurb on why they thought that work was the most important in the collection for Bulgarian art history (no repeats). Resulted in a broad selection of work, and I enjoyed reading most of the write ups and thinking of Lauren H my art history major friend. Interesting to see that art after 1945 wasn't all that different behind the Iron Curtain. Unfortunately, that meant that everything after around 1970 was crap. I was hoping that at least the grumpy commies would call out modern art for being, you know, not good. Or art.* And man, upstairs they had a few contemporary works, and those were just weird.**
*No, we are not debating what art it. But a video of casual sex is not art. Nor are a line of colored boxes, even if you call it "Circle." Come on, people.
**Weird - a (tilted) laptop that is simply generating new pages on a word document. Called, "the generator." Weirder - an upsidedown kayak you were supposed to stick your head into and interact with. Weirdest - a bed frame with springs that you, the viewer, stand up and jump up and down on. The faster you jump, the slower the projection of your image on a screen moves. Wave your arms about, and you image switches between being large and small. Got it? Yeah, me neither.
Day ends with a success! Quality (free) tour of Sofia, with a super nice old Belgian lady who travels solo b/c her husband doesn't like traveling (she was spending 3 weeks in Bulgaria before returning to work. Iran(*1) had been her previous destination) and a lady from Mongolian (new country for AJ!!! Did you know they use Cryllic there also? I was the only one in the group that couldn't read cryllic. American fail(*2)). Tour was very interesting, I learned a lot of history(*3) and culture, but won't bore you here.
*
1. I told my guide that the Bulgarians did a better job w/ street sides than the Bosnians. She said that the Bulgarians drive better than the Iranian. Our guide pointed out that neither of these were all that commendable.
2. Even the Candanian from Saskatchewan(*4) in the Sarajevo hostel IDed as an American within 1 sentence.
3. For example, some Roman emperor I had never heard of issued an Edict I had never heard of that beat the Edict of Milan by 2 years, legalizing Christianity in the part of the Empire he rule. But he died and Emperor Constantine still has the cooler name.
4. Yes, people live there.
The night ends with me eating for dinner the bread and cheese that was supposed to be my lunch, reading NY Times editorials and the Indystar analysis of the George Hill trade. All and all, a workable day, and much better than the disaster of a day I think my sister suffered in Cinque Terre yesterday.
Tomorrow, go into all the good buildings on the walking tour that were closed last night, and then midday (not ideal, but I don't think I can do better) bus to Plovdiv. Night in the Plov, and overnight train to Istanbul. Chapter 2, the Balkans, is almost to a close.
2. Even the Candanian from Saskatchewan(*4) in the Sarajevo hostel IDed as an American within 1 sentence.
3. For example, some Roman emperor I had never heard of issued an Edict I had never heard of that beat the Edict of Milan by 2 years, legalizing Christianity in the part of the Empire he rule. But he died and Emperor Constantine still has the cooler name.
4. Yes, people live there.
The night ends with me eating for dinner the bread and cheese that was supposed to be my lunch, reading NY Times editorials and the Indystar analysis of the George Hill trade. All and all, a workable day, and much better than the disaster of a day I think my sister suffered in Cinque Terre yesterday.
Tomorrow, go into all the good buildings on the walking tour that were closed last night, and then midday (not ideal, but I don't think I can do better) bus to Plovdiv. Night in the Plov, and overnight train to Istanbul. Chapter 2, the Balkans, is almost to a close.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Nis
So only spent thiry minutes here, as both my bus were actually on time (the 8 hour ride includes over an hour of bidgrtrf stops and arrived at401. Well done). But I tollay conversed with the bus driver twice in Italian. He may have beem speaking spanish. Unsure, pretty groggy now. But those who have traveled with me know that I relexively respond to all foreign languages in italian/spanish. It paid off this time as we established in brief italian that my driver speaks no english.
430am, serbia. Dawn is breaking. We drive towards green mountains crowned by pink clouds
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Sarajevo, Bosnia
Bosnia is a very interesting place because of the war in 1992-95, and my trip to Sarajevo was very simillar to my time in Northern Ireland, where most of my time was spent learning about the recent conflict from people who remember the conflict. I find this a very rewarding and responsible way to spend my traveling time.
The main divisions are Serbs, Croats, and Muslims, I found it increddibly interesting that's the way it is decided, 2 races and a religion. And there used to be large Jewish population that came from Spain in 1492 but they either died in WWII or left soon after for Palestine. There are also a decent number of Roman Catholics, and I went to evening Mass on Sunday at the cathedral.
After getting oriented and taking a morning nap, I grabbed a delicious lunch (I'm going to like Turkish food), and went on a tunnel tour.
Tunnel (¨tunel¨) tour - trip out to a small farm house in the suburbs that was the entrance to a tiny tunnel under the airport (where the UN sat) that kept the people alive and fighting inside the city. My guide was born in the war hospital in 1993, in Sarajevo in the middle of the siege. He hates the 'Serbian Fascists,' and while he is careful to point out that his vitriol is directed at only the fascists, he believes that currently 90% of modern Serbian still supports the Fascists. He also has nothing but negative things to say about the UN and their complete ineptitude in preventing the slaughter in Bosnia. He was a good guide, but his views were clearly biased, and it would have been nice to hear a Serbian perspective, or at least a 3rd party view, as he placed all the blame on the fasicsts and their goal of a Greater Serbia and a '3rd Riecht' of the Balkans.
I followed this up with a free walking tour. Same guide, so got to listen to his lecturing again, but also joining me were an older couple, the man was British and the woman was Austrian, who were both converts to Islam, and it was very interesting talking to them during the entire 2 hour tour. They talked about about the various forms of Islam, and how they like the Bosnian tradition, which takes after strongly from Turkish Islam, and is far more relaxed than Arab Islam. The highlight of the tour was being let into one of the Mosques and climbing the very narrow spiral staircase up the minaret for view of the city.
After Mass I grabbed a solo dinner and headed back to the hostel, and stayed up until 2am playing cards and hanging out with the fellow travelers.
I ended up decided that I wasn't going to be able to squeeze in a trip to Mostar, despite the fact that everyone I talked to had been to Mostar. But if you are coming to or from the Dalmatian Coast, it is the most logical stopping point on the way to Sarajevo, and with coming from Prijepolje and heading to Sofia next, I do have a highly irregular travel schedule.
And with this irregularity, I am in for a long bus ride. In Serbia the transportation network is set up with Belgrade as the hub, and I really don't want to go back through Belgrade, so I'm taking the token night bus out of Sarajevo to Nis, Serbia, and then a rather short 2 hr bus ride on to Sofia. It would have been nice to spend more time in Bosnia, but that's simply not the schedule that I have.
The main divisions are Serbs, Croats, and Muslims, I found it increddibly interesting that's the way it is decided, 2 races and a religion. And there used to be large Jewish population that came from Spain in 1492 but they either died in WWII or left soon after for Palestine. There are also a decent number of Roman Catholics, and I went to evening Mass on Sunday at the cathedral.
After getting oriented and taking a morning nap, I grabbed a delicious lunch (I'm going to like Turkish food), and went on a tunnel tour.
Tunnel (¨tunel¨) tour - trip out to a small farm house in the suburbs that was the entrance to a tiny tunnel under the airport (where the UN sat) that kept the people alive and fighting inside the city. My guide was born in the war hospital in 1993, in Sarajevo in the middle of the siege. He hates the 'Serbian Fascists,' and while he is careful to point out that his vitriol is directed at only the fascists, he believes that currently 90% of modern Serbian still supports the Fascists. He also has nothing but negative things to say about the UN and their complete ineptitude in preventing the slaughter in Bosnia. He was a good guide, but his views were clearly biased, and it would have been nice to hear a Serbian perspective, or at least a 3rd party view, as he placed all the blame on the fasicsts and their goal of a Greater Serbia and a '3rd Riecht' of the Balkans.
I followed this up with a free walking tour. Same guide, so got to listen to his lecturing again, but also joining me were an older couple, the man was British and the woman was Austrian, who were both converts to Islam, and it was very interesting talking to them during the entire 2 hour tour. They talked about about the various forms of Islam, and how they like the Bosnian tradition, which takes after strongly from Turkish Islam, and is far more relaxed than Arab Islam. The highlight of the tour was being let into one of the Mosques and climbing the very narrow spiral staircase up the minaret for view of the city.
After Mass I grabbed a solo dinner and headed back to the hostel, and stayed up until 2am playing cards and hanging out with the fellow travelers.
I ended up decided that I wasn't going to be able to squeeze in a trip to Mostar, despite the fact that everyone I talked to had been to Mostar. But if you are coming to or from the Dalmatian Coast, it is the most logical stopping point on the way to Sarajevo, and with coming from Prijepolje and heading to Sofia next, I do have a highly irregular travel schedule.
And with this irregularity, I am in for a long bus ride. In Serbia the transportation network is set up with Belgrade as the hub, and I really don't want to go back through Belgrade, so I'm taking the token night bus out of Sarajevo to Nis, Serbia, and then a rather short 2 hr bus ride on to Sofia. It would have been nice to spend more time in Bosnia, but that's simply not the schedule that I have.
Taxi ride to end all taxi rides
My regular readers will know that crazy taxi drivers and violent driving are a common staple of this blog. My ride from Prijepolje to Sarajevo may have been wildest and most rewarding yet.
So after raging until 2am, I was woken up at 5am to catch the taxi to Saravejo. It is a common route but not busy enough for buses (nor are buses really able to handle the trek, as I soon discovered), so some taxis run a set route, hence the super early time. Edo's mom gave me breakfast (good tea!) and packed me food for the journey, and I was off. It was myself and and a man along with the driver, and they both definitely spoke no English, so I was planning on snoozing the entire ride.
Nope. My beaten body and stomach combine with the narrowing winding road and the general ignoring of speed limits (and stop signs. We pasted like 5 or 6, didn't stop at a single one. They were treated as yield signs) meant that AJ was not going to sleep. While it probably wasn't as bad as Anna's trip from Poi Pet to Bangkok, it was pretty miserable for the first hour and I was very worried about losing my breakfast on the roller coaster ride. At some point we stopped for coffee, and I had my first Turkish style coffee, which is nice and strong. The coffee gave me enough to rally (note my headache/hangover didn't really show until 11am, after I arrived), and I was much more awake for the rest of the trip.
I spent the rest of the trip glued to the window. This was partially to take in the stunning views, but mostly it is because everyone needs to hold on the car so they are not flung across the car (seatbelts? Ha!). We picked up an elderly couple, who looked exactly as you would expect an elderly Balkan couple to look, and so for the rest of the ride, the 4 men held tight to their steering wheel handle*, and the lady sat in the middle with her purse on her lap and swayed back and forth.
*The handle that supposed to be used to help you get in and out of the car. What is it called?
The views were stunning. We followed several rivers pretty much the entire way, including cruising for an hour up (down?) a gorge (over the Dirna river?) in a drive that would have put the Going to the Sun road to shame. The road was constantly weaving in and out of the mountain side through really short (10-30m) tunnels. At one point the gorge got really narrow, and we popped into the mountain on the right side, emerged from the tunnel and immediately entered the mountain on the left side. I would assume that at some point we crossed the river but it was nowhere to be seen.
Saravejo was great, but I the taxi ride was the highlight of the day
So after raging until 2am, I was woken up at 5am to catch the taxi to Saravejo. It is a common route but not busy enough for buses (nor are buses really able to handle the trek, as I soon discovered), so some taxis run a set route, hence the super early time. Edo's mom gave me breakfast (good tea!) and packed me food for the journey, and I was off. It was myself and and a man along with the driver, and they both definitely spoke no English, so I was planning on snoozing the entire ride.
Nope. My beaten body and stomach combine with the narrowing winding road and the general ignoring of speed limits (and stop signs. We pasted like 5 or 6, didn't stop at a single one. They were treated as yield signs) meant that AJ was not going to sleep. While it probably wasn't as bad as Anna's trip from Poi Pet to Bangkok, it was pretty miserable for the first hour and I was very worried about losing my breakfast on the roller coaster ride. At some point we stopped for coffee, and I had my first Turkish style coffee, which is nice and strong. The coffee gave me enough to rally (note my headache/hangover didn't really show until 11am, after I arrived), and I was much more awake for the rest of the trip.
I spent the rest of the trip glued to the window. This was partially to take in the stunning views, but mostly it is because everyone needs to hold on the car so they are not flung across the car (seatbelts? Ha!). We picked up an elderly couple, who looked exactly as you would expect an elderly Balkan couple to look, and so for the rest of the ride, the 4 men held tight to their steering wheel handle*, and the lady sat in the middle with her purse on her lap and swayed back and forth.
*The handle that supposed to be used to help you get in and out of the car. What is it called?
The views were stunning. We followed several rivers pretty much the entire way, including cruising for an hour up (down?) a gorge (over the Dirna river?) in a drive that would have put the Going to the Sun road to shame. The road was constantly weaving in and out of the mountain side through really short (10-30m) tunnels. At one point the gorge got really narrow, and we popped into the mountain on the right side, emerged from the tunnel and immediately entered the mountain on the left side. I would assume that at some point we crossed the river but it was nowhere to be seen.
Saravejo was great, but I the taxi ride was the highlight of the day
Prijepolje, Serbia
Last spring, while killing time in Ireland waiting for St Patrick's day, I spent a few days exploring northern Ireland. See http://ajmcgauley.blogspot.com/2010/04/spring-travels.html
While staying 2 days in Derry, I befriended a Serbian, Edo. Edo and I stayed in touch via Facebook over the past year, and when I told him I was likely to be spending a week in the Balkans, he invited me down to his hometown, Prijepolje. So after flying into Belgrade on Friday, I caught an bus Saturday morning to Prijepolje. Or two buses, as it turned out. I watched some nice rolling farmland and immediately conked out the entire ride and woke up in Užice in the mountains and everyone got off the bus. I quickly discovered that 1. southern Serbia is very mountainous, 2. It was really cold. The helpful driver had me switch buses (it was 1 ticket, but here we switched to a smaller bus as most of the crowd, including my pretty seatmate, departed). Another sleeping bus ride, and then the few of us all got off at this rather small busride. The locals quickly scattered, and I politely declined a taxi driver and waited for Edo's friends to come, as promised. As every car came to the station, I looked expectantly, but everyone was coming for the bus. After around 30 minutes, the bus departed. There were a few people milling about, but noone paid me any attention.
I wandered into the bathroom. It was in rough shape, but no worse than a really bad gas station restroom in the States. I stepped up to the urinal to do my business, and promptly felt 'water' splashing against my ankle. Quickly stopping, I look under the urinal - no pipe. Just a piece of ceramic attached to the wall with a hole in the middle. Huh. Check the urinal next over. Yep, it has proper plumbing. So I slide over and finish my business, having learned my lesson to check to make sure that all my toilets are, well, fully assembled.
I continue waiting. My instructions from Edo read as follows
Enjoy Prijepolje,
Edo
OK, I'm looking for 2 guys named Hacker and Kali. Otherwise, look for the afro. Can't go wrong, right?
Eventually a Serbian lady tries to ask me a question, in Serbian. My response in English attracts the attention of 2 college-age guys who had recently arrived. They walk up and say, 'AJ?' These guys were great hosts, but with my Nike* running shirt and bright red backpack I kind of stand out. Or maybe I blend in better than I think. I was walking through the hills above Saravejo today by myself, and someone in a car tried to ask me for directions
*In the States, we butcher the pronunciation of adidas. In Serbia, Nike is 'neek'
Zed, Edo's father (the one with the afro) arrived soon after, and we walked on foot to the Sadikovic's apartment. Prijepolje is a small city, around 15,000 in the city proper, but it is a very pretty city situated in a valley at the merging of two rivers. From what I understood, Zed is the town 'horticulturist' which means he is responsible for maintaining all the public spaces, and as we walked to his apartment we kept stopping and talking to people, and Admir explained that they were giving Zed work requests, as they had a tree that needed trimmed, or a rock that needed moved, and so forth. Apparently this is what keeps Zed busy.
At the apartment we met Mama Sadikovic and Armina*, and the men sat and had lunch while the women stood and waited. I had eaten while waiting for Edo (ordered 'hamburger' off the menu), but felt obliged to eat all the delilcious food they put in front of me. And delicious it was! Baked rice with lamb, pastries with cheese, sliced vegetables, and some cookie like desert. Nom nom nom nom.
*Who was always referred to as Edo's sister, but is actually Edo's cousin. I think.
After stuffing myself silly Zed, Admir, the other guy (whose name escapes me) and I headed out of the city on a little tractory that you see at the state fair. It runs from city center up to a monastery above the city, maybe 10 minutes away. We headed back to the city, Zed went home, and I went to the city cultural center (basically the town hall / city-county building), where we went up to Admir's office to wait as Admir had to prepare for a meeting.
Meeting at cultural center. Brits Oliver and Sarah
Drinks.
Dinner. Trip planning with Armina and google translate.
Drinks.
I'll finish the rest of this post later, I need to go catch my bus.
rb
While staying 2 days in Derry, I befriended a Serbian, Edo. Edo and I stayed in touch via Facebook over the past year, and when I told him I was likely to be spending a week in the Balkans, he invited me down to his hometown, Prijepolje. So after flying into Belgrade on Friday, I caught an bus Saturday morning to Prijepolje. Or two buses, as it turned out. I watched some nice rolling farmland and immediately conked out the entire ride and woke up in Užice in the mountains and everyone got off the bus. I quickly discovered that 1. southern Serbia is very mountainous, 2. It was really cold. The helpful driver had me switch buses (it was 1 ticket, but here we switched to a smaller bus as most of the crowd, including my pretty seatmate, departed). Another sleeping bus ride, and then the few of us all got off at this rather small busride. The locals quickly scattered, and I politely declined a taxi driver and waited for Edo's friends to come, as promised. As every car came to the station, I looked expectantly, but everyone was coming for the bus. After around 30 minutes, the bus departed. There were a few people milling about, but noone paid me any attention.
I wandered into the bathroom. It was in rough shape, but no worse than a really bad gas station restroom in the States. I stepped up to the urinal to do my business, and promptly felt 'water' splashing against my ankle. Quickly stopping, I look under the urinal - no pipe. Just a piece of ceramic attached to the wall with a hole in the middle. Huh. Check the urinal next over. Yep, it has proper plumbing. So I slide over and finish my business, having learned my lesson to check to make sure that all my toilets are, well, fully assembled.
I continue waiting. My instructions from Edo read as follows
I will let know someone to wait for you.
In the worst communication case, my father s name is Mirsad Sadikovic, known as ZEC with afro hair ;) and whole town knows him, so just ask.
And my address is Stadion 9/7 in the building of supermarket which is called Samoposluga.
Any way I will let know my friends to wait you, Hacker and Kali.Enjoy Prijepolje,
Edo
OK, I'm looking for 2 guys named Hacker and Kali. Otherwise, look for the afro. Can't go wrong, right?
Eventually a Serbian lady tries to ask me a question, in Serbian. My response in English attracts the attention of 2 college-age guys who had recently arrived. They walk up and say, 'AJ?' These guys were great hosts, but with my Nike* running shirt and bright red backpack I kind of stand out. Or maybe I blend in better than I think. I was walking through the hills above Saravejo today by myself, and someone in a car tried to ask me for directions
*In the States, we butcher the pronunciation of adidas. In Serbia, Nike is 'neek'
Zed, Edo's father (the one with the afro) arrived soon after, and we walked on foot to the Sadikovic's apartment. Prijepolje is a small city, around 15,000 in the city proper, but it is a very pretty city situated in a valley at the merging of two rivers. From what I understood, Zed is the town 'horticulturist' which means he is responsible for maintaining all the public spaces, and as we walked to his apartment we kept stopping and talking to people, and Admir explained that they were giving Zed work requests, as they had a tree that needed trimmed, or a rock that needed moved, and so forth. Apparently this is what keeps Zed busy.
At the apartment we met Mama Sadikovic and Armina*, and the men sat and had lunch while the women stood and waited. I had eaten while waiting for Edo (ordered 'hamburger' off the menu), but felt obliged to eat all the delilcious food they put in front of me. And delicious it was! Baked rice with lamb, pastries with cheese, sliced vegetables, and some cookie like desert. Nom nom nom nom.
*Who was always referred to as Edo's sister, but is actually Edo's cousin. I think.
After stuffing myself silly Zed, Admir, the other guy (whose name escapes me) and I headed out of the city on a little tractory that you see at the state fair. It runs from city center up to a monastery above the city, maybe 10 minutes away. We headed back to the city, Zed went home, and I went to the city cultural center (basically the town hall / city-county building), where we went up to Admir's office to wait as Admir had to prepare for a meeting.
Meeting at cultural center. Brits Oliver and Sarah
Drinks.
Dinner. Trip planning with Armina and google translate.
Drinks.
I'll finish the rest of this post later, I need to go catch my bus.
rb
Friday, June 24, 2011
Belgrade
On the bus on the way to Prijepolje. The bus just filled up at the second stop, and I was able to move seats to give a guy two sets next to each other, my most success experience yet with a Serb who does not speak Engish. Now sitting next to a girl who speaks enogu english to ask me to put her stuff onthe rack above the seat, but I lost my window seatand therefore prime sleeping position.
My day in Belgrade was very good. Upon arrival the lady at the tourist desk seemed to think my guidebook's airport to city instructions were dumb and had me take the city bus in. That was lenghty but fine, and my hostel was much farther on foot than I expected. When I arrived I got oriented an talked to the guy at the desk for advice,which aside from dinner suggstions(never did have that meal) I followed to great success. When I asked about museums, he looked at me like I was a dork and said they were all bad, closed, or both.
It was nearlt two so first order of business was lunch. I went to a place the hostel recommended and therefore expected some English. Nope. I'm not even sure they could figure out I wanted food because the vaunted Point at Raw Food ordering tehcnique nearly failed,but what else I would have been doing in their small resteraunt I am unclear on. But it all worked out Ok and I got a carry-out pljeskavica, or Serbian for really good hamburger.
I hiked up to Kalemgdan for great views of the city and of the merging of the Danube and Sava. I ate my burger sitting on a crumbling fortress wall. I had a brief chat with an ols Serbian lady in which niether of us knew what the other was saying. I think she wanted to know why I wasnt wearinge sunglasses while sitting towards the sun. Whatever it was, hopefully it was not important. The park was evenly divided amongst young families playing , old men being old (chess etc), and twentysomethings making out. On my way out I filled up my water bottle from a street fountain, which was helpfully labeled H2O on my Serbian map.
I then walked through the old city towards two big Orthodox Temples. Succesfully told someone on the street the day of the week, and had a very excited local explain some icons to me in St Marc's. I really like the feel of Belgrade. Taking the bus in the city first strikingly reminded me of Ljubljana and Zagreb, which makes sense. The overridng adj was gritty, and some parts of the city are just plain ugly, because of communism, decay, or both. But the old town was just lovely. In London, everyone is either in a hurry of loitering. In Belgrade, everyone seemed to srike a happy medium. The streets and parks were packed but everyone was doing something, if only chatting, and seemed to be enjoying the great weather outdoors.
After St Sava, I bought my bus ticket for 1145 Dinars, or $16. Back to the hostel at dusk, and talked politics with some Swedish dudes, basketball with the Serbian on duty, and traveling with the English girls in my room. Also caught up on the draft( strongly approve of he george hill trade), prepped for my sisters arrival, discovered my guidebook does not include Bosnia, and generally stayed up too late.
Now to check out the beautiful countryside and sleep.
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