wanderingwaltz's TravelStream™ — Recent TravelPod.com entries TravelStream™ news feed for member wanderingwaltz on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/wanderingwaltz en-us Copyright ©2012 TravelPod.com Sat, 23 Feb 2008 11:21:26 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com Nicaragua 2008 — Managua, Nicaragua http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/2/1203315360/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/2/1203315360/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/2/1203315360/tpod.html Sat, 23 Feb 2008 16:21:26 +0000 PreNatal Nicaragua - 2008
Managua, Nicaragua

To us, after a year of "travels" (see 2005-2006:South Asia & Africa) there is quite a distinction between a holiday and travel. Travel is taking a 20-seat bus with 50 other people and various market-bound cargo (squash, fish, chickens, etc.) for four hours (75 miles) whilst being subjected to a horribly tinny rendition of pop diva Celine Dion's music being played at superfast speed on the bus stereo, and then arriving to find a hostel replete with cold-water bucket showers and occaisionally-working electricity... This trip was intended to be, and was, pure holiday. We relaxed, we spent no fewer than three days in one place, we didn't stay in the cheapest places, and we didn't step foot on one local bus. Justin claims it was all for the sake of the baby. What ever justification we want to use, it was one of the most relaxing and tranquil visits to a developing country either of us have experienced. We arrived in Nicaragua hoping to feel the warm sun on our pasty white "Goretex" protected skin. Hiking, spending quality time in a hammock, swimming and drinking Nicaragua's coffee were the only items on our agenda. We started our journey in Granada where we wandered the streets, went to the local market and sampled the local fare. We took some day trips to the Pueblos Blancos, which are known for different crafts such as furniture making and ceramics. We took a hike around the carter of Volcano Mombacho which peers over Granada from afar. After four days in Granada, we headed out to Ometempe, and Island on Lake Nicaragua. We stayed next to a nature reserve where we hiked, swam and read for four more days. Keeping our swim trunks on, we headed further south to the Pacific Coast - San Juan del Sur. We had heard this laid back surfer town compared to Cabo San Lucas, but we found it to be much quainter and more laid back than the highly touristed town in Baja California. We both noted the genuine friendliness of the Nicaraguan people; we say genuine because, in other parts of the world, we often felt like we were being viewed as big dollar bills when people greeted us. But in Nicaragua, we found that the prices we were asked to pay were the same as those asked of locals. And people didn't want to bargain over things either. The price was the price, and knowing this made things even more relaxing. We encountered few English-speakers. When we did, we heard some wry jokes about Nicaragua's tumultuous recent past (the Sandinista-Contra conflicts of the 80's), yet people seemed strongly optimistic about their future. After living in the lap of luxury (we spent three nights at one of Nicaragua's fanciest hotels) and swimming in pools with views of the Pacific, we headed to the Northern highlands where some of Nicaragua's finest coffee is grown. We spent three nights at a coffee farm, Selva Negra ,where we hiked, relaxed and, of course, drank plenty of organic, single origin, shade grown coffee. Justin did some cabybara hunting with his camera and Jamie spotted some colorful birds with her binoculars. Before we knew it, two weeks had passed and our final journey together - before the two of us becomes three - had ended. The best part about traveling, besides being together, is just living in the moment and enjoying our surroundings, each other, and a country's people.
]]> Back in Portland: Reflections on an Adventure — Portland, OR http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1164837540/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1164837540/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1164837540/tpod.html Fri, 01 Dec 2006 02:45:53 +0000 2005-2006:South Asia, West Africa & Central Europe
Portland, OR

We lived a dream. Over the year, we learned that living a dream has its challenges, but the rewards are numerous. We feel incredibly fortunate to be able to do what we did and to make it home safely and in good health. Now begins another journey in our lives: assimilating back to life in the good ol' US of A: finding jobs, tackling numerous house projects, and wading through the 5,000 or so pictures Justin kept (not just "snapped," but those selected to be burned on CD). We are happy to be home, in our own bed, with our own kitchen and most of all, back amongst our family and friends. Coming home was joyous because of friends who have welcomed us back into their lives. If it wasn't for them, our transition would have been more challenging. Sia and Marc greeted us at the airport, while our friend Joan ensured that we will enjoy one of summer delights of Portland living: she picked and froze berries for our morning oatmeal this winter. The major shock of re-entry into the United States is best summed up by one word: "options." There are moments in the stores where the options are overwhelming. Why is it necessary to have an entire aisle devoted to light bulbs when all we need is something that will produce some light? In India, having a light bulb replaced was as simple as calling up the "electrician" who came with the right light bulb and replaced it for you for less than the cost of a new light bulb here. [Also, this is an example of the low cost of labor in developing countries compared to that of the United States.] The price of things here is also a bit shocking, but maybe we just forgot how expensive a loaf of bread is here? Again, do you buy the 7-grain, 10-grain, oat nut or 100% bran bread? How to choose? Don't get us wrong. We're not ridiculing American consumerism or saying, to the effect, that "all-you-truly-need-to-survive-is-a-hun ting-knife-and-a-book-of-matches." It's just that re-entry into American society means that one can't help but reflect on the America's material wealth in comparison to that of most other countries. Despite some minor mental adjustments, it feels natural and very satisfying to be home. Just a few weeks after coming home, the journey of the past year seems a life time ago. It really is amazing how quickly you can slide back into things. Despite a few new babies and new dogs, life in Portland and amongst our friends, is much like we left it. Coming home was like putting on an old comfy glove, it just felt right. The next adventure in our lives, although a bit more mundane, but no less important is the job search. We hope that it will be painless, but we know it will take lots of work and perseverance. Jamie asked about a barista job at the local coffee house. They asked if she was a professional barista. She replied, "No" and they said it was unlikely that she would get hired. The big question is: how does one become a professional barista? If any of you know, please tell us the secret. So, that avenue seems closed, but maybe Starbucks is willing to train? Although some of our experiences challenged us and pushed us to our limits, the memories of both the extremes (good and bad) will live with us and sustain us when we are back to our 40-hour (or more?) a week job. Our year of travel changed us in several ways. Some changes are overt and specific. We now know a few more words in French, we can now appreciate a good soccer match, and we can adroitly scoop up soupy dhal with our fingers. Our perceptions of the world have also changed. In preparation for sending out numerous job applications and resumes, we have neatly summarized, organized, and bold faced a few of our realizations for your reviewing pleasure: We now have context Over the last year, what used to be dots on a map or the subject of some CNN story are now palpable places with scents, sounds, and sights. Our time abroad, largely in the developing world, provided real-life texture to situations in the world we had previously experienced through the sterile, two-dimensionality of verbal and written news media. As we've previously said, the next time we hear a news story on AIDS in Africa or sectarian violence in India, we'll know that the situation is much more complex than can be conveyed in a seven minute TV segment. In addition, we'll know now that there are many GOOD things going on in these places that apparently don't merit coverage. People there often get CNN or BBC World, too, and so see how their countries are covered. We has several discussions with folks about the proclivity of the Western media to cover the negative. [Our theory is this: newscasts on annual mosque-rebuilding celebrations in Mali or Indian students who succeed despite barriers that would be too daunting to Western kids just don't sell laundry detergent.] In the end, many of our own stereotypes and generalizations about nationalities were shattered. And on a more humorous note, Jamie now knows more answers to cross word puzzle clues. The capital of Togo has been popping up lately (answer: Lome). Strangers are really interesting and helpful Yes, this year we have seen incredible temples and exciting markets. But most heartwarming for us has been the people we have met, most of them previously strangers. Our experiences over this year surpassed anything we could have hoped for and that is because we took risks and put blind trust into complete strangers, who offered directions, a car ride across town, a cup of tea, a meal in their home, or a three-day trip to their village to celebrate a religious holiday. To us, these unplanned opportunities are THE reason to travel. As children in America, we are conditioned to think of people one meets on the street as threatening, but we found this to be opposite in the areas we were traveling; people seem to relish the opportunity. We also found it counterintuitive that some of the most hospitable places areas we visited in Africa and India, and where we felt most safe, were predominantly Muslim (perhaps so because of recent paranoia-inducing American news reports on Islam). We now have many places to stay all over the world - that is a huge savings on hotel rooms! Now that we're back at home, it will be up to us to return the favor to visitors to Portland. Will Justin be bringing some random Estonians that he met in Pioneer Courthouse Square home to dinner? Time will tell. Travel is work And a holiday is on a beach somewhere. Although we didn't have the rigors of showing up to a desk job five days a week, we did have appointments to keep (trains, planes, boats and buses) to get us to our next destinations. Departing from the responsibilities of home life, bill paying and holding down a job brought us into a whole new set of responsibilities. We took the tactic of "half plan, half wait and see" for moves to the next town. Finding a place to lay our weary bodies for a night or two and figuring out if a spot was worth stopping at took planning, forethought and hard work. Our relaxation came when we stopped for more than five days in one place, swam in the ocean and stopped thinking about the next chaotic train station. Other changes are more subtle and personal: 'Control' is definitely an illusion while traveling We have learned how to let go of control; there were many such times where we had none. Yet, on several occasions, things will still work out, albeit, not the way you wanted them to. We hope to carry this notion with us through the future; however we admit this was one of the "challenges" of which we spoke. Fears can be confronted and tackled Another thing about this year is we have had to confront our fears, those that are rational and irrational. Even though we have faced those fears head on does not mean that they go away, but we leave with the knowledge that we can face them. One could argue that fear and control go hand in hand. Many times, you are out of control and in fear when at the hands of a taxi driver. At 3 AM in a back of a taxi in Dakar, Senegal, you have to trust that your taxi driver will take you where you want to go. Here comes a mushy part - skip if you don't want to get too sentimental... Neither spouse was murdered after spending 379 days straight together One thing about traveling with only your possessions on your back is you are much more in tuned to yourself and with your partner. We survived 379 days straight together (and that is a lot of together); after that,we now know each other on a cellular level. When you meet new people on your travels, you find you can perfectly predict, much to your exasperation, your partner's responses to your new acquaintances' questions. All of our individual strengths and weaknesses are at the forefront. While at home in daily routines, it is easy to not pay attention to each other's actions. When every day is a new situation, you are (sometimes painfully) aware of what the other's doing and thinking as well as your own reactions. You don't have a choice not to because you're together ALL the time. Traveling together has forced us to confront each other's weaknesses (and strengths) and come to accept them in ways we did not need to before. Yet we leave this year knowing that there is no one else in this world with whom we would want to see the world. Finally, there are little things in the US that we definitely took for granted and that we didn't realize we would miss until we spent our year away: "How can I help you?" Whether it is about unhelpful telephone support for computers or rude service at the corner cafe, Americans regularly gripe about customer service. But folks here don't know how good they have it until they've tried to get daily life accomplished in other counties. Occasionally we found customer service abroad to be horrendously rude and confrontational, but sometimes (especially in Eastern Europe) we felt like we were an imposition to a salesperson by wanting to buy something. Though hard to put into words, we missed the customer service part of American culture, where things are done efficiently with a customer's time in mind and you don't feel like you are doing someone a favor by entering their store. "The Little Sanctuary" We learned how to ask for the "toilet" as no where else in the world does someone use a "bathroom" except to bathe. We quickly got used to the sanitary conditions of foreign WC's [Yes, some were bad this year, but Justin still maintains that the most revolting toilet he's ever used was at a Grateful Dead concert at the LA Coliseum]. But we will be forever appreciative of the fact that, at home, one doesn't have to pay to use a pubic toilet and that you don't have to BYOTP (bring your own toilet paper - preferably smooth and not dyed navy blue). [When we found toilet paper that was softer than 120-grit sandpaper, we'd "borrow" a roll.] Wherever we were this year (Europe, too), we had to pay some unfortunate soul manning the booth in a hallway five to fifty cents to use public toilet. It wasn't the amount of money; it was having enough small change in the local currency. This brings us to another gripe... "Do you have a smaller bill?" Throughout the developing world, each day you find that merchants never have change, even for the smallest bill. In Ghana, the smallest bill is the 20,000 Cedi note (about $2), but we often had problems paying with it. Most often, the vendor would scurry off to a friend to collect the necessary change (sometimes this might take a long time, but they always returned with our money). We never figured out exactly why getting change was a problem. One possibility is that much of the world lives "hand-to-mouth," and so having a petty cash for a small business would mean that somebody in the family wouldn't eat dinner. "Litter...Everywhere!" Every developing country in which we traveled this year was speckled with trash and litter. Littering is just not a social faux in these places. Why? We've wondered, but don't know for sure. Let us know if you have a theory. While on a train in India, we witnessed a mom teaching her kids the correct way throw their empty cup of chai out the window. This penchant for littering was perhaps infectious: in Petra, Jordan, Justin witnessed a European tourist throwing his junk down in front of a 2000 year-old ruin. So we will always be grateful that, at home, people generally don't litter. We have already received many questions about what we liked best and what our favorites were. We then ask, "how much time to you have?" In reality, we probably say, "amazing." But it is so hard to wrap up a years time in 25 different nations into a quick summary. We have tried to think of the top 5 places, top 5 funny things, but it is nearly impossible to whittle down a year's worth of experiences into a neat package. So many places meant so many different things to us. At one point on our trip, when we ran out of things to say to each other, we decided to make a few "top five" lists. So, now you can benefit from our need to make up things to say to each other: Favorite Places (in no particular order) 1. The Golden Temple, Amritsar, India 2. Jodhpur, India 3. Krakow, Poland 4. Marissa Beach, Sri Lanka 5. Djenne, Mali 6. Gottingen, Germany 7. Nkwanta, Ghana 8. Barcelona, Spain 9. Mostar, Bosnia Herzegovina 10. Hvar Island, Croatia Things We Won't Miss About Being on the Road 1. Wearing (and seeing each other in) the same five pieces of clothing for a year 2. Dodging open sewers 3. Living out of a backpack (though it showed us how little we needed to survive for a year...a sobering thought when we returned home to our possessions) 4. Being seeing as walking ATM's 5. Having to learn how to make pay phone calls in each new country Incidents that Reminded Us of the Stark Realities of Life 1. In Mali: being able to turn on the tap for water while watching local women, every day, fill jars with water at the village pump, put the container on their heads and then trudge up the hill towards home...several times, every day 2. In Ghana and India: seeing parents, who are begging, cause their children physical pain so as to elicit sympathy and donations from approaching foreigners. 3. In India: seeing the mother of a family of six preparing breakfast...on a gas stove on a city sidewalk with no shelter 4. In Sarajevo: Battle scarred buildings that still reflect the atrocities against the residents while under siege for almost three years...this took place less than 15 years ago Random Acts of Kindness Shown to Us 1. In Burkina Faso: the Burkinabe librarian who took us around town, gave us a taste of evangelical Christianity at a three-hour church service (ugg!), and then prepared a traditional Burkinabe meal (yum!) 2. In Senegal: the man who gave us a lift to the proper bus stop 3. In Mali/Burkina Faso: the Italian man who gave us ride in his Land Rover with AC from the dusty border post to Ouagadougou, thus saving us from certain discomfort (if not death) in an incredibly flimsy local passenger van 4. In India: the nephew and uncle who took us to their village in remote Rajasthan to celebrate a Muslim holiday, fed us, and housed us yet refused compensation 5. In Ghana: Stella in Nkwanta took Jamie under her wing and showed us Ghanaian hospitality at its finest 6. In Dubrovnik, Croatia: Maria and Ivan, the family we stayed with, who did our laundry, our dishes, fed us beer and home made cake just because we were there. 7. Family and friends: Taking care of paper work on the home front, sending us guide books, gossip magazines, underwear and chocolates to random places around the world to help keep us going. Their support really helped and was much appreciated And so, we sign off on "Wanderingwaltz 2005-2006." We hope you all enjoyed this travel journal; we think most ofyou probably did as there are 226 people who decided to receive these entries and so far, you all have visited the blog over 8500 times during the year. If anybody has travel plans in these countries or wants to do a similar trip, feel free to contact us at our NEW e-mail address: justinwaltz@gmail.com What happens when you have lived a dream? You pick another one and hope that it will come true. We will hit the road again, some day, and we will continue to wander the world. The exciting thing is that there is still much of the world we haven't seen. For the time being, however, we will revel in the beauty of our home town - the breathtaking scene of snow-covered Mount Hood glistening in the late afternoon sun, the view of a sensibly planned cityscape, and a wonderful cup of Stumptown coffee (or micro-brewed beer depending upon the weather) awaiting us after a bike ride up into the West Hills, as well as the laughter and love of our friends and family who have let us slip back into their lives as if we never left...
]]> Meandering in the Middle East — Tel Aviv, Israel http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1162571280/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1162571280/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1162571280/tpod.html Fri, 03 Nov 2006 15:41:37 +0000 2005-2006:South Asia, West Africa & Central Europe
Tel Aviv, Israel

(Jerusalem hotels)


The Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, and Israel and the Palestinian Territories The scenery on the drive from the international airport outside of Amman, Jordan into town is similar to that of the high desert towns of Oregon and California: moon-like terrain punctuated by scrub brush, with a mix of suburban sprawl. Along the road into town from the airport we saw the "best" offerings of Western culture (ha, ha): McDonalds, Carls Jr., KFC, Burger King, Popeye's Fried Chicken, and Safeway. But how do you know that you're in the Middle East? When the exit signs off the highway read "To Iraq" and "To Saudi Arabia" borders We arrived in the capital city of Amman around 10:30 PM to find the downtown swarming with people and all the shops and restaurants doing a swift business. Wasn't it quite late for all this activity to be taking place? Normally, "yes," but we were visiting during Ramadan. Ramadan is a month-long period where Muslims fast during daylight hours to fulfill the fourth (out of five) requirement of Islam - that on an annual basis, they demonstrate their adherence to the faith by keeping anything from passing their lips (like food and cigarettes) from dawn to dusk. During Ramadan, most restaurants are closed during the day and public transportation is limited. During breakfast and lunch hours, we were lucky to find restaurants where we would get something "to go," and then eat it in the hotel so as not to offend those fasting. But come sunset, people rush home to gorge themselves. Amman is not a beautiful city by any means; the beige concrete block architecture does not inspire lots of picture taking. The circular minarets and domes of the mosques are the only things breaking up the sharp edges of the utilitarian cityscape. It isn't until you hike up to one of the jebbels (hills) that you get the full impact of the city. Then its skyline becomes beautiful, in an austere sort of way. Those drab buildings blend into the brown, dusty desert scenery (like animals mimicking there surroundings) making them look like they are meant to be there. Only after we had explored historical remains in other parts of Jordan and seeing how, centuries ago, people built their homes and mosques to blend into nature, did we realize that Amman fit an architectural tradition. Once again, we are no longer anonymous in our travels. We stick out as foreigners (with our camera and backpacks). Surprisingly, in this capital city, looking different did not invite the locals' stares, nor give us a heightened sense of "we're-going-to-be-cheated." Different from any capital city we have been in, being a traveler in Amman was low-key and enjoyable. People singled us out, but only to welcome us and chat for a few minutes. We never once felt there was any expectation of us (of money or other things) behind those interactions. People were helpful with directions and happy to give you a smile. We felt safe, and most of all, it was okay to admit that we were Americans. We would get a hardy welcome and "I like Americans." We even heard, "George Bush and King Hussein, they are friends!" Outside of Amman, however, we were reminded of the fact that Westerners are seen as being made of money. On several occasions we were overcharged for transport and other items. Someone recently asked Jamie the question, "why would you want to go to a country where people try to cheat you?" That was a good question and it wasn't until we were in Jordan could she answer it. Yes, it is always frustrating being over charged, or having to be in an uncomfortable position to protect yourself from being cheated...perhaps that is to be expected when you travel in a poorer nation with a distinctly different culture than your own? However, nowhere else - certainly not in Western Europe or North America - have we experienced such random acts of kindness and hospitality like those we have experienced in South Asia, Africa, and now in Jordan. It is these unexpected acts of beneficence that make up for the cheating and scams, and it is these that will remain in our memories. For instance, in Amman, a pita bread baker summoned us over to give us some fresh baked pita, when we tried to pay he shooed away the money. One evening, trying to hale a taxi, a man on the street stopped and used his cell phone to get directions to the restaurant so the taxi driver would know where to go (nowhere this year have we been in a place where taxi drivers know their own city!). These little things (and granted, they are little), show us that kindness and humanity do exist in this world. The highlight of Jordan, for Jamie, would never have happened had we not been traveling the way we do. Wandering around the town of Wadi Musa by herself, she encountered a woman in front of her home and said "Salaam Alaykum" the woman invited her inside, gave her coffee and then invited her to break the Ramadan fast (Iftar) with her and her sisters that evening. [Don't feel bad for Justin; he went off with our friend Simon for dinner. In the first week, we met two British chaps in Amman and ended up traveling with Simon (Jay went home) for a few days.] Thus, Jamie was able to experience a small slice of life for Jordanian women. Remember, that throughout the year, Jamie has found it quite difficult to meet local women, much less talk with them. We had read in guide books that, in many countries, the best meals are found in private homes, and this certainly proved true in Jordan. The Iftar dinner was the best dinner she had in Jordan. Because they hadn't eaten all day, Jamie's hosts provided enormous amounts of food to tide them over until the next evening. It was one of those meals that you don't want to stop eating because it all tastes so good. After dinner, she hung out with the women on one of the many couches in the many rooms of the house. They were speaking in Arabic most of the time, as only one woman spoke English, but Jamie had fun watching what Jordanian women do during an average evening: paint their finger nails, talk on the cell phone and visit with neighbors who drop by. All pretty normal... not that she expected otherwise. Our time in Jordan was non-stop sightseeing. From Amman we headed south to Dana Nature Reserve for some hiking. We were surprised how much desert scenery can vary from kilometer to kilometer. From the scrub brush-filled tundra around Amman, we traveled to rounded, pillow-like rocks and gorges of Dana to the purple and pink carved rocks of Petra and then to the sheer rock mountains in Wadi Rum, one didn't get bored exploring the different desert scenery. Dana National Reserve is one of Jordan's first "ecotourism" efforts with the aim to protect the fragile desert ecosystem and, at the same time, ensure that local villagers benefit economically from tourism. After a few days of hiking in Dana, we headed to the very popular ruins at Petra. Petra, beginning in the 6th Century BC, was the home of the Nabataeans, a nomadic tribe from Arabia. Maybe you can't recollect learning about them in your high school world history class, but you've certainly seen their temples in the movie "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade." Do you remember when Indy was searching for the Holy Grail at that desert temple? Supposedly, that scene was shot on location at the "Treasury" ruin in Petra. But to remind you of those 10th-grade history class facts.... The Nabataeans gained their wealth from the taxes they levied on the frankincense, myrrh, and spice caravans that traversed the Incense Route from southern Asia to the Middle East. It is estimated that at the height of the civilizations glory, about 30,000 people lived in Petra. In 106 AD, the Romans took over Petra. A few hundred years later, earthquakes damaged the city and by the mid 500 AD, Petra passed into obscurity and became known as the "lost city:" only known to the Bedouins. The Bedouins, descendants of the Nabataenans lived in and among the remains until the early 1800's when Petra was "discovered" by a Swiss explorer. As the Bedouins feared, with the discovery of Petra, came an influx of foreigners - including us. Petra was extremely appealing to the eyes. The colors found in the rocks looked like a half melted, swirled rainbow sherbet. Purples, pinks, blues, yellows and browns of the stone were vibrant in the sun light. Petra is made for hiking and scrambling amongst the rocks and hills. Unfortunately, when you popped into the many caves carved into the rocks, all there was to see was the trash people had left behind (as well as the acrid stench of urine). Despite this, we spent two days exploring the glory that once was the Nabatean kingdom. Though we were in the "high" season for tourism, there were relatively few visitors because of the recent Israeli/Hamas conflict in Lebanon. [We say "relatively" because in the 1990's, Petra saw about 400,000 tourists a year.] Due to this scarcity, we were prime targets for the donkey and camel ride touts as well as all the Bedouin women and kids selling their kitsch. You wouldn't walk more than 10 feet without hearing, "would you like a donkey ride," or the more creatively, "taxi ride for you sir." Despite our refusals and our irritation at being solicited so often, we couldn't help but feel sorry for these individuals whose livelihoods depended upon the tourist dollar. After Petra we moved south east to the desert of Wadi Rum. Like glaciers rise from the ocean waters, the massive rock formations of Wadi Rum rise out of pink desert sand. To thoroughly explore the area, we rode in a four-wheel drive truck in the desert. We spent the night under the blanket of stars at a Bedouin camp. This was a perfect way to spend our last night in Jordan. The following day, we took a taxi to the border to cross into Israel. We felt a great deal of excitement and joy as we crossed into Israel, our 25th and final country of our journey. Not only were we down to the last days of our adventure, we were also ready to leave Jordan. Although we enjoyed our time in Jordan, it doesn't rank as one of our favorite countries of this year. We took a taxi directly to the Eilat border crossing right near the Red Sea and began to enter Israel. We say "began" because more so than the entry into any other country we've have been, it was a thorough process. We think it all hinged on the way Jamie said the word "Shalom" ("Hello" in Hebrew) to the border guard upon entering the Israeli border complex. Jamie's greeting had been honed through years of going to Friday night religious services. Subsequently, she sailed through the security portion of immigration. Justin didn't have the benefit of years of practice and said "Hello!" in English. He subsequently had his baggage x-rayed three times and unpacked completely (down to a reading of one of his books). His bags and every page of his passport were swabbed for explosives. Finally, we were admitted into the State of Israel. We decided that the seaside town of Eilat was remarkably similar to the Pacific Beach community in San Diego and other beach communities we have visited this year: warm sea breezes, beach accoutrements and kitsch for sale, and a laid-back atmosphere. Some differences: residents of Pacific Beach do not have holstered pistols on their hips, store security guards do not carry Uzi submachine guns, and the shopping centers on Garnet Ave. do not have metal detectors. Surprisingly for us, it was pretty easy to get used to the security focus of everybody in Israel. Being surrounded by so much firepower back home would have really unnerved us and made us worry that some nutcase would become unglued and mow everybody down in the mall. But here, it seemed...natural? Despite having a citizen army (with 20-something recruits, both men and women, lugging M-16 automatic rifles all over the place), Israel has relatively few gun-related deaths. According to the guide book, criminal misuse of army issued firearms is extremely rare. On the subject of military: during our time here, Israel launched an attack in the Gaza Strip (about 40 miles from Tel Aviv). If we hadn't been watching the news, we would have never have known this. Whereas America would probably be completely chaotic in similar circumstances, people here in Israel proper seemed unaffected; they continued to go out and shop and hang at the cafes. The bus ride up to Jerusalem through the West Bank was uneventful and the scenery, sparse desert scape. We arrived in the Old City section of Jerusalem and checked into a room in a grotty hotel with the exorbitant nightly rate (for this journey) of $35. An impromptu search revealed that all the "budget" hotels in Jerusalem's Old City were this expensive and this nasty. Why? We can only guess, but we think it's because of the huge number of religious pilgrims. The Old City thrives because it is highly sacred to adherents of the three major monotheistic religions. We immediately became acquainted with the religiosity of the place and of other guests. Within five minutes of checking into a grotty hotel, the long-term guest-cum-receptionist asked Justin, "Do you believe in God?" Then there was the pleasant man from Connecticut who has been here for 13 years, and lives his life strictly by laws of Moses in the Old Testament. [He explained this to Justin as he hand-ground wheat, which he does weekly, for his meals..."commercial flour has bugs in it, you know."] One guy proclaimed to Jamie that he was "High on Jesus." She responded that she was happy for him (and, left unsaid, it was healthier than being high on cocaine). We again met up with our new friend Simon who was also staying at the Petra Hostel. The three of us took a walk to the most sacred site in Judaism, the Western Wall, which is a retaining wall of a temple torn down by the Romans 1900 years ago. There we found black-robed Orthodox Jews (as well as Jews from other sects) facing the wall and dovening back and forth in ferverent prayer, seemingly inured to hustle and bustle of the tourist crowd around them. On an ecumenical tour, we also paid a call to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, which the Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches believe to be the place where Christ is said to have been crucified, was buried, and rose from the dead. Perhaps to be expected, there is the "competing" site which some Protestant groups maintain is the "place of the skull" - where these events took place. Indeed, one can see...if you squint?.. the outline of a human skull in the rocky cliff. Unfortunately, the spirituality of the place is ruined by the bus terminal immediately adjacent. We also hiked around the Garden of Gethsemane (where Christ is said to have been betrayed) and its chapel. Of all the churches, we have been to this year; Justin decided that this was, to him, the most spiritual. Perhaps this is due to the interior's beautiful mosaics, which were placed there when the Ottoman Empire ruled Jerusalem. Seeing this church gave us a good idea of what the ruins we saw in Jordan must have looked like at their prime. Finally, we had a sunny day where we could view the Dome of the Rock and Temple Mount. Moslems believe that this is where Mohammed ascended to heaven to receive God's teachings of Islam. [As non-Moslems, we were unable to enter either building.] For sale, everywhere was a huge amount of religion-based souvenirs and books. Because it wasn't just the usual tourist kitsch of T-shirts and plastic replicas of the Taj Mahal, we took note. It varied from the sensible (Old Testament texts) to the silly (plastic figures of famous rabbis) to the nauseatingly bizarre (do people really need an actual Crown of Thorns?). Jerusalem is not just a city of religious Jews, Muslims and Christians; it is also a hip place with cafes and shops. We were surprised by how many English and A American accents we have heard all around the city. One area of town seems to attract all the young American Jews who are here to study, and possibly find their place in Judaism. Wandering out of the Old City brings you into neighborhoods that are built of light limestone blocks with little architectural appeal. What gives each neighborhood its character are the people and the shops. We spent some time exploring the Ultra Orthodox neighborhood of Mea She'arim where Jamie's purple fleece stuck out amongst the black clad Orthodox men and women. Because there is such a mix of people and cultures here in Jerusalem, we have benefited by enjoying many types of cuisines. Perhaps you remember the news reports in the 1980's on the thousands of Ethiopian Jews who were airlifted from that country's famine to a better life in Israel. The huge number of Ethiopians ensured that we would be able to indulge in our love of good Ethiopian food. Georgian, Armenian fare and the ever-present falafel and shwarma have also been featured on our menu. To top it all off, after searching for bagels in India and Europe, we have finally found the best bagels outside of New York City. Needless to say, we have been well fed and it is a good thing that Jerusalem is a walking city! After being in predominantly Muslim, Buddhist, Christian and Hindu countries this year, it is interesting to be in a Jewish state. Business hours and holidays fall according to the observances of Judaism. If only because of this, Israel is definitely different from other places we have been. After six nights, we were ready for a more secular locale, so we took a short ride to the capital of Tel Aviv. We have enjoyed our two days in this pleasant coastal city with its sidewalk cafes, and an inordinate number of shoe stores. Aside from the crazy drivers, Tel Aviv is a fairly laid back city with a good vibe. We said our tearful goodbyes to Simon, a wonderful travel companion, who headed off to Turkey; we prepared to head back to the good old US of A. By the time you read this blog we will have ended our 379 day journey and will be on our way home. We plan to send one more blog out describing what it is like to be back home, in our own bed, after a year away - so stay tuned...
]]> Pokin' Around Post-Yugoslavia — Split, Croatia http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1160643180/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1160643180/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1160643180/tpod.html Fri, 13 Oct 2006 07:57:31 +0000 2005-2006:South Asia, West Africa & Central Europe
Split, Croatia

Our train from Hungary arrived at dawn in Sarajevo, Bosnia-Herzegovina (BiH). As we passed the outskirts of town, in the thick morning haze, we pinched ourselves awake to prepare for yet another transition to a new country - new currency, new language, new names and a new city layout to learn. The nervous anticipation we once felt entering a new country is no longer there. After little sleep on the overnight train - due to the many border crossings (Hungary - Croatia - BiH) we rolled into the main train station at 6AM. We had arranged to be met by the staff of a family-run pension. Yet we did not spot the "bearded Bosnian." That was 0 for 2 with being met at a transport station. While discussing our dawn-time options, we were approached by the owner of a train station cafe. We took a vote to see if we were up for a 6AM adventure and the decision was unanimous - what did we have to lose? Mula, spoke only German and Bosnian, but was able to conveyed to us that he had a room to let (we knew "zimmer" from the bit of German we picked up in Germany) for only 5 euro. He said (technically said in German while miming) that he would drive us and show us the room, and if we "no like," he would drive us back to the train station. So off we went. We went in the opposite direction of the old town (which is where we wanted to be) into the hills that encapsulate Sarajevo. He pointed at a bus that we could take to the "zentrum" or city center. Despite the Indian-esque lodging prices, the room, in a basement of the house left a lot to be desired. We declined and went back to the station to review our options. Since we were out of tourist season, we were sure to find a place by just showing up. So we figured out which tram to take into the center of town and off we went. --------------------------------------- ----------------------------------- The Yugoslavian Wars 101 --------------------------------------- ----------------------------------- Justin's degree in history is being put to use again (see there is a utility in majoring in history!). He has prepared a brief overview of "who did what to who" for those of you who wish to read it. If you don't, skip to below the dashed line. If you can't recollect the wars in the Yugoslavian or Balkan region in the 1990's without the aid of a map, multicolored pens, and a Ouija board, you're certainly not alone. Assuming you don't have time to look at 520 back issues of Time or Newsweek, here is an oversimplified summary of the nasty mess. In an interest in brevity, we'll concentrate on the war in Sarajevo, BiH. Because of its strategic location between Europe and Asia, the whole Balkan area has been for over two thousand years, a crossroads of trade and defense, and therefore, a fault-line of different cultures and religions. Start by thinking about the religious and cultural make up of this land - about the size of France - as a lasagna. On bottom of the dish lay down the Christianity of the Roman Empire, which broke into two sects (Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox) right along the border of present-day BiH. Then add to this savory creation, 400 years of the Ottoman Empire domination which ruled from present-day Turkey, from 1463 to 1878, and brought Islam to the area. Several main cultures coalesced in this richly flavored mix: Serbs (Eastern Orthodox Christians), Croats (Roman Catholics) and Bosniaks (Muslims). In addition, smaller communities were sprinkled on top: Hungarians and Albanians emigrated, and because of the Ottoman Empire's policy of religious tolerance, one of Europe's largest concentrations of Jews evolved in Bosnia in the 1500's (just in time as they had been kicked out of Spain by Queen Isabella in 1492). It would be wishful thinking to say that relations amongst these "ingredients" have always been congenial: over 700 years, there have been tensions, often serious. But what always kept the flames down (but the embers smoldering) were foreign domination (0ttoman Empire, Austro-Hungarian Empire) or outside events (World Wars I & II). Likewise, starting in the 1940's communism held these states together in the form of Yugoslavia. Communism effectively "froze" old disputes based on national identity and religion. But Yugoslavia, like the Soviet Union, began to break up in 1990. But why did Yugoslavia and not the USSR descend into brutish warfare? One factor (certainly not the only one) was leadership. While the USSR had Gorbechev and Yeltsin at the helm, this area had Slobodan Milosevic of Serbia and Franjo Tudman of Croatia. Milosevic wanted to make sure that Serbs dominated the new Yugoslavian government. So in 1992, the Yugoslavia Peoples Army (JNA) under Milosevic attacked Sarajevo in BiH. This was part of a strategy to pull together all land with even a small number of Serbs into a Greater Serbia. This area included Serbia, of course, but also Krajina, parts of Croatia, and BiH. Non-Serbs (both Croats and Bosniaks) were pushed out (at least one million people) or slaughtered - in CNN parlance - "ethnically cleansed." The Croats started off as being allied with the Bosniaks against the Serbs. But Tudman wanted to create an independent "greater Croatia" himself by carving out the predominantly Croat chunks of BiH (which were adjacent to Croatia). So the Croats turned against the Bosniaks and attacked then, too. It turns out that Milosevic and Tudman had a secret agreement to divide BiH between them (a bit like the agreement Hitler & Stalin had in World War II). Being in cahoots together, Milosevic and Tudman had no problem sacrificing their own peoples to create their fantasy empires. Like other 20th-century bad apples, these guys used nationalistic rhetoric and selected anecdotes from history ("X people did Y to you") to stoke hatred in their respective peoples. Remember that in all of the formerly communist countries in the early 1990's, people were apprehensive about their future, namely the transition to a market economy, and so were susceptible to this kind of propaganda though, we think, individuals should definitely be held responsible for their own actions. What was the rest of the world doing about this? The United Nations (UN) took two steps: First, it passed an arms embargo against all sides. But since the Serbs had almost all of the Yugoslav army equipment and ended up being the forth largest standing army in Europe, they weren't affected. Likewise, the Croats had been building their army for some time. The Bosniaks had very little to defend themselves with - two tanks and two personnel carriers. Secondly, the UN sent in a large force to parts of BIH for "peacekeeping" and to "secure humanitarian routes." These mandates, delitcately crafted to offend nobody, were grimly laughable since UN access to these routes was only at the whim of the Serbs, and the UN troops were not allowed to defend themselves - shoot back - and consequently were often hit by Serbian/Croat fire themselves. The UN had a large force in Sarajevo, keeping the Serb & Croat armies from capturing the city, but resulting in a deadly stalemate, as the besiegers cut off the water and electricity to the city and managed to kill 10,000 civilians through sniper and artillery fire over the 3.5 year siege. The city's literal lifeline was a 700-yard tunnel was dug by under the UN-control airport by the city inhabitants, which ended in "friendly" territory outside of Serb/Croat lines. For 3.5 years, this was the only route into the city and so food, medical supplies, and guns were carried inside by hand or cart. After several years of failed UN diplomacy, NATO began bombing the Serbs, allowing the Croats and the Bosniaks to retake large swaths of land, and pushing all parties to the negotiating table in Dayton, Ohio. "And now we return to our story...." --------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- -- As we inched towards the old town on the very old tram, we watched Sarajevo wake from its slumber. As the gray sky lightened, we could see everywhere that the ravages of war have not been erased from this city. Unlike other Eastern European cities that had been ravaged by the World Wars, but long ago been rebuilt leaving no traces of the destruction, Sarajevo's war-time scars have not yet faded. You can still see the kisses of mortar shells and bullets on most of the buildings in the city. All over the city are the haunting reminders of bloodshed: "Sarajevo Roses" - holes in the sidewalk caused by exploding shells that resulted in civilian casualties, but which are now filled in with red plastic as memorials to those innocent victims. In somewhat random locations are crumbling buildings that have never been reconstructed and now stand vacant - a ghost amongst the lives that now thrive in this once besieged city. The old town consists of two distinct parts that neighbor each other. There is the Turkish quarter - a legacy of the 400 years of Ottoman rule and the newer city center which resembles any Western-style city. Beautiful old mosques dot the city and surrounding hills. In every city we've visited in Eastern Europe, we've found our way to the Jewish quarter. There is no true Jewish quarter in this city, but there is a synagogue. It being a Friday, we asked if we could join in the Shabbat services. We were warmly invited. Since the beautiful, historic sanctuary was under renovation, we sat in the tiny social hall where we participated in the fastest services we have ever experienced - Justin timed it at 26 minutes. After, we were invited to remain for Shabbat dinner - with the 12 other people that turned up for the service. There we learned from the few English speakers that BiH is very tolerant of Jews and anti-Semitism is pretty much non-existent in BiH. During their rue, the Ottomans opened their doors to the Jews during the Spanish Inquisition, thus paving the way for a large and vibrant Jewish community. Today, the Jewish community is very small, yet it still exists. But it was sad to hear one man at the table comment that, at current rates of births, deaths and emigration, the Jewish community in BiH will cease to exist in 20-30 years. The rest of our time in Sarajevo was spent doing what we do best - wandering. The alley ways that lead up to cemeteries, the cobble stoned streets of the Turkish quarter and the remains of the Olympic village (the 1984 Winter Games were in Sarajevo), provided interesting sights to see. One souvenir that we decided not to buy was carved ammunition casings from the millions of projectiles that rained on the city during the 3.5 year siege. It was a bit too morbid for us. Just as the cloying scent of alcohol will forever be associated in our "smell memory" with taking the night train into Russia, the smell of tobacco will always be associated with BiH. We noted that many people chain-smoke here, not just with drinks or after dinner, but all the time. You may have read about (or experienced) the calming effect that tobacco has on people in war. But it wasn't until we went to the Historical Museum in Sarajevo to view the exhibit on the Siege of Sarajevo, 1992-1995, did we learn how integral tobacco was to people's survival during the war. The museum has an extensive discussion on the importance of tobacco to the people in the city while they were being sniped at, mortared, and bombed from the surrounding hills for 1,132 days. There is the stress induced by exams or awaiting a birth...and then there is living in Sarajevo, during the siege. Apparently, early in the war, the main cigarette factory in town was blown up, which meant that people had to make do smoking anything to calm their understandably frayed nerves. One quote: "We will be exactly aware of what the cigarette during the war meant to us only when the days of smoking tea will be a sad memory" The power of this statement resonated with Justin more than anything else he read on the Sarajevo siege because it demonstrated how, in times of extreme crises, a small (yet harmful) pleasure can become so crucial to keeping one's sanity. The Siege of Sarajevo exhibit was also remarkable because of the way the war was presented: no anti-Serb or anti-Croat rhetoric or blame, or attempts to answer "why?," just matter-of-fact color photos, many graphically violent, and artifacts, accompanied with neutral explanations on how the siege affected the daily lives of regular people for over three years. Remarkably, there were several "normal life" events that incongruously took place during the siege: the Sarajevo String Quartet managed to hold performances and the city held a "Miss Sarajevo" beauty pageant. For us, viewing the exhibit at this museum turned the Bosnian war from a long series of nightly news stories into a reality. Despite what the citizens of this beautiful city went through, their hospitality and geniality towards us was quite clear. As we have experienced in other war-torn or nature-damaged countries, the people here have picked up the pieces and continued living. [Admittedly, we will never know how well they are coping with the horrendous memories that are surely there] What was especially shaking about the photos, in the exhibit, is that they were clear, crisp, and in brutal color, not grainy black-and-white pictures of an ancient war. We recognize those clothing fashions of the people in the pictures as from our time! In the 90's Leaving Sarajevo, we headed south to Herzegovina territory to another war torn city - the city of Mostar. You may remember Mostar from the news in the 1990's as the site of a fierce battle between Croats and Bosniaks in 1993. A highlight for us in Mostar was a wonderful interaction we had with a local - something which epitomizes the joy of travel for us. We walked into Karadoz Begova mosque and started talking with clean-cut guy in his mid-20's, who was wearing jeans, a windbreaker, tennis shoes. He introduced himself as Izudin Mezit and started telling us about the history of the mosque, how it was built by a renowned architect from the Ottoman Empire. We found out that Izudin is an imam or Islamic holy man, as were his father and grandfather before him. He seemed remarkably open and spoke matter-of-factly about everything, from the war to the veiling of women (it was very rare to find a woman in BiH with her head or face covered). As has happened frequently in our trip, this meeting further shattered stereotype: the TV news-spawned image of a bearded, fiery Islamic holy man gave way to this kind, baby-faced young guy who likes U2. Later in the afternoon, we heard Izudin chant the "call to prayer" as he does five times a day [Go to the "picture" section and click on the AVI file to hear Izudin]. Only in BiH have we occasionally been lucky enough to hear a "live" call to prayer (usually people seem to make due with tape recordings). Izudin admitted that he was trying to quit smoking as he found it winded him and interfered with his ability to chant several times a day! Izudin quietly lamented the lack of spirituality and religiosity amongst Moslems in BiH. Wait a minute? Isn't that what we hear US religious leaders say? To be sure, veils seem to be quite uncommon and alcohol ads are everywhere, even in predominantly Muslim areas. Head scarves here are much more cultural than religious: Eastern Orthodox women wear them, too. Perhaps clergy worries about their flocks' lack of faith occur in all religions? After leaving Izudin, we went across the street to mosque's cemetery - every single of the 50-odd gravestone was dated 1993, the year of the big battle in Mostar. Izudin said they had to hold funerals in the middle of the night to avoid snipers. The vast majority of the deceased were born in the 60's through 80's! We found the number of completely bombed and gutted buildings, which were much more common in Mostar than in Sarajevo, to be especially jarring. In talking with Izudin and others in town, it's clear that the animosity between Croats and Bosniaks is still there; subdued, but strong. After a tenuous peace was negotiated and a government formed, initially, two of everything had to be created because neither side trusted the other: two fire squads, two police departments, two school districts, etc. So, according to Izudin, it is a mark of progress that over a ten-year period, everything has been combined, except the schools. Mostar's old town is built on both sides of the Neretva River which was the most spectacular turquoise blue-ish green. The two sides of the river are connected by the old bridge built in the Ottoman times - destroyed in the war and rebuilt. Several old Ottoman houses miraculously survived the last war and were open for viewing. Intricate carved wood work filled the walls and ceilings. Colorful old kilims (woven rugs) lined the floors and plump pillows sat in front of tables welcoming the visitor for a lounge. It was a good peak into the Ottoman lifestyles of the rich. If Robin Leach had his show during those days, these houses would have definitely been highlighted... After a few days of exploring Mostar and the surrounding areas, we headed south to Croatia's Dalmatian Coast - geographically, the southern third of Croatia. At this point in the trip (with six weeks to go), we can not wait to be in our own bed - with the mattress of perfect firmness and pillows of just the right fluffiness. We have lost count of how many beds in which we have passed the night, but there have been those of extreme comfort to those that are like sleeping on rocks. Here in this region of the world, finding a bed to sleep in takes on a different form than doing it in India or Africa. We have learned about the "careers" that are centered on renting a bed in one's house. As in Russia, this is how many people make extra money to survive in the post-Cold War economy. We will give the people in this profession the job title of "Sobe Hucksters." "Sobe" is Slovene/Croat word for room. These hucksters actually provide a great service to us as backpackers. Rooms come to us; we do not have to go seek them out. These individuals wait at the bus, port or train stations looking for tourists who might need a place for a night or two. As soon as you step off a bus, you are approached by people asking you if you want a "room, zimmer, or sobe." If you say "yes," the pictures come out and the bargaining starts. We have learned a lot about ourselves through this process. We have learned that just as they have their methods of snatching a boarder, we have our methods of picking who we engage with. First impressions are important to us and we have realized that we can be discriminatory. We first approach those with a kind face or a gentle demeanor - most often the grandma type or motherly type. Those who have a harsh look or a stern face we tend to avoid. We have also learned that first impressions are not always lasting impressions. On one occasion, in Dubrovnik, Croatia, we were passed off by one person to a gruff, abrupt man who ushered us to his car. The transaction happened so fast that we were not sure what was going on. Two other tourists who were ushered with us said that it would be a good deal. So, grudgingly, we went with them to look at the room, which was well within our price range. Following him turned out to be the best experience we have had in sobes in Croatia. He drove us to his sister's house which had a beautiful room, comfy bed and a balcony with a spectacular view of the Adriatic Sea and the bay where the port is situated. Our stay with Ivo and Maria was perfect. To top it all off, Nickolas offered to drive us to the bus for Montenegro the next morning and then pick us up again when we returned. So, this gruff looking, man and his family turned out to be quite generous and very friendly. We thought we had open minds through our travels, but this experience taught us that when you least expect it, little prejudices do pop up. We also realize that this profession takes a lot of hard work and persistence, and is not one that we envy. After one night in Dubrovnik, Croatia, in this hospitable house, we ventured to Montenegro. We decided to check out Montenegro, mostly because it is the world's newest nation, voting for independence earlier this year from Serbia. Montenegro seems to be Croatia's poorer cousin. A three hour bus ride landed us in Budva - Montenegro's "Riviera." Neither of us has been to the French Riviera, but we doubt it looks like Budva. Hopping off the bus, we were approached by the "sobe hucksters" and landed in an apartment about the size of a shoe box. The best part was the cable TV with about six stations in English. We have no shame in admitting that we spent more time in our room watching English TV than we did on the shores of the "Riviera." Jamie discovered the show "Mega Machines" and "Mega Structures" on the National Geographic channel and became hooked (note, we don't have cable TV at home, so this was a true novelty). Several episodes were aired each day and she did not want to miss a single one. After weeks and weeks on the go, it was nice to feel like we didn't have to do anything, and that is just what we did - nothing. It was what we needed. Yes, since we do like to wander, we did check out the town. There was the ubiquitous old town with narrow streets built within protective walls. It took about 10 minutes to explore the entire old town. There was also a "boardwalk" dotted with seafood restaurants and "cheesy" souvenir stalls. We were told that this area caters to the Russians who come down on packaged holidays. Things were cheaper and still in need of some modern upgrades. Many of the large resort hotels looked like their heyday came in the 70's and 80's, but after the fall of Yugoslavia, their glory faded. At first Jamie didn't like the town, but it soon grew on her. The local wines and amazingly fresh and melt in your mouth feta cheese which is put on the best organic vegetable salads helped make the experience enjoyable. Everything grown and sold is local and organic; both Bosnia Herzegovina and Montenegro do not have the economic means for pesticides and we hope as they move towards joining the EU some day that does not change. Interestingly, Montenegro uses the Euro as their currency. Of course, being by the sea - no matter where you are - is thoroughly enjoyable. We did manage to pull ourselves away from the TV each day for a dip in the cool Adriatic Sea. After four days of sluggishness, we carried our packs and our rejuvenated bodies to the bus station, headed for the town of Kotor. While waiting for our very late bus to Kotor, a town 18 miles away from Budva, we were assured by a fluent English-speaking Serbian man, that the bus would come. Another 45 minutes later, with no bus, we decided to forgo the bus and split the cab fare with the same man and his wife. They are Serbians who live in Oxford, England. At moments like this, Justin unfailingly blurts out that he lived in the Oxfordshire town of Abingdon in 1984. It is his way of letting Brits knows that a Yank is aware that Britain is not just London. Often when we meet somebody unexpectedly, we say "small world." But every once in a while, you're presented with a reminder of how truly small the world is. We figure that we have more of a chance of getting hit by a car (yes a bit morbid analogy) than sharing a cab with a plasma physicist who knows of Ron Waltz (Justin's dad), and actually knew what a "tokomak" is. Do you? If you'd like to fritter away more time at work,Click here to jump to more info on fusion research Through conversation, we learned that Dragoslov Ciric (cool name!) is a plasma physicist that works at the same lab (Culham Science Center) that Ron worked at 22 years ago. Dragoslov heads up Neutral Beam & Pellet Operations (we couldn't make this up if we tried). Out came the physics speak and the amusement that we were in Montenegro and shared a cab with a Serbian ex-pat who knows of Justin's dad! We both decided it was worth coming to Montenegro just to see Kotor. Kotor is another old town with white stone houses built on top of each other, cobble stone streets and crooked alley ways sandwiched in between the city walls. In addition to the charm of the old town, the setting on which it is perched was spectacular. Kotor sits on the only fjord (a narrow inlet of sea between cliffs) in Southern Europe. The karsk (arid limestone formations) hillsides that tower around the fjord create a dramatic scene. Between spurts of rain, we explored the town, with details and carvings in the centuries old stone buildings. Banners denoted whose palace was whose and what centuries those families occupied them. The next morning, with the sun shining, we climbed the 900 feet up the rocky hillside to St. Ivan's Fortress. The walk up the steep stairs made us acknowledge the feat it must have been to build such a towering fort perched on top of the hill. Once on top, the view took our breath away. As has happened so many times on this trip, one feels so small in comparison to nature. On our decent, we came upon wild goats hanging off the cliff's edge munching on the trees that grew between the solid rock. Justin wanted to join the goats, but Jamie told him he wasn't wearing the right set of hooves for hanging on the hillside. None the less, the wildlife sighting added to the allure of the place. To top it all off, we happened upon an amazing restaurant that served up the best seafood we have had in this region yet. We dined on melt in your mouth sea bass that seemed to have jumped straight out of the ocean onto the plate as wells as most tender squid we have had. Jamie made Justin eat the tentacles though (despite the fact that they don't taste any different) and he chivalrously ate them. After six days in Montenegro, we hopped on the bus back to Dubrovnik, Croatia where we had spent one night. Nicola (our brusque friend) picked us up and took us back to Maria and Ivo's house. They let us use their kitchen to make dinner, did our dishes, and served us beer and home made cake for dessert. They even did our laundry for us. Even though they only spoke a few words of English and we spoke a few of Croatian, we felt at home and loved. It was a nice entry into our 14 days in Croatia. For many, Croatia might bring to mind images of war. For us, the soothing music in the CNN Europe advertisements for Croatia plays in our minds. The images they show in this commercial are of the crystal clear turquoise waters that lap the rocky shores of the islands where white limestone hills loom over white stone old towns. For once, the commercials advertise the truth - what you see is what you get. Pure beauty. Our first stop in Croatia was in Dubrovnik, on the Dalmatian coast. Dubrovnik is an enchanting city perched right on the Adriatic Sea. The old town, similar to those in Montenegro, was the largest one we visited. Walking around the 1.2 miles of the perimeter walls gave you a top-down view onto the red tile roofed houses and jumble of stone buildings nestled in between the walls. It was the most spectacular and grand old town we had seen so far. Heavily damaged during the wars of the 90's it had been completely rebuilt. Wandering through the narrow streets we couldn't help but wonder what life had been like with in these walls during the Roman times. Now the city is filled with summer-ware clad tourists filling the cafes and seafood restaurants that seem to be the mainstay of the town. One of our nights in Dubrovnik, we met a British couple, Nicola and Joe, on holiday. We had a very entertaining evening with them. Along with the many laughs, they gave us an opportunity to interact with to other people - something we were in need of. You know someone has to be fun when you ask them what they do and they say they are in the circus. Joe is a professional juggler who once performed for the Queen.,Click here to see Joe Hague in action They were not sure of where they were going next, so we convinced them to come with us to the island of Korcula. Two days later, they met us on the ferry to the Island. On board, we met an American couple - newlyweds - who were on a year's honeymoon. Upon alighting on Korcula, we got an apartment with our new friends, Joe and Nicola from Brighton, England. They kept us laughing, so we knew were in for a few days of fun. Korcula town on Korcula has the typical old town that we have been seeing with beautiful views of the mainland across the way. The clear blue waters enticed us in for a swim and the laid back atmosphere made for some great hanging out time. We planned to stay on the island a few more days before hitting the mainland and working our way north towards Italy, but we met an Australian couple who convinced us to check out another island. So we boarded another ferry and headed to Hvar Island. That decision turned out to be a great one. Hvar town on the island of Hvar is a bit different from the towns we have been to thus far on the Dalmatian Coast - less enclosed - and we instantly fell in love with it. A three night stay soon turned into six nights. Hvar is said to be one of the most pretentious islands with the wealthy Croatians and Europeans flocking here in July and August in their million dollar yachts. The main strip in town is lined with swank bars and cafes catering to the "yacht-sters." Thankfully, we were able to avoid the obscenely-priced restaurants because Jamie found the fish market. She made dinners which we enjoyed on our apartment's roof top terrace. The best thing about being here in the low season, aside from no crowds, is we were able to find a great price for an apartment right over the yachts. Being here in the low season, the town is not over run by the masses. The best part about the island is there are so many places from cafes to rocky beach alcoves in which to while away the sunny days. We have had some of the best swims so far Since the island is not crowded, we have the pick of places to stretch out and pretend we were cats basking in the sun- being October, the temp has hovered around the low 70's. The walk way that wraps around the contours of the island through pine forests provided an ideal setting for some early morning walks. In the mornings, we indulge in a cappuccino in the plush bay front lounge at the local swank hotel while watching the white stone buildings turn pink to white as the full brightness of the day emerged. It is also fun to watch the yacht-sters wake up, prepare their boats and sail out. So we easily passed a week (with two days of rain) hanging out on the beach, drinking local wines and cooking great dinners with the local ingredients. We highly recommend a trip to Croatia. It is easy to get to if you happen to be in Europe with so many new cheap air carriers and well worth it! (No, the department of tourism didn't pay us to say that!) From Croatia, we took what we hope will be our last all-night bus ride northwest to Slovenia, to the seaside city of Piran. It was enjoyable, but we were hard pressed to see how it differed from Croatia, except in the prices of food and lodging which were akin to Italy's. A day of buses and trains took us, once again, to Milan where we are basking in the hospitality of Sandro and Barb, before we head out on our trip's final leg - to Jordan and Israel.
]]> Oh, For Pete's Sake! — Budapest, Hungary http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1158149880/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1158149880/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1158149880/tpod.html Sun, 17 Sep 2006 15:27:50 +0000 2005-2006:South Asia, West Africa & Central Europe
Budapest, Hungary

Few things are as instantly evocative as a particular smell. Which is why the next time our noses picks up the pungent, sickly-sweet smell of partially metabolized alcohol, we will be instantly transported in our minds' eye back to our all-night bus ride from Tallinn, Estonia to St. Petersburg, Russia. We had no sooner found our assigned seats on the nightly graveyard-shift bus, when two 20-something guys lurched into the seats behind us. Zzzssip! Two 20 oz, cans of high alcohol beer were opened (certainly not their first of the evening). Soon after, the snoring and belching began. As if on cue, the man right next to Justin, who had been noisily slurping something from a bottle, joined the symphony of spent fuel; his wife staring straight ahead, in indignation (in resignation?). And so across northwestern Russia we went; probably there was a noxious cloud of alimentary tract gases billowing behind us. At 2AM, we pulled into the border-crossing complex and white forms were passed out to the very few foreign passengers. We squinted, trying to make out the text, but to no avail: the forms were only in the Russian Cyrillic alphabet, which resembles the last, most challenging line, of any vision test you've taken. No English, no French, nothing remotely familiar that would allow one to make the cognative leap to English from another Romance language.... "Hmmm...'Nom' might mean 'Name'?" Justin timidly asked around the bus, "English?" Finally, a Russian teen (who had not been drinking) agreed to help out. Suddenly, four Britons came out of the woodwork, ferverently clutching their forms. Soon we all became like a group of school children (regressed perhaps?), copying the answers from one another. However, we breezed through immigration as well as, quite unexpectedly, through customs where we were just waved through. The fact that we were not given custom's forms caused Justin some concern as our guidebook was adamete that not having such form upon exiting the country would mean big fines. [But he was releaved to find out, a few days later, that this inefficient, USSR-era regulation had been phased out several months ago...clearly, he had seen too many movies about Russia's legal system and being sent to Siberia!] We arrived at Balticsky station at 6AM where the frat party continued: everywhere people were drinking beer in this enormous, slightly Orwellian granite structure. We sat in vain waiting for the man from the firm that had arranged our homestay. No dice. Finally, at 7:45AM (after fruitless attempts to phone), we descended into the St. Petersburg subway, which along with Moscow's, is the deepest in the world. Thankfully Jamie had taken the time to learn the Cyrillic alphabet (thanks for the suggestion Matt), which allowed us to sound out the names of the stops and match them to our map in the Roman alphabet (though her skill certainly didn't help us with the meaning!). An interlude on illiteracy: Many times this year we have found ourselves at a loss, a bit hamstrung by our unfamiliarity with the main language of the country we are in. From reading a menu to understanding what a brochure or billboard says, the meaning of things was often foggy, but that was okay. We either had a friend or relative who could translate, or we relied on the similarities of English to other Romance languages (or memories of 8th-grade French or Spanish) to get the gist of the sentence. But looking at a bunch of squiggles that we were unable to read much less comprehend was quite humbling. Quickly, we gained an appreciation for illiteracy in our own society, and the isolation and disempowerment that it causes for the 23% adult Americans who are illiterate. We finally arrived, packs and all, at the home of Ms. Vera Sinelnikova. Vera is an English professor at the St. Petersburg Railway University (which, we learned, opened ten years before the first trains came to Russia), and she has been hosting travelers since 1990, when the government first allowed it. We soon met Dimeter, the man who was suppose to meet us at the bus station. He was right up front with us: he had mixed up the date of our arrival; he was actually at his other job as an engineer. For us, his admission and his desire to own up to the mistake was quite refreshing since, in some of the other countries we have visited, we would have been told some stupid excuse or actually been blamed for the mishap. Thus, between Vera and Dimeter, we were introduced to Russia's shadow economy, where people who are at the apex of their chosen professional careers are forced to have second less interesting jobs in order to survive in one of Europe's most expensive cities. All those Western news reports about Russia's nouveau riche certainly don't mention the folks working as doctors, scientists, civil servants and teachers: their salaries have stagnated while the cost of living, especially in urban Russia, has skyrocketed in the past ten years. We learned quite a bit about post-communist Russia from Vera (who speaks exactly like "Pat" from the TV show "Saturday Night Live" minus the androdgyny). After the government of the USSR fell, she told us, people were offered the chance to buy the apartments that they lived in from the government, at highly discounted (not market) prices, which clearly is the only way she can still live in her tiny one-bedroom Admiralty-district apartment in central St. Petersburg (to which she was assigned in 1980). She said that flats like hers are easily going for $300K with rents for any city apartment at $4000 - $7000 per month. After spending one day on our own roaming the city, we embarked on a fascinating organized walking tour of the city. Now, knowing our views of guided tours, you might think that we had gone soft after ten months on the road, ready to be led around like cattle by a shrill guide waving an orange flag. But this tour was billed as (and indeed turned out to be) quite different. Dmity Ganpolsky took us on a five hour tour of "everyday" life in St. Petersburg. Fluent in five languages and possessing an encyclopedic knowledge of the history of this city, this St. Petersburg native took us around run-down apartment blocs and farmers markets in regular neighborhoods. We learned that the city was built on a swamp by Tsar Peter I (the Great), which explains the extreme depth of the subway system (presumably, this was intended to double as bomb shelters during the Cold War). Peter's simple, but maniacal solution to St. Petersburg's geological problem was to require everybody that came to the city to trade or visit to bring a rock to help firm up the ground. We also learned about more recent Russian history. Both Vera and Dmitry talked about Russian society after the fall of communism. As was the case with people in the Eastern Bloc countries we've visited, Russians were ecstatic, at first. But after the euphoria wore off, Vera described a profound sense of insecurity, especially amongst adults her age (we'd guess mid-40's). We don't want to overstate this but Vera, especially, told us of her sense of apprehension about life ten years ago. During communism, people had enough basic necessities. They had money, but there was nothing to spend money on. After 1991, when the Wall fell, the Russian was quickly exposed to the West's material goods, which they lacked. Along with this economic disparity, Russians no longer had a "father-figure" government to care for them. The training-wheels for life were off and future was uncertain. Dimetry, on the other hand, talked about the excitement he and other 20-somethings felt. The 90's was the time to come of age for younger Russians. He described how the Soviets ruled through fear, and perhaps more effectively, by making people feel dependent on the State. Thus, for the average Russian, post-USSR Russia was not just about changing governments, it also meant changing many, if not all, of the prisms through which life was viewed. From what we could see in St. Petersburg, at least, many Russians are nowadays viewing life with a zeal for consumption that would make Zsa Zsa Gabor blush. We spent an afternoon near the Church of Spilt Blood watching newly married couples taking photographs with this famous place of worship as a scenic backdrop. There were lots of limos, fancy clothes, BMW's, and silly amounts of champagne. Perhaps as a harbinger of things to come at the wedding celebration, the wedding parties would hold hands, jump in the air, and shout "vodka!!" Being dressed fashionably was not limited to weddings. More than in any other country we've been to, Russians seemed intent on being dressed to the 9's. Everybody seems attired in the latest avante gard duds; we just shuffled along sheepishly in our travel clothes, threadworn after ten months. St. Petersburg must be a podiatrist's dream - every woman seems shod in stilleto heels that could only come from the Marquis De Sade collection. We're sure that all this glitz is indicative of at least one post-USSR change: now there was lots of money to be made. Though much (most?) of it is done legitimately, in the 90's there was explosion in organized crime as various gangs battled it out. Dmitry Ganpolsky confirmed what many Western magazines have said about Russia's current leader: the election of Vladamir Putin was all about putting Russia in "firm hands" and controlling crime, especially after the proverbial frat party presidency of Boris Yeltsin. Of course, perception plays a role here, too. Justin felt much less nervous about our personal security during our week in St, Petersburg than he did, ten years ago, during his winter scamper around Moscow. 1997 was the height of Russia's crime wave. It was exhausting to continually avoid drunk (and cold!) derelicts who approached him and friend Jason (with the intent of latching onto their wallets). On the subject of public intoxication, we quickly learned that drinking beer in public, even at 7AM, is way things are done in Russia, for both sexes. Beer is seen as innocuous as Coca-Cola. Although this works for many individuals, works to wreck havoc on the Russian life expectancy, which has been steadily falling in the last few years and is now 59 for men (for comparison, it is 73 in the USA). The chief factors behind the poor figure are alcohol abuse, psychological stress caused by economic uncertainty, and widespread smoking, amongst others. Yes, alcoholism is an oft cited problem in Russia, but one of delightful things about travel is how one's stereotypes can be shattered. Thus we were unprepared for how friendly and helpful St. Petersburgers were to us. We have to admit that we had been conditioned by American TV commercials in the 80's featuring dour and grumpy Russians. But from the woman who helped us use the archaic public phones to the lady that stopped us on the street and offered assistance (in Russian), people were quite hospitable. This graciousness extended to restaurants as well. We could see why guidebooks call dining in St. Petersburg an "experience." Several of the Russian restaurants had wonderful decor and were successful in trying to be evocative of some exotic atmosphere. Unfortunetely, the restaurants we picked for Russian cuisine was just "okay" - we heard that the best food was that that was made by Russian moms in homes. We were more successful with Azerbijiani and Georgian fare. But our appreciation of Russian culture wasn't limited to our stomachs. On Sunday morning, Vera urged us to pop into the Russian Orthodox service at St. Nicholas'. She said that our lack of suitable clothes and being late for services wouldn't matter, and she was right. We crept into the sanctuary of the church and were directed to the "tourist" section which was behind the section of the worshippers, as it should be. We were immeadiately struck by three things: the beautiful chanting and singing coming from the choir, that there were no chairs, so every one stood, and how unengaged the congregation and the priests seemed to be with each other. The priests focused on their rituals while the worshippers were praying while (painfully) kneeling and crossing themselves repeatedly. [We did see one worshipper who dashed out of the sanctuary to take cell phone calls]. Though the participants seemed isolated from one another, it was a strongly spiritual scene. But in need of both translation and narration, we decided to leave. However, one does not need fluency in Russian in order to appreciate the highlights of Western art. We devoted one day to seeing the State Hermitage - the Tsars' palaces - which holds an unrivaled collection of Western art (that may well surpass that held by the Louvre in Paris). To gain such a haul, numbering over three million pieces (of which only 15% are on display at once), one needs to start out with absolute power and an unquenchable need to collect art, like that held by Catherine the Great, who traveled around Europe buying paintings by De Vinci, Rembrandt and others. To that, add more-than-a-sprinkle of paintings by Cezanne, Monet, Degas, Matisse, and other art A-listers that had been captured by the Red Army in Germany in 1945 (which, in turn, had been stolen by the Nazis from private -often Jewish- collections). What comes out of the oven is one of the main reasons Justin wanted to come to St. Petersburg. For her part, Jamie was most interested in seeing the opulent Tsars' living quarters and furnishings. She later declared them to look so uncomfortable that she would not adopt the style for decorating our own home. The night before visiting the Hermitage, we poured over a layout of the museum and plotted a route, not only to ensure we saw our favorites, but also so that we wouldn't we swamped by large tour groups from cruise ships that were in port. Justin was so serious about not missing a thing, or wasting a minute, that he set the alarm so we would be at the Hermitage right when they opened. And we were successful in seeing what we wanted to see in six hours one day. What to say about the Hermitage? As for the art, it was great to actually see pieces we had studied in art history classes. As for the building, clearly, the Tsars were not worried about being viewed as excessive! To them, it was a virtue. But as we wandered around viewing gold brocaide this" and marbled "that," we couldn't help but think that maybe the Russian Bolsheviks (the communists) perhaps can't be demonized for getting rid of Tsar Nicholas II and bringing communism to Russia. Certainly, this policy of enforced "equality" created a huge amount of human suffering and millions of deaths across Russia as well as nearby areas that were unwillingly included in the Soviet Union. But seeing the huge wealth gap - in the form of the Hermitage palace - between the rich and the other 98% of Russians made the Communists point abundantly clear to us. Our last night in Russia ended on a sad note. In what started out as a pleasant discussion with Vera, she made it clear how much she hated Jews. Now hearing this in Eastern Europe, where the Jewish population was decimated during WWII, and where antisemitism still exists was not surprising for us to hear. What hit hard in the gut was to hear such hatred said directly to our faces (this was different than hearing it on TV or reading it in the newspaper). It made hatred and prejudice that is espoused by a variety of groups all over the world so real to us. If Vera had learned at that moment that Jamie is a Jew, would she have turned her amicable hospitality into something different? We will never know, nor did we want to find out. Her flat out prejudice - dislike of a person only because of the group they might belong to - and ignorance made us sad. Granted, we do no know what caused Vera to make that statement - either upbringing or through a personal experience - but it is a reality in this world that we must face. For us, through this journey, many of our own stereotypes of nations and peoples have been shattered. For instance, St. Petersburg turned out not to have the alcoholic haze that we'd first feared. This year we have been in natural places that make you feel puny. St. Petersburg. is a city that makes you feel tiny in comparison to the massive granite buildings. In comparison to walkable compact blocks in Portland, OR, it is exhausting to get from "A" to "B" in this town, especially when you add in the mindwarping effect that comes with deciphering Cyrillic street signs. It was hard not to walk around St. Petersburg with our mouths agape in awe of what imagination, determination, human labor and money can create. So, it was with fulfilment of seeing St. Petersburg, and utter exhaustion of five days of non-stop sight seeing that we took the metro and then a bus to the airport for our AeroSvit flight to Budapest, Hungary. ------- Hungary ------- It is getting harder to describe how one European city differs from the next. The architecture is similar amongst the cities, and the churches all run together, but the energy and the people are different in each. Hungary has a laid back, easy-going air. We felt relaxed after the enormity of St. Petersburg. Before we arrived, we had arranged a stay in a room in someone's home. This is an option that allows us to avoid the hostle scene (remember the vomiting roommate?), and is also cheaper. We lucked out. Mrs. Nesmeth lived right in the heart of the Pest side of the city in an early-20th century apartment full of character - like decorative iron work on the stair case and fancy touches in the marble floor. In addition, we had a great view of the Danube River out of our window. Mrs. Nesmeth, in her mid-seventies was the sweetest woman who only spoke a handful of words in English. Over our five days there, she made us feel at home and even did our laundry for us! In this part of southern Europe, renting a room in someone's home is a cheap option, and a good way to meet and interact with regular folks (although the latter is definitely dependent on language!). Unfortunately, we didn't have a chance to learn about Hungarian life from the locals, as we didn't have the opportunity socialize with anyone. Rather, our time in Budapest was filled with some experiences that will stick out as highlights of our time in Europe (so far). As we had read in the guide books, Hungarians like a reason to celebrate and have a festival. We arrived in Budapest at the perfect time, during a festival that mainly featured Hungarian wines. Unfortunately, we Americans are deprived of the opportunity to buy these fine wines as they are only exported across Europe and to Japan. But, Hungary is known for its wines - so we opted to see what the fuss was about. The wine festival was in a perfect setting, on the castle grounds on the hills of Buda. We paid our entry fee, received a wine glass, some tasting tickets and a handy-dandy neck-hanging pouch to hold your glass. We won't bore you with descriptions of the fruitiness and earthiness of wines (because we would only be making that stuff up as we are no experts), but the wine was good. The more you drank, the better it tasted too! Highlights were Bullsblood wines from the region around the Hungarian town of Eger as well as Pinot Noirs that were just as good as those Oregon produces and some nice crisp whites from Toakaj. Mix the wines with some nice paprika kilbalsa and polka-esque music, and one fine evening was produced. To top it all off, it was a warm crystal clear night where the full moon reflected off all those wine glasses being held out for a "pour." The other truly Hungarian experience that we had and was pure relaxation was a nice long soak in the thermal baths. Budapest is built over thermal waters and thanks to the Turks who ruled here for a while, the Hungarian baths became part of the culture. There are no pretenses here, every shape, size and age fits into a bathing suit and takes to the muscle-soothing waters. It is such a relaxed and happy atmosphere, you feel as if you are soaking your stress away. Unfortunately, not all of our experiences in Budapest were so enjoyable. Sometimes in life innocent mistakes get made and the consequences seem unfair - but you have to take the punishment anyway. We made one such mistake in Budapest. After helping a group of tourists buy metro tickets through the automated machine and missing the train (aren't we such martyers?...), we bought our own tickets for a metro ride across town. At the stop we alighted, the ticket checker was there and informed us that we had purchased the wrong type of ticket and we would have to pay a fine. There was no compassion for an innocent error and we were out $25 - the cost of one night's accommodations. We will admit to you that at the press of a button all the instructions on the machine change to English. There was no excuse except not paying attention to which button was being pressed. In paying the fine, we received a pass to ride that one metro line until midnight of that day. We opted not to spend the rest of the day riding that line just to get our money's worth and walked back to our room with our heads hung low feeling frustrated. I guess one could chalk this up to the fact that through out this year, you are bound to lose money one way or another through cons, thieves or officials who are looking to catch the tourist who is stupid enough to buy the wrong ticket (that would be us!). Maybe it could have been worse, at least we weren't the lost tourists who didn't get off at the last stop on the metro and ended up riding into the depths of the station where they turn the cars around - that provided quite a comedic scene for the locals who got in a good laugh. After a few days roaming around lovely Budapest, we took a train to Eger, as we said, the city known for Bulls Blood wine in the northern region of Hungary. This town of 57,000 boasts cellars (actually in caves) where one can while away the day sipping local wines. On our way to the tourist information office, a nice woman with a baby stopped us and asked if we needed a room. We sure did, and for $20 that night, we had our own studio apartment. We explored the town in about an hour and then wandered into the valley to taste some wines. There we met a group of tourists - a group of British friends who walk together in Sussex, England. Throughout our trip, we always find that we have a great time with travelers from Great Britain - they usually have a wonderful, wry, occaisionally self-depricating senses of humor. The following day, we were back on the train, headed to southern Transdanubia to the town of Pecs. This time our housing options didn't work out to our favor, and we ended up in an apartment of a brusk, chain-smoking, Hungarian woman on the outskirts of town. At least the price was right and we got some exercise in while walking to all the sights. We read that an average Hungarian eats a pound of lard a week, so walking is a good thing to do! We spent our time in Pecs wandering around (what we do best) and taking advantage of some really cheap internet (i.e. working on this blog). We also partook in the first day of yet another festival in Hungary. From Southern Hungary, we jump into the Balkans - the former Yugoslavia. Sarajevo and the charms it posseses await our discovery!
]]> Poland, Lithuania, Estonia: New Take on Old World — Tallin, Estonia http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1157025720/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1157025720/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1157025720/tpod.html Wed, 30 Aug 2006 10:19:10 +0000 2005-2006:South Asia, West Africa & Central Europe
Tallin, Estonia

We took the night train from Czech to Krakow, Poland. We had heard many horror stories (thefts) about the night train, but made it to Krakow at 5:30am with all of our marbles and packs intact. At 5:30am, on a Sunday morning in drizzling rain, we fell in love with Krakow as we walked to our hotel. Even in the early, rainy grayness, the images we had of communist Poland didn't seem to fit with the city we saw. Unlike the fairy tale-esque features of Prague, Krakow feels real and lived in. Justin booked us into a lovely room in Kazimierz, the 600-year old Jewish Quarter. Before WW II, around 70,000 Jews could be found in this district (a full quarter of Krakow's population), making it the second largest population of Jews in the world. Now only 100 Jews make it their home. More on Polish Jews in a bit... After a nice hot water shower (yes, we are still in awe of having that luxury everywhere in Europe), we headed to the "Old Town" about a 15 minute walk away. When Krakow was once the capital of Poland, the old town was surrounded by the city walls, with the Barbican and the Florian Gate on one end and the Wawel Castle (a symbol of independence and royalty to the Poles) perched regally at the other end. Luckily for Krakovians, Krakow was left physically untouched by WWII (unlike Warsaw, which was razed). As a result, much of its original beauty still remains for tourists to ogle. In contrast to the small handful of synagogues, there are at least 32 churches in the small Old Town quarters; this is not surprising since perhaps the most famous, and recognizable figure to ever come out of Poland was Karol Wojtyla, aka, Pope John Paul II. Whether you are a devout Catholic, practitioner of another religion, or a "practicing" atheist, one can not help but be in awe of these glorious churches that symbolize the religiosity of the Polish people. One of our favorite churches was St. Francis' Basilica which is decorated in the Art Nouveau style of flowery painted walls and bright colors. We have to admit that the meaning of the Biblical parables that adorn church walls was a bit lost on us. What was more impressive to us was to see how each church (we lost count of how many we popped into) differs and has a unique style. We also had fun latching onto tour groups and picking up tid-bits of information. Jamie also pretended that she understood Italian and joined an Italian group for a nave or two. Interestingly, for us, this was the first European city we have been in where there one can see groups of nuns in their habits amongst the throngs of tourists in town. We also witnessed the piousness of Poles: at every church on every day of the week, we saw people at prayer, moving their lips and counting prayer beads. [This would probably not be the case in other, more secular, parts of Europe.] A note or two on Judaism through our eyes. Spending our nights and many afternoons strolling through the Jewish Quarter, made it clear that the history of the Jews and their impact on Polish society did not die in the Holocaust. Judaism took hold in Poland, specifically in Krakow, because of the tolerance of Kazimierz the Great, a Polish king of the 1300's. While other European rulers were persecuting Jews (and worse), Kazimierez invited Jews to make their home in Poland, thus making the country a safe haven. Indeed, they came and immeasurably enriched Polish culture and history. We read that many international (mostly American and Israeli) donors have given loads of money to restore synagogues and buildings important to Judaism - places that had fallen into neglect after 60 years, or were destroyed. The Jewish Quarter is more of a museum than a living community of Jews, but at least it exists - perhaps to serve as a reminder of Judaism's past glory in Poland. We visited several synagogues, many of which are now museums which educate the visitor on Jewish history of the area before and after WW II. Interestingly, Krakow's Jewish Quarter is now the hottest spot in the city for bars and night clubs. We enjoyed a few - Justin drinking local beer (which he felt was sorely lacking in comparison to Portland brews) and Jamie enjoying Polish vodka. In this year abroad, we have been to places of great empires, celebrations and human atrocities. Auschwitz-Birkenau is obviously the last one. About 60-miles outside of Krakow, in the town of Oswiecim, we visited the camps where 1.5 million people - mostly Jews, but also Roma and Russian POW's - were exterminated by the Nazis. For Jamie, who in Sunday school meet survivors and learned about the Holocaust, actually seeing it in person was quite emotional. The camp and interior of the buildings were just as austere as those in pictures she had seen. The many buildings on the grounds had been turned into a museum which gave a good historical overview. Horrific pictures were noticeably absent. Buildings cannot speak, but people's stories do, and we felt that they were missing from the experience; however, it allowed you to remove yourself emotionally from some places like the gas chambers and crematorium. The displays did a good job of conveying the atrocities of the place without making it gruesome. For Justin, the room after room of shoes (of all sizes) was more indicative of the cruelty and enormity of the destruction than the graphic pictures he had seen at other genocide memorials (namely the Cambodian genocide museum he saw in Phnom Penh). At a Holocaust memorial at Isaac Synagogue, he saw what he thought was the most poignant reminder regarding the whole horrendous matter. A placard read, in essence, that as one was going through the exhibit, one should keep in mind that the same forces of passionate hate that took a hold 50 years ago are still being played out around the world today. To celebrate life, that evening we had a wonderful Polish meal of a sourdough-based soup, stuffed cabbage leaves and pirogies with various fillings. After that we had some vodka and discovered a truly disgusting snack - except when you are looking for some "soakage" for all that vodka - Zapiekank. Many road side stands sell "Zapiekanka" a pizza-like thing on a French roll with ketchup and garlic sauce on top. Not all foods can be winners in our book... but it served its purpose! Perhaps in the spirit of Poland's post-communist exuberance, we spent a morning looking around Nowa Huta or "New Steel Works." The Soviets planned this city - to house workers of the local steel mill - with the intention that it be a showcase "workers paradise." They wanted to inject heavy duty industry into artistic and intellectual Krakow. If one wanted to see Marx, Lenin, or Stalin's vision of communist utopia, Nowa Huta is it. Planned to the exact details such as where the local beauty parlor would be, these gray block-building structures were erected in the late 50's and 60's to house 100,000 people. In fact, in the years right after WWII, many Poles were enthusiastic about the Soviet idea: many farmers and craftsmen who had never had indoor plumbing (and who were still recovering from WWII) flocked to the city to start a new, modern life. Ironically, Nowa Huta helped nurture the anti-communist Solidarity movement which was instrumental in bringing down communism in the late 80's. We learned that Poland had the first free elections and voted out communism a few months before the Berlin wall fell. Since the Berlin wall was a tangible item (that made for good a photo-op), it became the symbol of the downfall of communism. Ask any Pole and they will tell you that Poland was first! We visited Nowa Huta because we hired a guide to give us a "communism tour." No kidding! For a few bucks, a group of young Poles will take you around Nova Huta in a rickety old East German Trabant car - a vehicle that's synonymous with communism. [Indeed, the car broke down and Justin had to help push-start it, and that wasn't part of the price of the tour] Essentially, these guys give you personal insight into their families' lives under the USSR. In the 90's, Western media often ran stories about how forlorn and distraught people in this part of the world were without the communist State to care for them. But our 22 year-old guide (who was, appropriately, an economics major) went on and on about how his relatives, seized the opportunity and began new businesses and bought property in those heady years....a capitalistic tour of communism is the perfect way to stick a finger in Lenin's eye! One thing that struck us about Nowa Huta was the lack of emotion or character. Despite the fact that we were 5 km outside of Krakow's old town, it felt like we were a world away. That is probably how the Soviets wanted it to be. Today the steel mill only employs a fraction of the number it did under communism, but the town is still home to Krakovians who commute elsewhere for work. [Ironically, the mill was purchased by Indian steel conglomerate, Mittel Industries...and the main square was renamed "Ronald Reagan Platz"] After Krakow, we headed up to Poland's capital, Warsaw. Warsaw was completely destroyed by the Nazi's after the Warsaw Uprising in 1944. The Uprising was a combination of Poland's resistance to Nazi occupation, as well as its fears (which came true) of impending Soviet occupation. Basically, it was their struggle to be an independent nation. For that they would have to wait 45 years. In retaliation, the Nazis squelched the uprising, killed off 2/3 of the population, reduced beautiful Warsaw to rubble and then left. When the dust settled, the Soviets marched in and took over Warsaw. Today, the old town stands as a replica of what once was. Varsovians rebuilt the old town in the 1950's as a show to the world that they could pick up and reclaim what once was. Although picturesque, to us it lacked the authentic feel of Krakow. To us, the best part of being in Warsaw was meeting our friend's nephew (Matt) and his new Polish bride (Monika) who until the end of August, have made Poland their home. They met us for dinner and graciously showed us around the city. They also took us to their friend's party, which was the highlight of our time in Warsaw. We got to meet many Poles (and people of other nationalities..including the first Maltese we've met!) who are our age. Learning about how Poles of our generation sought to make sense of their post-communist world helped make what we have learned on the news and in history books more real. People seemed optimistic about the possibilities before them in the New Poland. We learned that the Poles are incredibly creative and have an amazing ability to forgive. In discussions with them about what the Nazis did to their country, this group of Poles seemed to have no animosity towards Germany. [However, the same can not be said for the USSR] In one evening, we felt like we had made new friends. The evening was also special because it allowed us to experience Poland for what it truly is: a people's' home and culture, not just a bunch of touristic sites for us to view. Leaving Poland on a high note, we moved further north to the Baltics to Vilnius, Lithuania. After experiencing the vomiting abilities of one of our youth hostel dorm-mates, we decided that, yes, we are too old for that scene. So, for just a bit more per night, we rented a one-bedroom apartment right in the heart of Vilnius' Old Town. Having a kitchen allowed Justin to enjoy Jamie's cooking after a long hiatus. You know a country is going to be interesting when the word for "thank you" is pronounced "Achoo." Vilnius, the capital city is fiercely independent, eclectic and looks a bit patchy. For instance, walking down one street (which seemingly changes names every block) you can see dilapidated buildings, mere shadows of their original grandeur, right next door to a repaired, colorful home decorated with a statue or an interesting facade. Most of the city is under scaffolding, testimony to ongoing physical improvements. [This effort is only possible because of the millions of Euros Lithuania received upon joining the EU] From a public health policy prospective, we saw that this entry into the EU has a triggered another remarkable change: a shift to making public spaces non-smoking. On our first night, we walked into a restaurant specializing in traditional Lithuanian food and found it completely empty: all the other diners were outside eating and smoking, while we were the only folks inside eating under the new "No Smoking" signs. Yet the "stages of change" for Lithuania aren't quite complete: on the menu, right after the desserts, were listed a wide range of cigarettes for sale. [Does that mean that if you're sitting in non-smoking that you have to get them "to go"?] Lithuania's history has been speckled with occupation. Germany, France and Russia have all had the pleasure of setting up camp in Lithuania. Lithuania was also the last European Country to accept Christianity in the 13th century; perhaps their pagan past adds to the quirkiness. Today, the energy in Vilnius is relaxed even at the the height of tourist season; visitors mingle with locals coming in and out of the numerous churches. Given the beauty of the city, we doubt this tranquility will last for long; it's only a matter of time before Vilnius becomes Prague - overrun with tourists and invasions of TGI Friday's. McDonalds is already there. Vilnius' independence and quirkiness is apparent in several ways: it has the world's only Frank Zappa statue; apparently, the American rock musician's anti-authority lyrics struck a chord in Lithuanians' struggling under Soviet dominance. Also, Uzupis, a neighborhood of Vilnius has declared itself an independent republic - April 1st is their Independence Day. Of course, it is in jest (we think), but here is a sampling of their constitution, posted in the neighborhood: - People have the right to live near the Vilnele (the local river) and the Vilnele has the right to flow near the people. - People have the right to die, but it is not a duty. - People have the right to love. -People have the right to be lazy and do nothing at all. - A dog has the right to be a dog. - A cat does not have to love its owner, but in times of difficulty it is required to help its owner. - People have a right to be happy. -People have a right to believe. -People have the right to comprehend both their own worthlessness and significance. - People are required to remember their names. -People have the right not to be afraid. - Do not defeat - Do not defend. - Do not surrender and many more items... Also, check out the roadside sign in this neighborhood (see photos). In Vilnius, we started tangling with the Russian embassy by applying for tourist visa to visit St. Petersburg African countries have nothing on the Russians for ridiculous visa paperwork. Not only did they want to know if Justin had been trained in the use of explosives, they also required that he list every foreign country and city he had been to in the last ten years. Nonetheless, we duly dropped off our passports to gain visas and headed to the coastal resort of Palanga to holiday Lithuanian-style. Ensconced in the northwestern corner of Lithuania, Palanga seemed a bit like a Slavic Coney Island. Palanga consists of long board walk that runs right into the - very cold- Baltic Sea. August being the vacation month throughout Europe, it was enjoyable to see so many Eastern/Central European tourists. Clearly, this a tourist town with all manner of entertainment from carnival rides for the kiddies to many pubs for the adults (they even have a big keg dispensing beer on the street as well as kegs on the beach). For us, some entertainment was unexpected: the Native American band singing on the sidewalk (with their CDs for sale) was a bit out of context. We had a hard time figuring their exact origin: buckskins and feathered war bonnet didn't quite go with the Incan flute music they were playing. But we figured that, before the Iron Curtain fell, groups like this never came to Lithuania. To us, the crowd certainly seemed mesmerized. Jamie also discovered Lithuanian music and although one of the youngest in the crowd, she made Justin sit through Vitalija's show at one of the pubs. A round of mini-golf also filled up an hour of one of our afternoons there. After a few days in Palanga, we returned to Vilnius. Thankfully, we were successful in gaining our Russian visas and with that, we took the bus up to Estonia, going through tiny Latvia on the way. The ten-hour bus ride through all three countries was an incredible way to see the Baltic countryside. If you look at a map, Vilnius is in the south of Lithuania and Tallinn is in the north of Estonia. Even though we only stopped for a toilet break in Latvia, we saw the country. Much of the Baltic country side reminded us of the drive from Portland to Tillamook in Oregon. Our botanical ineptitude prevents us from providing you with names of greenery that we saw, but imagine beautiful clusters of pines and other trees broken up by farm land and small villages. As we moved through the three countries it was interesting to note that the homes in Estonia seemed to be in the best state of repair. [Estonia has always been wealthier than the other two] The Baltic countryside has a charming old-world feel. Here, small wooden houses and barns are filled with healthy looking cattle and sheep. Wooden sculptures pop up in random places, bee keepers are out doing their bee-keeping thing and beautifully landscaped cemeteries give respect to the dead. One had a sense of the slower, more relaxed pace of life as we passed by these villages on the two-laned highway that connected the countries. Late afternoon, with flat bums and stiff legs, we arrived in Tallinn, the capital city of Estonia, perched on the Baltic Sea (and about 50 miles south of Helsinki,Finland). Tallinn has one of the best-preserved medieval town centers in Europe. The medieval theme is carried through the city not only by the buildings, but also in the stores, restaurants and costumed people who capitalize on this fact. In that spirit, we had a wonderful medievalesque meal of wild boar at Olde Hansa where the decor was so thoughtfully planned that even the modern toilet was created to look like an old outhouse. We were not sure how many of tourists we saw in the city were there to enjoy the architecture. Tallinn, connected to many British cities by very cheap airlines (like Ryan Air), is a popular place for "stag" or bachelor parties i.e. large groups of 20-somethings on drunken pub crawls. In fact, we saw several of these groups wearing team costumes roaming around town. As we were heading to catch a bus at 6:30am Sunday morning, we passed by a few pubs where the parties were still going strong! Though all these big, capital cities are interesting, we also wanted to see what small town life was like in the Baltics, so we ventured out to one of Estonia's many islands in the Baltic Sea. Besides relaxing surroundings, we figured (correctly as it turned out) that we would have a greater chance of meeting and interacting with Estonians. We were impressed by the fact that one can take a comfortable bus from Tallinn directly to the main towns on these islands. Our bus boarded the ferry and after a 1.5 hour cruise on the Baltic, we drove off the boat and arrived in Kardla on Hiiumaa Island. Kardla, established in the 1500's by Swedes is now home to 4,000 people. Despite the fact that Hiiumaa was a WWII battleground between Soviet and German troops (and then "hosted" the Soviets for 40 years), much of the forests remained intact and is still preserved today. This fact is what drew us to the island as well as the fact that we could finally get out and bike. Hiimuaa derives only 3% of its annual income from tourism, which is quite a contrast to the bustling party scene of Tallinn. It is hard to capture the essence of this island in words. If we could bottle it up, we would try. There is tranquility, and a easy-going existence here. [As crime is practically non-existant, nobody locks their doors.] The forests that populate most of the island and the marshy sea shore lend to the beauty here. We rented bikes and set out to explore 25 miles of the forests, beaches, and old military installations. Botanical enlightenment did not strike us over the head, but a natural habitat brochure informed us that the forests are varied - pine, deciduous, birch, common alder and spruce can be found. We headed out to Tahkuna lighthouse which is situated on the northern most tip of Hiiumaa. Built in 1875, this cast iron lighthouse overlooks an empty coastline alive with sea birds. After some time on the coast, we headed back through the forest for several miles. During our journey, we did not run into any other people. The people here are (as we'd hoped) really friendly. A waiter at the Noordtooder restaurant gave us a complementary glass of a thick yogurt drink flavored with some sort of honeyesque grain (English term unknown) that the locals drink all the time. (One thing we did not try is whatever frightening brew they drink at meetings of "The Hiiumaa Royal Association of Temperate Beer-Lovers) We also talked quite a bit with the owner of our guest house, Kalle Magi. In a discussion about computers, he reminded us that Skype (the free Internet-based telephone service) was founded and is run by a couple of young Estonians. It may seem mundane, but we're always interested to find out the basis of a local economy, beyond tourism. We learned that in addition to timber (logical for such a heavily forested place), Hiiumaa nurtures an unexpected, but growing industry: plastics manufacturing. We learned that many islanders, like Kalle (guest house owner), run tourism-related businesses in the summer and fall, but then work on the mainland during the spring and winter. All in all, we found people in Hiiumaa to be quite friendly. This was not really the case, we found, in Tallin and Lithuania. Hiiumaa was the perfect way to relax. Now we are off to St. Petersburg, Russia see where communist machine behind the iron curtain was built...
]]> Italy, Germany, Czech Republic — Prague, Czech Republic http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1155287820/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1155287820/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1155287820/tpod.html Sat, 12 Aug 2006 14:06:50 +0000 2005-2006:South Asia, West Africa & Central Europe
Prague, Czech Republic

As we walked off our KLM flight from Ghana to our lay-over in Amsterdam, our jaws dropped as we expereinced a few moments of re-entry shock into the developed world. The stores were full of options and things, and things, and things to buy. The airport almost felt sterile it was so clean and organized. Yep, we were most definitely out of Africa. We arrived in Milan for ten days of 24-hour running water and electricity...oh yeah, as well as rest and relaxation. Given the multiple times we have been at Jamie's sister and brother-in-law's place, Milan is no longer a foriegn city to us. Our friends, Amy, Marc and nine month-old Aviv from Portland met us in Milan for three days of non-stop machiatto/ espresso drinking and gelato eating. Somewhat embarrasingly, though joyfully, we made a daily pilgrimage to Pinguino Blu, Jamie and Justin's 2006 Best Pick for Gelato in Italy. Well, at least we got our calcium. Between bouts of overindulgance, we managed to hit the summer sales to replace clothes threadworn by too much handwashing. We also started planning the last leg of our trip. One of our favorite places in Italy is in Sandro's home town Asola. We took a weekend trip out there to see his family - we went to a local saints day festival - for Santa Margarita where we ate local food and Jamie danced with Bruno (Sandro's Dad) to the Waltz. We also cooled off by spening time at their pool and drinking asti spumate (sparkling white wine) at the Liberty - the old bar in the town's square. We felt like locals when one of Sandro's friends recognized us while we were having a drink in the bar (sans Barb and Sandro). After Italy, we headed to see more friends in Germany. Michael and Dorothea, and their two children, Sofie and Jonathan, live in Gottingen, a wonderfully quaint town of 120,000 people. Gottingen isn't home to any tourist attraction, which perhaps makes it...well...such an attractive place to visit. On several mornings, we meandered on cobblestone streets and allys. Walking through town, we relished our newly-found anonimity. Nobody pestered us to buy trinkets nor did folks try to cheat us. Clearly, this prosperous university town had its eye on the future. Interspersed among churches, bakeries, and other traditional establishments in the orderly 700 year-old buildings, were bright mobile phone shops and Internet cafes. Gottingen's energy, optimism, and livability reminded us of our own Alberta Arts neighborhood in Northeast Portland. After a few days of relaxation and fun (engaging in backyard water fights with four year-old Jonathan and three-year old Sofie), the Ruehlmann family graciously showed us Berlin, the capital of reunited Germany. Justin, who had visited the communist section of the city in 1986, scarcely recognized it. Replacing the drab, Orwellian facades of that era were the storefronts of uber-luxurious companies like Cartier and Dolce & Gabana. Yet the dark past has not been forgotten: smack dab in the middle of the city, on land worth millions of Euros, is Germany's main, recently-opened Holocaust memorial. Jarring the opulence of downtown Berlin (perhaps intentionally), are hundreds of plain, grey concrete blocks on a football field-sized area. Clearly, the contrast is intended to be a haunting reminder of an event that should not be forgotten. Both Berlin and Gottingen, in differing ways, seemed emblematic of Germany's newly-found confidence. Michael told us that for the first time in his life, people proudly displayed German flags on their houses and cars. The whole country was still glowing after its wildly successful hosting of the World Cup soccar chapionships, which was held just a few weeks before our arrival. After a week of German beer and sausage consumption, we took an overnight train to Prague in the Czech Republic. Our friends Matt and Petra Gelbart and their newly adopted son, Patrik, graciously opened up their apartment to us. The Gelbarts are not here as tourists, though Matt had been a great guide by taking us around Prague and showing us things that we would have missed had our noses been buried in a guide book. Instead, they are here to joyfully conclude a process they started nearly two years ago - the adoption of little Patrik. Because of Petrta and him, we started to learn about the fascinating world of the Roma people. Roma (known to most Americans by the derogatory name of "gypsies") have been a part of Central European history for 1000 years, ever since they migrated across the Russian steppes from India. They maintain some of their South Asian roots beyond just their skin color; for instance, the Romany language has the Punjabi language of India as its closest relative. Over the centuries and even today, the Roma have been ostrasized and maligned by Czech society as well as others in this region. Despite this, they maintain a vibrant tradition of oral history and song. Indeed, they were the second group most targeted by the Nazis for complete extermination in Europe. Amazingly, Petra's ancestors were among the mere 500 Roma left in Czech after 1945. In addition to adopting a Romany child, Petra is somehow finding time for research for her PhD thesis on music teaching in Czech schools. We are here during the height of tourist season; one could easily get swept away by all the crowds that flank the hot spots of the city. However, it is easy to get away from the crowds by slipping down some alley way to see where it leads. Justin has noted how much more touristy (and expensive!) Prague is now than it was when we first came in 1997. Sure enough, his "tourism barometer" - an indication of how touristy a place has become - went haywire when he saw Czech's first- TGI Fridays. Unlike Germany, Starbucks has not made inroads...yet. In strolling the local Tesco (a Walmart-like megastore), Justin was reminded of an event in his childhood: 25 years ago, his father hosted a group of Russian physicists in San Diego. The scientists were so astounded by the incredible selection of groceries in the local supermarket that they videotaped the vegetable aisle to show the folks back home in the USSR. To think that people in formally communist Czech now have the same choices. Of course, they also have many of the problems that plague the United States and Western Europe. But the difference between then and now is incredible. Prague is a beautiful city with a mixture of art nuveau, baroque and gothic architecture mixed together. You can walk down the same street ten times and each time you will notice something new- like a statue of a guy hanging off the roof by a pole, or a gargoyle threatening to spit on you as you pass by. One could go wild here buying all types of - incredibly expensive - souveniers. We are not tempted; the thought of carrying anything more than we have to in our packs for the next three months is a huge deterrant. We hopped on a bus to the Bohemian town of Cesky Krumlov. Krumlov is a nice break from the bustle of the large cities. The main draw is the picturesque castle that looms over the old town's cobbled, windy streets and the river, where one can take a lazy cruise in a kayak or canoe. (For Jamie, who was freezing in the 70 ·F weather after nine months of living at 90·F+, getting wet was not an option.) We booked ourselves into a hostel, sharing a room with four other people. The party atmosphere (as demonstrated by a free keg of delicious local beer on Wednesday nights) and young backpackers that make up the clientele made us feel old. Hosteling is the cheapest option for accomodations in Europe and they are fun if you are 18, but at our age, it makes us feel like we are back in college. The sign on the bathroom that said, "No ******* in the shower, it wastes too much water - unless you are quick," didn't hold much charm for us. Hostels aside, we have been hiking around the town and surrounding forested hills, enjoying the river views and relaxing under the castle's gaze. We visited an old Baroque theater that is one of two original theaters of this kind that remain in Europe. All the others have all burned down because of the errant use of the lighting technology of the day - candles. What was fascinating about the theater was the limited amount of scene changes and special effects that could be used in plays the 1700's, leaving it up to the viewer to use his/her imagination to fill in a scene. Use of imagination is something that modern day cinema has taken away form the viewers. A major upset to us (and much less importantly, to our plans) is the current situation in the Middle East. We had intended on spending the last 8-weeks of our journey ambling through Syria, Jordan, Israel, and Lebanon... Clearly, the last destination will not happen and the others are still up in the air. We noted, with grim irony, that we're planning to spend several weeks traveling in Bosnia, Croatia, Montenegro, and Hertzocrovenia - places that were definitely off-limits to tourism just a few years ago. So, we head off for Poland and then the Baltics before we hit our furthest point north on this trip - a visit to St. Petersberg, Russia before heading south to the Balkins.
]]> Shameless Fundraising — Nkwanta, Ghana http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1152716520/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1152716520/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1152716520/tpod.html Wed, 12 Jul 2006 15:02:55 +0000 2005-2006:South Asia, West Africa & Central Europe
Nkwanta, Ghana

A bit of shameless fundraising. If you are looking to unload your pocketbooks or wallets of a few dollars, we have just thing for you. While in Nkwanta, we have been involved with two incredibly successful organizations that provide much needed services to the communities in rural Africa. You could be the proud owner of some bricks that will be used to build a community health clinic in the village of Keichebi - where people will come to seek health care. The goal is to have 27 Community clinics in Nkwanta district. Right now, they have only realized 12 of those 27. A bag of concrete costs about $7, but goes along way to build a health clinic and house a community nurse who provides the first point of contact for medical care for these remote regions - and is responsible for saving many people's lives. Money donated to this fund could also go to purchasing equipment or supplies for the provision of care to the villagers. Tax deductible donations can be sent to the Population Council - Ruth Ungerer, Development Office. Attn: Nkwanta Health Development Fund (important to put this notation on there, as it makes sure your funds will go directly to Nkwanta). You can also email Ruth with any questions at: rungerer@popcouncil.org. Ruth Ungerer Director Of Development Population Council One Dag Hammarskjold Plaza New York, NY 10017 We can personally attest to the fact that your money would be well spent, as we have seen with our own eyes the incredible success they have had out here with these clinics in reducing the morbidity and mortality of preventable diseases. The other organization - for all you teachers - is the Ghana Education Project run by a British ex-pat, Gill Norris. She runs a teacher's resource center and is involved in improving the level of education provided to the children in Nkwanta - which is pretty dire. She is also building a sports and arts recreation center to provide an outlet and extracurricular education for the kids. She needs money for supplies for the teachers and also money to help build her recreation center. She also accepts supplies if you wanted to send a package to Ghana. The work she is doing is legitimate and her heart certainly is in the right place. As with everything in Ghana, change is slow. Since she is a Ghanaian-based organization, we are not sure how the tax deduction thing works, but she would be happy to receive help. If you are interested in finding out more, she can be contacted at: Gill Norris - nkwantaeduc@hotmail.com
]]> True Rural Public Health, African Style — Nkwanta, Ghana http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1152361740/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1152361740/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1152361740/tpod.html Wed, 12 Jul 2006 15:00:35 +0000 2005-2006:South Asia, West Africa & Central Europe
Nkwanta, Ghana

Lush green vegetation, pot-holed red dirt roads and a steel gray sky brewing up a storm greeted us at our new home in Nkwanta, a town on the border with Togo. We moved our items into Bungalow No. 4, which was to be our home for the duration of our time in Ghana. We are sharing a three bedroom bungalow with three Swiss medical students. Although we were looking forward to having our own space for a bit, we still have a nice place to live. Power cuts and water shortages are an everyday occurrence and a reminder that, although we have many modern conveniences at our fingertips, we are still in rural Africa. Nkwanta town is a one-horse town. The green hills provide a pretty view as we meander through town. The main street is the "highway" (unpaved of course) that runs down to more populated areas of the country and continues on up to the Northern Region. The main market branches off this road and the lorry station where one can catch a dilapidated tro-tro out of town is a bustling place. Vendors sell their goods on tables or kiosks made out of sticks. These kiosks do not lend a sense of permanence, but clearly they serve a purpose as we see the same people selling their tea bread, eggs or the few veggies from them that have been brought in from other regions. Ghanaian "Hip-life" music blares through large speakers from a few store fronts, making the scene feel quite authentic and African. Our first week was not jammed packed with work (partly because of daily power cuts and the laptop we're using has a dead battery). The slow pace has given us the time to get to know people and the town. We found the butcher, the baker and the candle stick maker - well, not quite the latter two; but a bakery would be nice! The butcher provides us with very fresh beef ... slaughtered that morning...and our new "mother, Stella, has provided us with a chicken - a retired laying hen, as well as guinea fowl. The market, every Monday, is scarce of all the fruits and veggies we have dined on around Africa. Not much besides cassava and yams grow here, so the veg is limited to onions, tomatoes, and the occasional cabbage that finds its way up here from Hohoe. The Medical Village, a hospital complex where we live, is a 25 minute walk from town. By the time we walk in on the dirt path, our faces hurt from smiling and saying "good afternoon" to every passer-by. The people in Nkwanta are extremely friendly and their faces light up when you exchange pleasantries. We feel like we are in a different country than the one we were in when in Accra, the capitol. Now we understand why people fall in love with Ghana. We are making several friends, and it is sad to think that we have such a short time here. Stella, the coordinator for the Community-based Health Planning and Services Program has become our "mother." She taught Jamie how to make "red red" a bean dish with red palm oil (hence red) and wash clothes the Ghanaian way (Jamie can't wait to use a washing machine again) and has taken her "to farm" to learn how to grow yams and cassava. Stella has also given Jamie a Twi name, "Ata Pini" which means, female first born twin. Barbara would be "Ata Kakra." Gill, a British ex-patriot who runs the Ghana Education Project - a teacher's resource center - has provided us with lots of insight into Ghanaian life in Nkwanta and hours of beer drinking enjoyment at the "Hilltop Stop Over Spot," one of the "pubs" in town. She also supplies us with a carrot or head of lettuce when one turns up. In our first two days here, we were invited to a baby naming ceremony. They don't name their babies until they are one week old, and then they have a Christian ceremony to formally name the baby. Perhaps oddly, it reminded Justin of Hillary Rodham Clinton's book "It Takes a Village, which is about the need to have a more child-friendly American society...except here we were, at 6AM in somebody's living room in an African village, surrounded by villagers promising to look after a week-old baby. They then sung hymns. It was quite a lovely experience and much more spiritual and moving than our three hour Evangelical Pentecostal church-going experience in Burkina Faso. That said, religion here, like everywhere in Ghana, has a pivotal role in most people's lives. Since we are nearer to the Northern region in Ghana, which has a large Muslim population, there are a few mosques in town, and we are reminded of the time for prayer by the call of the Muezzin. In addition to our outings in town, we organized a trip to the Kyabobo National park with the local rangers. The ranger didn't show, but we had Gill, who has been there many times to lead the way. We ended up giving up after 45 minutes as the trails were so overgrown. We couldn't find our way. Unfortunately, we didn't have machetes to cut our way through. Despite having 40 rangers for the park, not much upkeep seems to be done to maintain the trails. This is odd when you consider that they are trying to increase tourism in the park. Despite not reaching the summit of Breast Mountain, we did enjoy spotting some really colorful and interesting bugs. Living in the Medical Village and living with the Swiss medical students, affords some interesting opportunities. When the call came in for them to attend an emergency cesarean section, they invited Jamie along. Jamie is a bit squeamish by that sort of thing, but she decided to test the strength of her stomach and go. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity - to go to the "theatre" (operating room) in rural Ghana and see a birth. She didn't pass out and was there to witness the birth of twins - a boy and a girl. Never having been conscious in an operating room before, Jamie didn't know exactly how this operating room compared to a Western one. It was clear though, that some things must be different. When the babies were pulled out, there were no fancy bassinets to relax in; the babies were taken to a wooden bench in the theatre, though it was covered with sterilized cloth. After the babies were taken from the theatre, Jamie went to visit them in the maternity ward where they were "hanging out" in the hallway in a plastic bassinet. Things are quite a different from the maternity wards in the West. But, it was an amazing experience for her. In the second week, work on our projects picked up speed and the days flew by. Jamie sat in on trainings for the Community Health Officers (RNs) and Justin interviewed several of the staff about how medicine is purchased, stored and dispensed, as part of an effort to formally describe the problem of pharmacy costs in Nkwanta. [This is a "needs assessment" in preparation for a program to send donated drugs from American pharmaceutical companies to sites in Ghana.] We spent two full days on long bumpy rides visiting the community health officers at their clinics. Jamie was interviewing them to write stories about what they are doing. Justin talked with them about their patients' inability to pay for drugs. It was remarkably reminiscent of previous work he had done, except that this time, the discussion was over people's difficulty to make drug payments of 25 - 75 cents instead of $25-75 pharmacy co-payments. Certainly not the first time where the only difference in people's heartache over medical bills is one of scale! Like in the United States, people in Ghana are struggling with changing medical insurance systems; it's just as unnerving for them! When Justin was reviewing patient files, at first he thought he was looking a duplicate of the same chart: "malaria, malaria, malaria, diarrhea, diarrhea, diarrhea." Not too much variety, but these basic, preventable illnesses end up killing a lot of people in Africa. One interesting anecdote we must share is what one CHO, Mighty, does to get her female patients to come in to get their birth control shots. Family planning is a touchy subject in rural Ghana - especially when people see their kids as free farm laborers. Plus, the machismo thing about limiting the planting of your seed (like the farming analogy?), makes it difficult for women to get their husbands' support for birth control. Unfortunately, many of these women have to resort to secretive means for family planning. Mighty comes by to pay a social visit to the women on the day that they need their Depro Provera shots (injectable birth control that is effective for three months). The women will later tell their husbands they are going to collect water from the bore hole (the well) which is conveniently located outside of Mighty's clinic. While collecting water, they stop in for their shots. It is a creative way to make people put a priority on their health. A very brief public health lesson on family planning: proper spacing of births is healthier for the mother and reduces the chances of maternal mortality. While we are on the subject of public health, there is another interesting tidbit to share. For all you data collection specialists, you can commiserate with this one. In a training Jamie was attending, the issue of collecting people's names for follow-up arose. Here, most people are not known by their given names, but take on nick names like "Ata Pini" for Jamie. Most people are called after the day of the week they were born, so that "Kofi" for Kofi Annan, the Secretary General of the United Nations, means "Friday born." [Who knows what his given name is?] So, when you have 10 Kofis in a village, it is hard to remember which one had malaria and which one had diarrhea to follow up and make sure their outcome was 100% healthy. We feel that visiting the villages is a special opportunity for us this year, but even more interesting is learning about the amazing way that health care is delivered to the villagers who are so isolated from sophisticated machinery like MRIs that can do complete body images. Because resources and diagnostic equipment is either limited or non-existent, the health care providers learn to know their patients and rely on instinct much more than they would if they had all those fancy gadgets at their finger tips. Volunteering physicians have told us that they may be examining a patient for a complaint, but then come across a symptom that makes it quite likely that the patient also has a far more serious illness like colon cancer. Do they order a colonoscopy as our doctors would do in an instant? No, because they have neither the equipment to do the test, the laboratory to screen the sample, or the chemotherapy for treatment. They may refer someone to the hospital in Accra, but the chances of them getting there, due to transport and the cost of care, make it extremely unlikely that they will go. That said, the work that is being done out here is true public health and the statistics prove that much of what they are doing here is working to improve health and reduce the number of deaths. That has been truly inspiring for us - and motivates us to give 110% effort to our work. In addition to health, we had a peek into the education system here in Nkwanta. We are told that in the villages, education is abysmal. Teachers don't show up to class, and the formal lecture-style of teaching isn't so effective for many of the younger students. In one conversation, we learned that the television has had a positive impact on education. Once electricity came to the northern region, people got TVs. They then saw how children the same age as their own could speak eloquently in English and that they were getting a good education. This created a demand for education and parents sent their children to schools in these rural areas. Of course this is anecdotal, but it is interesting how electricity can lead to tv watching that has a positive outcome. We have been engaged in several interesting discussions with the locals, which has provided us with some insight into life here in Ghana. Jamie was having a conversation with Gill's watchman and he asked how many kids she had. She replied none. She asked him the same question and he replied "only eight" and then began laughing. He followed that statement with, "that is why Africa's has such problems with poverty - too many children." Other discussions with Ghanaians have been about the profound wealth differences between the West and Africa. Sometimes, it is simply begging: on numerous occasions, we have had children come to us and say, "Obruni (white person), I am hungry." Ones first instinct is buy them food, but when it happens to you several times a day, what do you do? It's a really heartbreaking situation. As we did in India, we do not give to them, rationalizing that the public health work we are doing will do more for more Ghanaians. Still, there are few situations more unnerving. Sometimes, it is horribly psychological: several different Ghanaians have told us that there is a belief among Ghanaians and maybe Africans in general, that the white people are superior. Perhaps it's due to far too much viewing of Western TV shows; perhaps it extends from the colonial days. Regardless, it made us sick to hear. Fortunately, these uncomfortable moments are more than balanced out by the positive ones. In one village, it was such a novelty to see white people, that the entire village was alerted to our presence. As we walked down the main road, everyone was out to see us. We might as well have been Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, as we felt like we were famous - giving the parade wave, shaking hands and greeting "good afternoooooon" to everyone. Some Peace Corp Volunteers here said it's going to be an adjustment returning home where they blend in and no longer will feel like they are famous. After that village trip, we could understand what they mean, although we are looking forward to being anonymous once again. We want to comment on the photographs. Throughout our journey, we have always asked individuals if it's okay to take their picture portrait-style, and usually they say "yes." The guide book stated that rural Africans are reluctant to have their pictures taken; not "its-going-to-steal-my-soul" mindset, but more "if-I'm-going-to-be your-model-you-should-pay-me" way of thinking. But we have found the opposite to be the case: in every village, little kids and a few adults beg us to take their pictures. The kids let out squeals of glee when the flash goes off. They are really interested in the instant playback feature of a digital camera; many people have never seen themselves in a picture. Every once in a while people ask us to send the picture to their address - we will. We can only conclude that our time in the "bush" has proven to be 180 degrees from what we experienced in Accra. We know the work we've done here has yielded concrete beneficial results; the people have been lovely (we are picking up British-isms) and the scenery spectacular. To top it all off, we will leave with the general awe of having been in rural Africa. We not only now know the people who are behind all of those nightly-news stories about disease and poverty in Africa, but more importantly, we also know the people who are helping to pull Ghana out of its current problems. They have inspired us (and deserve more attention from Western media). So, we sign off here from Africa - the last of the developing countries we will visit on this year long journey. From here we head back up to Italy to see Jamie's sister and brother-in-law (and meet bugaboo the unborn baby) and Marc, Amy and Aviv will join up with us for a few days of indulgence in gelato, wine and other tasty Italian tidbits. After Italy, we will head to Eastern Europe, to explore countries that were once ravaged by war, but now friendly places to visit.
]]> Peace on the Beaches of Ghana — Akwidaa, Ghana http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1151158920/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1151158920/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/wanderingwaltz/waltztrip_05-06/1151158920/tpod.html Sat, 01 Jul 2006 15:26:29 +0000 2005-2006:South Asia, West Africa & Central Europe
Akwidaa, Ghana

(Cape Coast hotels)


As we'd hoped, a week at the Green Turtle Lodge on the west coast has rejuvenated us and renewed our hopes for our time in Ghana. Certainly, the idea that "less is more" is in play here at Green Turtle - eight thatched huts facing the beach alongside a thatched bar/dining annex. We're "off the grid" here; solar panels on each hut gather enough energy to power lamps for a few hours each night. Toilets are self-composting and shower water is caught so that the surrounding plants are watered. We finally found our Ghanaian paradise. Never before, in all of our combined travels, have we found such an untouched beach. We are near the village of Akwidaa which sits on a sandy beach lined with coconut-bearing palm trees. A mangrove forest lines the back side of the village, providing fish and crabs for the local dinner tables. Named for the turtles that lay their eggs on the beach in the fall, this place is quiet and secluded (right now, at least) from mass tourism that has taken over the beaches of India, Thailand and Indonesia. We were taking a walk down the beach and we did not see another living soul. It was just us, the sand, the waves crashing on the shore, and the soothing sounds of Barry Manilow's "Can't Smile Without You" played in the background (HA HA!). We had finally found a peace that we have been hoping for as we escaped Accra. Now, if you are picturing an idyllic setting, it is almost that, but remember, we are still in Africa, which means that a lack of sanitation and improper garbage disposal is sometimes evident. Among the coconut carcasses littering the beach, you see the evil plastic bags, and yes, like in India, a random discarded shoe... As we took long walks down the beach, we pondered why (thankfully) this place has not been hit hard by tourism. As we began to meet people at the Green Turtle Lodge, we soon found out one possible reason. We met several couples who were intent on driving from Europe to South Africa, but fell in love with the Ghanaian coast around Green Turtle. These "overlanders" went no further than the Green Turtle Lodge and decided to purchase beachfront plots around it. They told us that the surrounding village chiefs own the land and all purchases must be transacted through the chiefs. Most of the business is done without paperwork. Instead, the deals are based on trust and spoken words, The deal is sealed by pouring "libations" or hard liquor (usually schnapps) over the land. Once the land has changed ownership, it does not mean that you own everything on the land. We learned that the palm trees which bear coconuts actually belong to village farmers. A new landowner can either buy each tree from them and have the option of cutting it down, or keep the trees standing and the farmers harvest the coconuts when they mature. We were trying to figure out why tourism, thus far, is not a big industry on this part of the coast. One theory is that village chiefs would prefer to make a quick buck off the land, instead of investing the time, money and energy to build a lodge and capitalize on tourism themselves. There very well may be other reasons. As we understand it, tourism is still in its infancy in Ghana and the true commercial potential has yet to be reached - which is most of the case for W. Africa. On one hand, this possibility is a bit troubling given that we've been to plenty of other previously "untouched" places around the world, which have now been irreparably scarred by the likes of Hilton hotel, etc. We're excited to be able to visit some place before it gets trendy and touristy; perhaps the Ghanaian coast is like Bali was in the 1970's (before a Hard Rock Cafe, Pizza Hut, etc. appeared on the beach in the 90's) On the other hand, the growth of tourism can bring much needed jobs to an area, especially if the birth of tourism occurs with the input of local government. We were pleased to find out that this may be the case here. The couples we met who bought land are planning to maintain the integrity of the environment and "buy local" (food and building materials, that is). They have also hired villagers to build and staff the resort(s). We were told of some Californians (they're always behind real estate problems, right Portlanders!) who have bought a huge plot of land on the far end of the beach. Their idea is to build a concrete structure with big glass windows and bring the "vibe" to Ghana (apparently by way of some sort of disco). As if Ghana's coastal vibe isn't good enough! We were making bets on how much this prime beach front real estate cost. We were floored when we learned the current approximate price - about $2500 an acre! That combined with the beauty of the area made it clear to us why those we met didn't go any further in their overland journeys. After seven days of being beach slugs, we traveled to the town of Cape Coast. We were not so happy to be in a busy town and away from the solace of the beach. Once we got over the shock of seeing cars and people again, we began to take a closer look at the city. Cape Coast, founded in the 15th century, traded hands between the Portuguese and Dutch before it became the capital of Britain's Gold Coast colony. It has also played a prominent role in the trans-Atlantic slave trade, from which approximately 42% of captives were sent to the United States. We took a tour of Cape Coast castle, which was the last glimpse of their land that many Africans saw before being shipped off to slavery new lands - that is if they survived the dungeons where they were held. Taking a tour of the castle where 1000 captives were held at any given time before being shipped off, lends perspective to just how savagely these human beings were treated. We stepped into the dungeons that were the size of our living room with one small window for ventilation and being told that it held 200 people. Certainly, folks were treated worse than animals. We saw the infamous "Door of No Return." Interestingly, a few years ago, the remains of several African slaves were returned from the New World and, in a ceremony, brought back through that door; the other side is now marked "Door of Return." Simply put, we were overwhelmed to be at the setting of such an atrocity. We learned that people were captured by their fellow Africans of differing tribes. But we were reminded that it was the "Whites" who propagated the whole system, and made the slave trade lucrative for the stronger tribes. The town of Cape Coast itself is quite charming, almost making one forget the atrocities that were once committed in the region. Old colonial buildings are mixed in with modern-looking buildings and shacks that serve as stores and homes for the residents of the town. Cape Coast is like a lonely old man who has led a rich life and has many stories to tell if you take the time to listen. One must look closely at the buildings and look past their states of disrepair to see the stateliness and imagine the lives that used to be lived with in the walls. It is a shame that more emphasis is not (or, more likely, cannot) placed on preserving these buildings. Cape Coast was the first place in Ghana where we could meander down the streets and enjoy the surroundings and talking with the locals. We also enjoyed sampling the Cape Coast pineapple, which is the best pineapple on this earth! We also spent some time visiting with our friend Mary whom we met on the bus coming down from Burkina Faso. She spent the day with us in Elmina, a neighboring fishing town and home to the Portuguese (and then Dutch) slave-trading castles. Mary is in fashion design school here, but came to Ghana from Liberia as a refugee during their war in the 90's. She spent several years in the Liberian refugee camp outside of Accra. We felt like we didn't know her well enough to ask her to reflect on this momentous change - from civil war refugee to design school in just a few years. But her story is indicative of the amazing perseverance we've come across this year while traveling. So that ended our "holiday" time in Ghana and now it is back to work up in the rural area of Ghana. We wanted to add a few more examples of the Christianity-based commercial signage we see everywhere. They are strong reminders of people's reverence here. There is: "Here I Am Lord - Funeral Decorations" "Favor of God - Electric Services" "Innocent Blood - Cold Storage" (frozen foods) "I Beg Thee God - Tourist Bar" and (perhaps the too-optimistically named) "Salvation Drinking Bar" One a completely different note, but something we wanted to comment on is how some experiences change you in subtle ways and sometimes they have a very overt impact. As we go through this year abroad, we are clear on one major change that surprises us both - we have become soccer fans. We have never in our lives sat down and watched a soccer game on TV, until Ghana. When in Ghana, do as the Ghanaians - watch football. Ghana is completely crazy about soccer and for a good reason - this is the first time in history that Ghana has made it to the World Cup. The spirit across the country is infectious and it is hard not to get sucked in. Passing through a small village on a tro-tro, we had to wait for the road to clear - about 40 men were huddled around a TV watching a match. Even at the Green Turtle Lodge (which doesn't have electricity), they brought in a generator and TV to watch the games. We find ourselves stopping along the road to catch the score of the current game. We'll see if our new found past time extends to getting cable TV at home, but we do have a new found appreciation for the game. This is unpatriotic to say, but we are happy that Ghana beat the USA - Go Black Stars!
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