Day 312: Neno’s Free Walking Tour & The Sarajevo Tunnel

We were in Sarajevo smack in the middle of Ramadan. While native Muslims were fasting and praying, we were going on another walking tour and immersing ourselves in Sarajevo trying to learn even more about the city and its people’s history here. We decided to check out Neno’s Free Walking Tour– one that was led by one person (instead of the usual independent volunteer organization that provides this service in cities around Europe) hoping that we would learn even more or be able to fill in the blanks from our first tour in Sarajevo. Afterwards, we headed a little bit out of town to explore the Sarajevo Tunnel that was used during the siege to link Sarajevo with the Bosnian territory on the other side of the airport. It was a busy day, to say the least!

We thought we had failed making the tour on time. We were ten minutes late, and no one was to be seen at the National Theatre where we were told to meet. We lingered for twenty minutes or so while Andrew ran down the river to see if he could spot a small group walking along in a group. He came back with nothing. We gave up and started walking towards the tram to go out to the tunnel when we spotted a group on the other side of the building. Obviously the four of us aren’t the smartest… When in doubt, in the future, walk around the building instead of up and down the street. (Duh, right?)

We were able to join the tour, but we think we missed the 30 minute or so history lesson at the beginning that we were all most interested in. Leanne and I joked around wondering how we could ask Neno if he could repeat everything he had just said. We didn’t, but were delighted when the tour immediately veered in a different direction than our previous tour. One of the first stops was at the busting market that was hit with a mortar bomb in February of 1994 killing 66 and injuring 200. It was devastating to say the least. Aside from learning about this terrible incident, Neno provided pictures of what was sold in the market during the siege and claimed that the market wasn’t as pretty (nor as fresh) as it is today. He talked about the canned meat that was sold and how after the war, one woman opened a can up and set it down for her cat (or maybe it was a dog?) to eat and the poor thing sniffed at it and refused to eat it. He also told us how there wasn’t any chocolate or candy available, so he would sneak sugar into his pocket as a child and lick his fingers and dip them into his pocket for some sugar. He admitted to still having a sweet tooth and dipping sugar cubes in his coffee and popping them in his mouth nowadays. I wanted to relate my passion for mixing sugar into the foamy part of my lattes and enjoying that before drinking the coffee below.

We walked past another Sarajevo Rose, and he told another story about how someone he knew came home one evening after walking through town wearing some extra wide leg pants. When she arrived home, she discovered holes in her pants from sniper shots. My eyes grew big. Can you even imagine? He said that despite the war, and the siege especially, his mother refused to stay home and hide, saying she would go crazy if she didn’t go into town to work. She walked to/from town for 45 minutes or maybe an hour each day. And remember, the city is basically surrounded by mountains with snipers scattered around, shooting into the city day in and day out. One woman piped up;

“I’m a mother… What made your mother decide to keep you all here? Why didn’t she take everyone out?”

Neno responded that his mother always thought the war would end. It would only last a month more… She would say.

In case you’re unfamiliar with the length of the siege, it lasted three years.

After our stop around another Sarajevo Rose, we walked into Sacred Heart Cathedral, the same we saw on the other tour. Only today, a nun was taking care of some ironing in the front of the church.

Another (equally exciting) chess match was on in the park. We all lingered, again, enthralled by the intensity of the game and how interested all of the men gathered were in the game going on.

We stepped into the Cathedral Church of the Nativity of the Theotokos (The Orthodox Church) and as there wasn’t a ceremony going on, we were free to walk in a bit closer and take more pictures.

I debated titling this post “How to NOT be obnoxious on a Tour” because we were unfortunately graced with the presence of two girls who were exactly that. Annoying. You might notice them in the video above, because chances are they are in every frame. I had to get creative shooting footage without them standing in front of me. I also started getting a bit more forward, asking them if they could move out of the way. I’m pretty sure most people know how to act on a tour, but in case you’re unfamiliar with tour group etiquette, here are a few tips for you:

1. Don’t stand in front of the tour guide at every stop. There are other people on the tour, and they might want to see the tour guide’s face every once and awhile.

2. Take your picture, and move out of the way, so others on the tour can take a picture as well. If you want to take more pictures, if you want to get different angles, if you just can’t get the right perspective, then let others go first.

3. When the tour guide holds up a picture for everyone to see, don’t stand in front of the 8×10 laminated picture preventing all 20 others on the tour from seeing it. And if you absolutely need to have a picture of that picture, then ask for it when the tour guide is finished talking about it!

4. When the guide is talking about what life was like during the war, don’t ask him “What was that like for you?” after he just finished explaining the answer to your question. Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You have a notebook out, you’re taking notes. What on earth were you doing?

5. When someone (me) is clearly waiting for you to move so she can take a picture, MOVE! Why on earth are you standing there looking at me, with my camera in front of my face, ready to take a picture? I don’t want a picture of you! I want a picture of the beautiful building you are standing in front of and NOT even looking at!

6. And so help me if you are going to introduce yourself to others as a photographer (yea, I overheard you talking to the Australian whose yacht is “stuck” in Croatia) don’t steal my shot. I’m not talking about taking the same pictures that everyone takes on a tour of the Sarajevo Roses or the facades of churches or the men playing chess. I’m talking about when I go out of my way to practically lay down on the floor of a church and then I see you see me and then you do the same thing. If you really are a photographer, you would know that any other photographer would NOT be cool with that. And I don’t even introduce myself as a photographer, even though clearly, I take a lot of pictures.

I know, you’re probably like, ‘Woah, Liz. Calm down!’ And really, I told myself the same, until Leanne confirmed how ridiculously unaware these two girls were. I tried to linger towards the back of the group, thinking surely that would help. It didn’t. I debated pulling them aside, much like a mother would do to her own children and tell them to stop being so annoying. Instead, I rolled my eyes at myself, at my impatience, and tried to find them entertaining instead of annoying. That is, until the (same) one purposely stopped, waiting for me to move, and then started walking back to where I was standing to take the exact same picture.

“I’m a witch.” I whispered to Leanne as I caught up to them after taking the picture below. (Only I might have used a different word)

“I asked her if she was going to take the same picture I just took, and told her I didn’t like when other ‘photographers’ take the exact same shot that I took.” I explained, and Leanne said that she had worried on our safari that I was annoyed with her for doing the same. I rolled my eyes at her and explained that’s different.

“Ohmigod! We were in the same jeep! That’s totally different! It’s animals. On a safari! Of course we’re going to take the same pictures! You weren’t on a walking tour waiting behind me to see which pictures I was going to take when others weren’t around and then take the same one!” I tried to explain myself, but later realized I probably sounded like a witch regardless.

Leanne teased me for the rest of the afternoon that she was going to take the same pictures or that she was going to take a picture too, when I had my camera ready. I figured, she didn’t think I was too big of a ‘witch’ if she was able to tease me about it.

In other ‘obnoxious photo news’ this Copper Street had tons of signs up that you couldn’t take photos or else had to pay the artisan who was hammering away at the metal first. I settled on these two shots and shrugged, not interested in taking any photos of the artisans or even buying anything if you had to simply pay to take a picture!

After a quick local lunch, we made our way out of the center towards the Sarajevo Tunnel and Museum. The family who owned the house during the siege, and today runs the museum despite the government wanting to take over. It’s pretty much just like that, rolling up to a house in the country and then going around the back where you watch a short film that’s mostly a montage of bombings in the city, the building of the tunnel, and then its use during the siege.

The indoor museum consisted of different rooms full of mortar shells, army uniforms, American army food rations, and a recreation of a section of the tunnel. There was also a photo wall displaying famous actors and politicians who have visited the tunnel.

The entrance of the tunnel remains open and visitors are able to walk a short length that still remains intact. I didn’t see any information about what happened to the rest of the tunnel. I’m assuming it has been closed and/or filled in.

It was a little too short for Andrew. I couldn’t stand up straight inside, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. Granted, we weren’t walking through it in the middle of a war, through rain and murky water below and exposed electrical lines above. It reminded me of being in a more advanced version of the Cu Chi Tunnels in Vietnam.

Afterwards, we all headed to the train and bus stations to check about tickets out of Sarajevo the next day. I was continually intrigued by the visible scars on the buildings from the war. In Korea, I would always think in the back of my mind how much the older people have lived through, how much they had seen, and I wondered what it was like for them to see the change. Here, in Sarajevo, those thoughts pretty much apply to anyone over the age of 10.

Day 311: Remember Srebrenica

Perhaps you noticed in some of the pictures of the Old Bridge in Mostar, there was a banner that read “Do Not Forget Srebrenica.” If you’re not familiar with The Srebrenica Massacre (in all honesty, I wasn’t before our arrival to Bosnia and Herzegovina) get ready for the briefest of brief history lessons: It was the July 1995 mass genocide of more than 8,000 Bosnian Muslims (mostly men and boys) in and around the small town of Srebrenica by the Republika Srpska army, commanded by General Ratko Mladić. The town of Srebrenica was supposed to be a safe area under protection by the United Nations, and witnessed an influx of refugees during the war from those seeking a safe haven. Unfortunately, the town was captured by the Repbulika Srpska and the 400 UN peacekeepers were able to leave before/during? the genocide that began to take place. This incident is a huge scar on the UN’s history. At first they denied that it had happened, and then with the discovery of mass burial sites, it was apparent justice had been lacking. I’m sure I’m leaving a lot of information out. The incident is overwhelming, to say the least, and being not only in Bosnia and Herzegovina, but in the Galerija 11/07/95 on the anniversary was moving.

The gallery was smaller than I thought it would be, but there were computers set up with multimedia programs that spelled out the chain of events in an incredibly detailed and informative way. And we were fortunate to have a really great guided tour, great, again, not in the exciting kind of way, but in the this-girl-knows-her-shit kinda way. Saliha (pictured on the right above with her friend and colleague at the Gallery) was incredibly informative and passionate about the events that took place and the events relating to the trials and the UN taking place today. I felt one tiny step closer to having a better understanding of what happened during the Bosnian War than I did before setting foot in the gallery. I thanked her afterwards and asked if I could take her picture (as pictures within the gallery weren’t allowed). She was kind enough to oblige. Thanks again for everything, Saliha!

We met up with Josh and Leanne afterwards for lunch, and then Andrew and I wandered around the downtown old town area while they went on the tour we did the day before. It was a low key day, one that we all appreciated, that and each other’s company. Have I mentioned how lovely it is to feel like we have friends again on this long journey around the world?

Day 309: Mostar and its bridge; JUMP!

A friend commented on an Instagram photo I had posted last week, asking if this place really exists. It does. And it’s beautiful. During the war, and after, without the bridge intact, it probably (ok, I’m sure it definitely wasn’t) as pristine looking… But now, thanks to the reconstruction of the bridge, and a growing young population ignoring the rules of the previously divided Croat vs. Bosnian sides,  the town seems (at least to my visitor’s eye) to be one again. Despite a plethora of tourists walking through the town during the day, it was a fraction of how crowded the streets were in Dubrovnik and Kotor. In the evening, only a handful of visitors roamed the cobblestoned alleyways and the town had a bit of magic in the air that gently reminded us both how lucky we were to be able to visit and enjoy this little town together.

We started our day in Mostar at the Museum of the Old Bridge. It’s on the small side, basically housed in one of the towers (Tara tower) and discusses the history of the original construction. It provides views of the bridge from above, a walk through the older underground sections below, and a bit on the destruction and reconstruction. I know, you might be a little surprised at my (our) interest in a museum dedicated to a bridge… But it really was quite fascinating. The architecture is pretty amazing and the history involving the destruction during the war is eye-opening. Normally, I might not suggest starting with a museum like this, but in this case, I highly recommend it.

Damage to the city, from the war, is still evident. Buildings like this one dotted the streets. Usually, when we visit a city devastated by war at some point in history, it’s so far in the past that only a museum serves as a reminder. You get an entirely different perspective when you look at a building crushed by a bomb or riddled with bullet and grenade holes.

Crossing the bridge, I was surprised to see a young man standing on the edge of the bridge, acting as if he was going to jump. I waited (as you can see in the video) and then got bored… waiting. As we walked past him, I asked if he was going to jump.

“If 25 euros are collected, then I will jump!” He answered.

“Ohhh, I see…” Andrew sighed. I rolled my eyes. He stood on the ledge all afternoon. He was there all throughout our next museum visit in the opposite tower. He got longer shorts when it looked as if it was going to rain, but still stood out on the ledge. He was even standing on the ledge a few hours later when we climbed up a minaret down the way for a different view of the bridge… I didn’t (and still don’t) understand their system. Why these boys don’t have an organized daily jump surprises me. It seems as though it would be a much better idea to have a daily jump at a specific time everyday. Ask the city if they will sponsor them, even if it’s just by printing flyers and advertising their daily jump on their tourist website. Pose for pictures before the jump. Jump. Collect donations afterwards. Boom. One hour and done. I’m sure they would even make more than 25 euros per jump!

Instead, dude stood around on a ledge of a bridge for at least four hours waiting for one person, or a crowd to take it upon themselves to collect 25 euros for him to jump. Lame. Unless he likes the attention, which could very well be his thing… but it didn’t look like he ever made any money standing on the ledge all afternoon…

We walked out of the old town to see what Mostar was like outside the historical/bridge area. The most interesting thing we saw was an abandoned building that looked as if it was a graffiti mecca. That, and judging by the amount of empty bottles of beer littered around the floor, that it was/is probably a local night haunt for Mostar teens.

We made our way back towards the old town, looking for the mosque with the minaret that had a wonderful view of the bridge and both banks of the river. Koskin-Mehmed Pasha’s Mosque is small, and we were told it is no longer in use, however a man was praying inside after we climbed down from the minaret.

You go to this mosque, not for the interior, but for the view of the town (and the bridge) from the minaret. Climbing the minaret wasn’t my most favorite thing to do, but once you get to the top, you’ll see that the short climb (going in circles in the dark) is worth it.

Towards dusk, we went around to the other side of the old town and sat at the water’s edge to take some pictures of the bridge at night.

I even set up the self-timer and scurried across the rocks to sit with Andrew for a few pictures of us. If I was looking at these pictures of another couple, I would roll my eyes. I told Andrew just that.

“Ohmigod, these pictures are sooo cheesy!” I started laughing at us.

“What? It’s not our fault our love is so adorable!” He responded, on his way into the bathroom, and then he promptly yelled at me that I had left a turd in the toilet.

“Well, I don’t know how it got there!” I just yelled back.

Day 308: Mondays are the worst. Unless…

It’s rather difficult to stay in a ‘Ten Month Travel Slump’ when this is what your Monday morning not only looks like, but involves before getting on a bus to jump countries in the afternoon. Mondays are the worst. Unless you’re on a ‘Round the World’ trip… and then, sometimes, Mondays are the best! We spent part of our early afternoon on this pebble beach inside a little cove on the outskirts of Dubrovnik’s Old Town. The rocks were hot. The water was not. And it was a little slice of heaven, just as beautiful as is in the picture.

It’s my humble opinion that Croatia has the prettiest water. Andrew could not stop talking about how pretty the water was between the islands in Greece. It is, also pretty. But Croatia is where the water is at. Just look at it!

The beach wasn’t too crowded, although when we left (towards 2ish) more and more people were arriving. My favorite part was watching everyone run across the too-hot-for-bare-feet rocks to get to the water. Only the water was quite cold, so everyone would stop suddenly, and let their bodies adjust to the temperature change, deciding which was worse: getting in the cold water or walking back across the hot beach to their towel or chair.

Young ones climbed up the bluffs and jumped into the sea, sometimes from quite high, sometimes making me squirm hoping they would jump far enough away from the cliffs. Needing to get going so we would make our bus into Bosnia and Herzegovina, we tore ourselves away from the beach as best we could. I have to admit, having had our sunscreen taken from us in Crete’s Airport (we forgot to put it in our checked luggage) it made leaving the burning sun a little easier. I took one last picture to remind myself what a ‘typical (even though on this trip, there really is no such thing) Monday’ on the road was like.

And then, a few hours later we were greeted like we were old friends by one of the sweetest hostel owners we have met so far. We felt so bad we were a little over an hour late arriving in Mostar, but Taso shrugged and told us not to worry. He informed us of the buses having GPS and he wasn’t waiting long. He whisked us off to his guesthouse, which really felt more like his house (in a really great way, not like staying in ‘the lady’s’ actual house in Dubrovnik). We had juice and cookies and he told us all about the town. We chatted like we were old friends, and I smiled at how great it is when you get to meet people for the first time and your interaction is so pleasant.

Taso talked about the old bridge that is the city’s main attraction. It was originally commissioned by Sultan Sulaiman the Magnificent in 1557, and survived all the way up until the war in 1993, when the bridge was bombed and destroyed. It has since been rebuilt and declared an UNESCO World Heritage site. (You can read more about the bridge here, if you’re interested)

I knew a little about this bridge (mostly relating to the war) before our arrival. I knew nothing about the bridge jumping that has become a rite of passage for the men (and some brave women) of the town. Taso told us that at just 25 meters above the water below, men would jump from the bridge, and women would give the man they liked a wreath of flowers afterwards, to signal wich one they liked the most. I asked if Taso had jumped off and he laughed, saying that he was too old to do it now. When he was younger, there was a wooden bridge in place of the older one that was bombed. He jumped off of that, but he suggested it wasn’t as high as the original (or current) bridge.

We walked through town to get an early dinner, above are some of the views of both sides of Mostar from the bridge. Beautiful, right?

Day 307: Walking the walls of Dubrovnik

Walking the walls of Dubrovnik is the number one thing to do. I remembered loving it a few years ago, but also being very (very very) hot when I went in the middle of the afternoon. We decided to go as late as we could to avoid the heat and the wave of other tourists. It’s supposed to take roughly an hour to walk the walls around the entire city. We tend to dawdle. We sit. We people watch. We take pictures. We talk (or, I talk and Andrew pretends to listen). It took us nearly two hours, but that was also considering we got caught in a downpour and had to wait out the rain as I didn’t want my camera (and my fancy lens) to get soaked. The price to get on the walls has gone up in the past few years, and might make someone on a budget cringe… but it’s worth it, and you won’t regret the leisurely stroll, the views, or the pictures you’ll have afterwards!

Our thirty minute walk to the old town was not without some beautiful scenes along the way. This fancy gated in pillar lined road caught our eye, we think it was to a university or a library of some sort. Then what looked to be an average residence also boasted a pillar lined walkway. We made the executive decision that our house shall also have a pillar lined walkway in the future. Maybe not the one we plan on finding in Brooklyn next year, but the one after that?

While waiting for the sun to go down a little more before we headed up to climb the walls, we strolled through more back alleyways. Some postcards in a shop doorway caught my eye. I ducked in and found out the shop was a relocated/former gallery (Galerija Sebastian Atlas Dubrovnik). I keep trying to buy smaller art (I have too much art for a girl without walls as it is) and settled on a postcard print of a painting by Zvonimir Lončarić.

We made our way up to the walls, hoping most of the ‘cruisers’ were making their way back onto their ship(s). It wasn’t as crowded as I thought it would be, but still a lot more crowded than it was when I walked the walls with my friend, Jess a few years ago.

The view of the city was beautiful, so I’ll let the pictures (the many, many pictures taken of similar rooftop scenery) speak for themselves:

Aren’t the little boys ready to ring the bell cute? There were lots of bells on the rooftops actually, and we wondered why. My guess was that they were used to warn other houses of danger, like a fire, perhaps?

Not even a third of the way around the city, we heard thunder in the distance. We could see the rain coming down further down the coast and hoped that it was moving in a direction that would magically avoid us on the walls. You can’t have a rainbow without some rain though, and a faint one appeared over the sea.

Thankfully, the walls above (and around) the city weren’t as crowded as the streets within. But the rain was moving towards us, and with about half of the walls to go, we weren’t sure we were going to be able to avoid it.

And then it poured. I tucked my camera under my arm and we stood under an overhang until the heaviest part passed. All of the sidewalk cafes cleared out and I had to tiptoe on the slick stones so I wouldn’t fall. We didn’t have too much left to go, and made it in time to meet Josh and Leanne and two of their friends visiting from ‘merica for dinner at the cafe at the foot of the mini Spanish steps.

We thought the prices were reasonable when we looked at the menu the day before. We didn’t take note of the price of beer. (Curses on our forgetfulness! For this is typically the best way to figure out if a restaurant is over-priced or not… knowing roughly how much a beer should cost.) In Kotor (Montenegro), an expensive beer within the walls was a little more than two euros. Usually at a store, a beer costs somewhere around 2-3 euros. We found out in Dubrovnik, an expensive beer within the walls was six whole euros.

I know, you might be thinking that six euros for a beer isn’t sooo bad… Especially if you’re on a short vacation (and you have a job that you receive a check from every other week). But again, when you’re traveling around the world for months on end… when you have ordered a beer for as little as $.25 in previous countries… it simply takes away from the experience a bit. Travel shouldn’t be tainted by expensive food and drink. I don’t foresee Dubrovnik losing visitors anytime soon. It’s a beautiful (stunning, gorgeous, lovely) city. But I do foresee Dubrovnik losing backpackers, students and/or budget travelers. I couldn’t have agreed more with what the cafe owner said the night before about needing a week to really see and appreciate Dubrovnik, but I’d rather spend my money elsewhere if it’s not going to get me very far in this beautiful walled-in city…

Before the end of the night, we took turns playing scenario (it made up for the six euro beers): 

Day 306: What happened to Dubrovnik?

Croatia was a vacation destination for the Czechs when I lived in Prague. That’s how I knew about it. Flights were too expensive to Greece and Turkey, so before I left Prague to move to Seoul, I went on one last trip with a girlfriend to Croatia. Dubrovnik was one of the highlights (we also visited Split, Trogir, and Hvar). This was in 2006. We went in August and it was glorious. There were tourists, sure, but it felt special and unique and like we were exploring a largely untouched place. We walked the walls of Dubrovnik under the burning summer sun and then sat at a sidewalk cafe within the city walls for hours drinking wine and dining on fresh seafood. After an evening full of house white, we got lost in the hillside maze outside of the walls trying to find our way to our rented room. In the end, a gracious cab driver called a friend of a friend and we eventually found our way to bed. It was one of my favorite days of travel. My eyes would glow whenever anyone mentioned Croatia, and I would go on (and on and on) about how they simply had to visit Dubrovnik.

Fast forward to today. It’s not the same. It’s still beautiful and downright stunning towards the evening when the majority of tourists are in their hotel rooms. But it’s ridiculously overpriced now, and during the day the amount of tourists are so overwhelming that it really takes away from the beauty of the old city. It made me wonder, what happened to Dubrovnik?

After getting kicked off of the bus in Kotor that Josh and Leanne were on, we inexplicably had to relocate to a much fuller bus to Dubrovnik and arrived a few hours later exhausted and hoping we would get a decent room for a decent price. Andrew left me with our bags at the bus station while he searched for a bathroom. Tired, and not wanting to deal with those asking if I needed a place to stay, I decided to lowball everyone who asked if I needed a room.

“Ten euro per person?” I asked the woman shouting at me, inches away from my face, “Lady, you need room?”

She suggested an apartment for sixty euro per night, or a private room for forty euro. I shook my head. I wasn’t annoyed, just tired. I motioned to our backpacks and said “This is all we have. Ten euro per person, or go find someone else.” I thought, if nothing else, she would leave me alone and Andrew could take the lead when he returned.

Another apartment owner came up and asked if I knew what I was saying, “Ten euro?!” he asked over and over again, laughing at the idea. I held my ground, again, simply tired, and waiting for Andrew to return with a better idea.

“Okay, okay, ten euro per person!” The woman yelled, again, only inches away from my face. Andrew returned and I shrugged. He shrugged, and we agreed to at least go look at it. I whispered that he could be ‘bad cop’ and say we couldn’t stay if he wanted.

In the car en route to our room, she would say things like “Here, 15 minute walking to old town!” and then keep driving. “Here to the beach!” and keep driving. “Here bus to station.” and keep driving. “Here hotel is my neighbor.” and keep driving. We ended up being about a thirty-forty  minute walk away from the old town. We arrived to the woman’s house and waited while the bed was made in the spare room.

“We can go somewhere else!” I whispered to Andrew, completely aware that we were staying in this loud woman’s house, not even disguised as a more legitimate guesthouse.

“It’s ok…” Andrew replied (just as tired as I was) and we went in our room when the bed was made to take a nap before exploring around the city. An hour later, a man walked into our room, and then shouted “Pardon! Pardon!” as he closed the door as quickly as he could. We were too tired to even be bothered by the intrusion.

Into the evening we finally made our way towards the walled in ‘old town.’ It was then the change of Dubrovnik slapped me in the face.

“A bottle of water is THREE EUROS.” Andrew came out of a convenient store flabbergasted. We weren’t even within the walls of the old city. Usually a litre and a half of water is less than one euro. I sighed, taking note of the crazy amount of tourists everywhere.

We walked into the old city and I suggested we find the alleyway Jess and I dined for hours on end during my last visit. We found the alley, and promptly found the ridiculously overpriced menus that accompanied the beautiful cafes. My shoulders slumped, disappointed I wouldn’t be able to share the same magical experience with Andrew this time around. We walked out of the old town and found a pizza place Andrew later insisted wasn’t as good as the pizza by the slice joint we went to in Kotor.

We walked around, stopping short of a smaller version of the Spanish steps in Rome. One restaurant owner gave us a flyer, insisting we wouldn’t be sorry if we stopped. He sounded North American. I asked him about his accent, and he said he had spent several years in California, but having been born in Dubrovnik, he returned to run his (family’s?) restaurant. I told him I had been in Dubrovnik several years ago, and said it seemed so… different… I asked when it had changed.

“Around 2006 he answered. All of the cruisers started to stop here then. Are you on a cruise ship?” He asked, stopping himself.

“No.” I smiled, thinking how different our mode of transportation usually is.

“I didn’t want to offend you… But we don’t really like the cruisers. They come and spend one day walking around and you really need more time than that to get a feel for the city… Since they started coming, things have changed a lot.” He replied. I told him it was nice to talk to him and that I hoped we would be able to eat at his restaurant tomorrow before I climbed the steps with Andrew.

We sat outside of the  Church of St. Ignatius mostly watching two boys kick a ball back and forth. Their future might not include professional football, but they sure were fun to watch in the present. Still tired, we made our way back out of the old town to our room in ‘the lady’s’ (as we liked to call her) house. On our way back, I wondered if I knew one of the persons walking towards town. I knew I was tired, but I also knew I’d be kicking myself if I didn’t ask.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry, but is your name Riley?” I asked the poor guy minding his own business making his way towards the old town.

“Yes.” He answered, and I knew it was my friend from college. I took off my sunglasses and smiled apologetically to the woman he was with.

“Riley, it’s Liz, from Loyola.” I smiled. He let out a string of expletives and gave me a huge hug. We introduced our significant others and caught up on life since we saw each other last and finally wished each other well on our travels. They were leaving the next day for Hvar, and I was too tired to suggest continuing a reunion somewhere other than the sidewalk that we were on. The world is small, and running into a familiar (even if it’s been awhile) face made me smile and it certainly made Andrew shake his head in amusement.

Day 305: Climbing the fortifications of Kotor

Kotor is lovely. It’s even more lovely after the daily cruise ship departs in the afternoon. We decided to wait until it was gone before we climbed up to the top of the fortifications of Kotor. You know how to tell you’ve been traveling for awhile? When you become more mouthy towards the person(s) charging an entrance fee for something you weren’t expecting to be charged for.

“Is this for real, or did you just put this table here and start collecting money?” Andrew asked the woman sitting behind a table, under an umbrella with what appeared to be a fan mounted on the outside of her house blowing warm air over her.

She was less than impressed. As were we, when an overly enthusiastic tourist informed us “It’s not so expensive, and it’s totally worth the view.”

I’m fairly positive there was a collective rolling of the eyes from me, Andrew, Josh, and Leanne. Not that we didn’t believe the view would be worth it, but at his enthusiasm over us paying a fee. A fee that might be small to him, but to us, after traveling for 10-16 months… Well, let’s just say they add up. We paid, and then started climbing the 1,350 stairs up. in flip flops. with a bum heel, still, because I have yet to reunite with my Nikes (currently awaiting my arrival in England).

Along the way up, we heard a North American accent judge us all for our choice of shoes. (Three of us were wearing flip flops.) I didn’t realize she was talking about us until Leanne laughed about it. Had I known she was talking about us, I would have talked in an equally loud voice so she could have easily overheard my conversation. I would have elaborated (loudly) about my sheer stupidity for keeping the wrong pair of ‘gym shoes’ (barefoot water shoes) instead of my Nike running shoes. And how if it were not for being over budget on my trip around the world, I would have gladly bought shoes that other judgmental tourists might approve of.

I love rooftops like these. Why can’t we have similar pretty tiled roofs in Kentucky? There’s so much more character to them than shingles!

Before Andrew and I got to the top (my heel tends to slow us down) Josh peeked his head out of an opening in the fortification from above, and waved, reminding Andrew of the Monty Python and the Holy Grail. They laughed and Josh admitted to channeling the movie.

On our way down, I introduced ‘Scenario’ to Josh and Leanne. ‘Scenario’ (in case I haven’t explained it before, or you’re new to the blog) is a game that my friend, Lindsay taught me where you give fun/funny scenarios instead of the usual “Say cheese!” before taking a picture. Josh’s first scenario: He just walked in on Andrew trying on my delicates in our shared apartment.

Josh wanted to practice giving a scenario. It was something along the lines of someone being extra smelly. I was pointing to Andrew.

Day 304: Montenegro, What country is that in?

Today was my sister’s birthday! (Yay! Happy Birthday Gina!) So, I of course, spent most of the day reminding myself to call her and NOT to forget. This can sometimes be a process. When we were in Korea, it was always easy to know what time I could call someone stateside. Now that we are jumping time zones so often, it can be difficult. There are at least four different times on my computer so I can keep track of what time it is where. I called. I missed her. She emailed. I called again.

“So where are you now?” She asked.

“Montenegro.” I told her.

“What country is that in?”

“It is the country.” I confirmed, relieved when she cracked up at herself.

“Oh! Well where is it?”

“You know how there is a sea on the right side of Italy ? (I explained, as if she were looking at a map) It’s on the other side of that sea, the Adriatic.”

“So above Greece?”

“Yea, above Greece.”

“Ok, I know where you are now.”

It seems as though Montenegro has been blowing up lately on the tourist circuit. Staying inside the walls of Kotor Stari Grad (Old City) we were getting used to the amount of tourists rolling in off of their giant cruise ship for the day, flooding the little city, walking around in big groups- too big to walk together through some of the narrow passageways. We decided to get out of dodge and headed up the coast to see some of the other smaller towns along the Bay of Kotor. First, we headed to Risan, the oldest settlement on the bay:

Risan was quiet and without any other tourists, which was a nice change. But there wasn’t much to do… Except, perhaps to see the Roman mosaics. They are ancient, and I get that, but I’m a bigger fan of the Ottoman mosaics myself.

In the middle of the bay, Our Lady of the Rocks Church sits on a man-made island of rocks and sunken ships full of rocks. The other islet holds the Saint George Benedictine monastery and apparently a cemetery for old nobility around Kotor Bay. We didn’t go to either, but instead admired from afar. We mostly walked along the seaside through Perast. It, too, was quiet. A few other tourists roamed the street, but not many, and even fewer people roamed the streets when it started raining.

Day 303: Overcoming the 10 Month Travel Slump

We woke up in beautiful Kotor, Montenegro. After driving through a buzzing Budva the night before, we were grateful we were staying down the coast inside the walls of a slightly smaller, and much less crowded version of Dubrovnik. After lucking out meeting Vladimir and Marija in Belgrade, and starting to break out of the ‘slump,’ both Andrew and I were looking forward to reuniting with our ‘Round the World’ travel buddies, Josh and Leanne. (We went on safari together in Tanzania, and then met up again in Turkey just in case you forgot.) Meeting up with friends while we’re traveling is one thing. Making new friends on our travels is another, wonderful thing. But meeting up with friends, who are also on a trip around the world, in country #3 is a whole new amazing ballgame. Because not only do we get to feel like we really do have friends, but we have friends who get it. Who get what it’s like to travel around the world. Who get that it’s amazing, but sometimes hard. Who get the 10 Month Travel Slump. Even when you wake up to a beautiful city in a brand new country that you can’t wait to explore.

We had a few (ok, many) heart to hearts. We agreed how strange it is to travel around the world but at times feel like we’re missing out on so much back ‘home.’ How annoying our schedules are and how much our diet changes. How wonderful a good salad can be. How we’re tired a LOT of the time. How annoying expensive countries are after traveling through particularly inexpensive ones. Leanne and I totally related to each other being absolutely sick of our clothes. You know that feeling when you open your closet (full of clothes) and groan how you have nothing to wear? Imagine only having a backpack. Uh… yea… I don’t think I’ll ever complain about a closet full of clothes again.

We laughed about how weekends can be the worst. No one emails us on the weekends. If we were home, and following a ‘normal’ schedule, we wouldn’t even notice, but while traveling, days of the week aren’t exactly kept track of. If I wake up to no new messages, chances are it’s a Saturday. We joked about when the best time to put a status up on Facebook is. Monday mornings. That’s when we’re most likely to get some love from everyone we miss talking to or seeing on a regular basis. We all agreed, probably no one reads our blogs, wondered why no one comments, and promised each other we would comment on each other’s just to make each other feel better. Maybe we shouldn’t be hurt when we don’t hear from close friends, but we sometimes are. This led to something of a debate whether or not we will have the same relationships we had when we left.

They gave us an unintentional pep talk (mostly just by understanding the slump) about the trip. They revealed they went through their own 10 month travel slump, but then they showed us why we’re all doing this crazy, amazing adventure, by a wonderful montage they made of their trip (so far). Andrew and I both watched it in awe, smiling and pointing out places we’ve also been, or asking if it was where we thought it was. I thought it was so amazing of them for doing the trip, and then I remembered ‘Oh yea, I’m doing that too!’ and suddenly everything felt possible and wonderful and I felt so grateful I was doing the exact same thing they were doing. It was a really incredible feeling to have realized I couldn’t say “Ohmigod, that’s awesome, I wish I was doing that!” because I already am doing it. WE are doing it, maybe a bit poorly lately (not being as enthusiastic about it as we should) but we’re doing it! And now that we’re well on our way of overcoming the 10 month travel slump, we’ll be back on top of the world in no time!

In case you’re trying to overcome your own ten month travel slump, or you’re curious how our wonderful friends, Josh and Leanne helped us get out of our’s, you can check out their video, here:

Meanwhile, in Kotor, there was an art festival for children going on. There were a few different art installations set up around the city. The giant hanging laundry outside of a church in the walled in old town was my favorite. Maybe I was just super excited that a washing machine came with the apartment the four of us rented and I didn’t have to wash anything by hand…

Day 301: an extra day in Belgrade

We decided to stay an extra day in Belgrade because we were slightly rained out the day before, and well, we loved our hosts. We probably could have done a lot more with an extra day in the city, but we enjoyed walking around and people watching, and then looked forward to dinner with Marija and Vladimir and then, bonus: Vladimir’s adorable brother. Andrew asked about what life was like during the war, a bit hesitant if it would be a touchy subject. Vladimir kinda laughed at us and said it was a bit of the elephant in the room and that they expected most couchsurfer guests to ask about it. It was interesting to hear how mostly, in Marija’s case, she remembered being bored at her Grandmother’s house outside of the city.The bombings were mostly spot on their government building targets that school would be canceled and… well in a very broad sense, that was it. They asked us what we thought about it, and didn’t judge me when I basically said I was preoccupied with high school,  learning how to drive, and didn’t know much about the situation. Sometimes I feel a bit silly, at how much of a bubble I have lived in (in America). I also continually wish I had paid more attention to my History classes and wish I had made it a point of keeping up on my current events more. Learning so much everyday on this trip is great, as long as you can ignore how much of an idiot you are for not already knowing (or remembering) it.

One of my favorite parts of our conversation was when we mentioned our plan to travel until Thanksgiving. Andrew asked if they knew about American Thanksgiving. Our new favorite Serbian friends promptly made fun of him for asking, insisting that they’ve seen Friends. I assured them that it’s tradition that someone must get the turkey stuck on their head every year. (wink wink) Vladimir’s brother thought for a minute and then agreed, he had seen it on Grey’s Anatomy.

As a former English teacher, and somewhat lazy language learner myself, it continues to amaze me how much English (and culture in some cases) others are able to pick up from American television shows. Then Andrew and I both admitted that so many Americans can be too lazy to watch foreign language films.

We were laughed at again.

“But, that’s how you watch a movie!” Marija or Vladimir exclaimed.

“Not in America… We remake the entire movie!” Andrew shook his head.

Day 300: Travel Angels in Belgrade

I’m not sure if Marija and Vladimir really exist. Because I’m pretty sure they were angels sent down by the travel gods to remind us why we are doing this epic trip around the world. I mean, obviously they are real people. They are real, wonderful, lovely, hospitable Serbians that were a breath (of very much needed) fresh air. We woke up to a home-cooked Serbian breakfast and more enjoyable conversation. So enjoyable in fact, that they lit’rally had to remind us that we were there to see their city, not to hang out in their apartment the entire time! And off we went, to walk around town and see the Belgrade Fortress.

We walked through the main street in town, enjoying the relaxed nature of the city. Granted, it was a Sunday, but it was so calm and enjoyable! People were out and about walking their dogs, playing with their kids, having coffee (or beer) with friends. It was lovely. Andrew and I agreed that it was the city (so far) in the Balkans that we would pick to live in. Nothing against the others, there was just a more gentle, relaxed vibe here that we both noticed immediately.

We headed to the Fortress and sat people watching most of the time. The weather was beautiful right up until we timed it perfectly to sit down and have a coffee. And, then it rained. We used the weather as a good excuse to look for new shorts for Andrew (ok, I’ll admit it, and to look at the sale prices in Zara for me) and then, when we couldn’t figure out where the movie theater was in town (to see if Despicable Me 2 was playing), we headed back to Marija and Vladimir’s.

If you missed Day 299, you should know that it was a rough day, nearing the end of a bit of a difficult month of travel. Not the month specifically, nor the wonderful places we visited, but more like the length of this trip hitting me hard. Staying with Marija and Vladimir could not have come at a better time. Whenever we tell people (especially Americans) unfamiliar with this network, they usually gape and question our level of crazy for showing up to a STRANGER’S(!) house in a foreign country to spend the night. We’re familiar with this response. Pretty much everyone who is on couchsurfing is also familiar with this response, and we all laugh about it together. But the truth is, we’ve had a really wonderful experience with it and staying with Marija and Vladimir is no different. We went out for dinner, and again, stayed up later than we (at least Andrew and myself) usually do chatting. We tried to express how grateful we were to have met them, but they shrugged it off, not taking us seriously at all. Later, I had to restrain myself from giving them a big (huge) hug goodnight.

I went to bed thinking not of how hard Month 10 has been, but how wonderful this opportunity (and MANY opportunities along the way) to meet them has been. Sometimes on this trip, our emotions get crazy. They swing back and forth from one extreme to the other, and I have to remind myself of that before I inform Andrew that I’m ready to jump ship. Or maybe, I have to remind myself to thank him for not taking me too seriously.

Day 299: Traveling around the world is no holiday

You know that feeling you get in the middle of winter (granted, that feeling you get when you live somewhere that gets cold for months on end) and you’re just not… happy. There’s nothing particularly bad going on in your life, it’s just… winter and chances are you’re lacking Vitamin D or something and you’re just a little sad and you feel a bit lethargic? That’s what Month 10 has been feeling like. Again, being sick – then Andrew waking up with similar sick-ish feelings – then finding out we got a speeding ticket in South Africa- then finding out Citibank has been charging me up to $20 for each ATM withdraw. It hasn’t been good. I’ve found myself all through Month 10 going through the motions of getting up, packing our bags, and walking around a new town following a strange, but somewhat set routine. I was going through the motions much like I used to do going into work everyday. Only, we’d be in a different country every couple of weeks (sometimes days) walking around so much beauty and history and learning so much more than I ever did going to the same job day after day. It made me stop and think. I wondered if continuing this epic trip really WAS worth it or not, especially if I was being so blasé about it. It sounds crazy, I know. Many people think traveling around the world is a never-ending vacation. It must always be easy and magical and awesome, right? But the truth is- it’s SO MUCH HARDER and more challenging than I thought it would be. And sometimes – quite simply – there are days like these. Traveling around the world is no holiday.

I debated quitting the trip. Really, I did. Instead of my goal to finish a children’s book about a girl from Kentucky going around the world- what if I were to rewrite The Little Engine that Could. Only, it would be The Little Engine that Couldn’t. I mean, who needs to achieve things? What’s wrong with QUITTING? I even wondered what the point of continuing this blog everyday was. The last time I posted about a bad day (in India, involving pushy tuk-tuk drivers) I got a somewhat negative comment that the reader didn’t appreciate my lack of optimism and excitement about this trip. I tried to explain I still was excited, but it was a bad day, and especially in India, bad days happen. I reminded myself that I am NOT a travel writer (even though I KNOW travel writers have bad days, too). I’m a photographer. an artist. I wanted to document this trip as it really is- as it really can be- not a blog that sugar coats travel, the challenges involved, you know… life.

I figured I would keep traveling, but continued to debate blogging about it. Maybe that one commenter was right, who wants to read about bad travel days? I tried to convince Andrew that no one really reads the blog anyway… But he didn’t buy it. He was all “You’ve done it for this long and you’re going to quit now?”

“Yep.” I responded, obviously letting my emotions get the best of me.

I lusted after a group of friends drinking coffee outside in a cafe and told Andrew, “I wish I had friends…”  He reminded me that I have them. I grumbled that it didn’t feel like it.

I checked my Instagram feed. Usually this makes me feel better. I cooed (Lit’rally, cooed) over an adorable baby picture that my friend posted. I nodded my head in agreement at one of the comments declaring adorable pictures like this one were making her baby crazy. And then narrowed my eyes when I saw that the new mom had urged her Instagram friend to “Do it” as in “Do it, have a baby.” Like it’s THAT easy. Sure, the picture makes me a little baby crazy too, and I’d like to have a baby, too- someday. But right now, I’m busy!

If you follow ME on Instagram, you’ll see just how busy I am, playing ‘Edward mug-hands’ in Bucharest. Visiting Dracula’s Castle just outside of Brasov. Photographing street art in Belgrade. And more recently roaming the streets of Montenegro and now, Croatia. I’m trying to tackle my dream of traveling around the world for one year, even if it includes trying to ignore the fact that I have a pending speeding ticket in South Africa. I have a pile of expensive American Citibank ATM fees that I haven’t had the chance to sit on a long distance phone call to the bank to take care of. I have worn the same five outfits for the past ten months. I haven’t slept in the same bed for more than three (ok, maaaaybe four) nights in a row. I can’t even go out for dinner without doing some kind of currency conversion to figure out if I can afford to eat at that particular restaurant or not. And now Instagram is telling me to “Do it, have a baby!”

As if Facebook wasn’t enough pressure, NOW Instagram, too?!?

This is my dream. This is my dream. To travel around the world for one year. I’m doing it. It’s really hard sometimes, but I can do it. 

I tried to remind myself over and over again.

Andrew could tell I wasn’t in a good place. He tried to remind me how many people might not be able to relate to our feelings on this trip and perhaps they have a different view of it entirely than we do- especially on our worst day.

I’m sure he was (is) right. He usually is (even if I don’t admit it to him).

I recently wished a friend (on Facebook, of course) ‘Happy Birthday’ I told him I hoped it was awesome.

He responded “Not as awesome as a year long vacation!”

I yelled at my ipod, “VACATION?!? YOU THINK THIS IS A VACATION? THIS ISN’T A VACATION!”

I told Andrew about it. He laughed. And agreed, but reminded me how much we’re going to miss it when it’s over. I sighed. Again, knowing how right he is. He went into his usual pep-talk about this trip and all that we have learned from it. About us, and what we’ve managed to survive together. About how bored we’re going to be days when we get back to ‘merica, but how we’ll appreciate it so much more because we haven’t had a home for so long and how we haven’t been surrounded by friends for so long and how we haven’t had a coffee shop or a bar where we can simply walk in and say “I’ll take the usual” and they’ll know what we’re talking about. And not because we both speak English, but because we saw them last week and the week before that, and we ordered the SAME thing!

I heard him out and eventually I tried to focus my attention on all of the positive of this trip, instead of the ten months without a home and the related feelings that were starting to suffocate me. I focused on the emails from my friends (and family) that DO stay in touch and tried to forget about the ones who really haven’t. I focused on those who have said “Thanks!” for postcards I have sent home. I focused on Andrew’s Dad (yes, you!) who I know appreciates reading this blog (even though I know he won’t like hearing how stressed I was on this particular day). He constantly tells Andrew how much he enjoys it, and that makes me want to continue working on it.

I reminded myself of the day we spent at Angkor Wat, the day we arrived in Kathmandu and got incredibly lost only to find our way again. I remembered paragliding over the Annapurna and then finding a hole in the wall Korean restaurant after. I remember seeing the Taj Mahal for the first time and it taking my breath away, and then a month later celebrating New Years Eve in the desert outside of Dubai. I thought of Petra, the Western Wall in Jerusalem, floating in the Dead Sea, meandering through the medinas in Morocco. Sub-saharan Africa and going on not one, but two safaris. Spending a day with the Masai. I thought of meeting up with fellow travelers in Istanbul, motorbiking around Santorini, and now jumping around the Balkan States on a whim (because it’s cheaper than jumping around Western Europe).

I thought of Andrew and how lucky I have been to share all of these amazing, wonderful, beautiful moments on this trip and told myself that this day, shall too, pass.

They always do.

I find sleep (and sometimes a beer and/or a good cheeseburger) and meeting wonderful people helps.

And that’s exactly what happened. We arrived in a rainy Belgrade (from Timisoara, Romania) well after dark, but were welcomed with open arms into our latest couchsurfer hosts’ abode. Before I could even continue thinking about how hard Month 10 has been, we were recounting all of our adventures to our new friends, Vladimir and Marija. They excitedly listened like we were all old friends and both Andrew and I became equally excited hearing about their upcoming trip to The United States. It was even a bit encouraging listening to their professional accomplishments, and hearing how awesome they thought WE were for taking a chance and doing this trip. We stayed up late talking and when we finally went to sleep, Andrew and I exchanged a smile that was so full of gratitude we didn’t quite know what to do with ourselves. Other than, of course, sleep a bit better than we have in awhile…

Day 298: Sibiu to Timișoara

I still wasn’t feeling super hot, but didn’t want to lose another day that could otherwise be spent feeling awesome in the future along the coast. So, we spent the day on an old European train from Sibiu to Timisoara. We got in towards the evening and after we dropped off our bags, Andrew refused to let me crawl in a bunk and go to sleep, insisting that eating would make me feel better. It did, kinda, and then I crawled into bed. Not before our hostel offered us free shots of Rakia. My stomach turned. My head throbbed a little more at the thought, but I smiled, said thanks, and encouraged Andrew to accept one while I snuck back into the dorm room. The sweet (super, super sweet) girl at the hostel then offered me tea instead, but a pillow and my yak-wool scarf were all I wanted.

Whenever we’re sick, or tired or frustrated with a day or the trip for some reason or another, one of us will ask the other, “Do you want to go home?”

We always say “No.”

Except, this time I responded, sadly “We don’t even have a home…”

It’s usually a joke. But the trip has started hitting me a little harder lately, and not feeling well certainly wasn’t helping matters. 

Day 296: FEERIC Fashion Day(s)

We almost didn’t make it out of Brasov. After waiting for the bus at the station for an hour, we were told we would have to go to the train station to catch it. We were too late. We looked for trains. Met a Romanian-Norwegian couple who were also trying to get to Sibiu and then we were all offered a ride by a fellow standing around the station. You’re probably cringing at the thought… Wondering who would get into a car with a STRANGER?! Well, the answer is: We would. And we safely arrived in the Sibiu around dinnertime and a late night fashion show. Turns out we arrived to Sibiu right smack in the middle of the FEERIC Fashion Days! According to All Hollow(.com): The fashion shows during the festival are famous for breaking the rules of  a conventional runway show by introducing scenography and choosing amazing backgrounds.

While the background was amazing, I was less than impressed with the line being shown. It was a line of evening wear. A lot of black evening wear. A Chinese girl staying at our hostel agreed and we wondered why the designer was a big deal… Nevertheless it was fun to duck out for a fashion show and pretend I wasn’t there in an outfit I’ve been wearing for the past ten months straight. (Good thing it was after dark.)

Day 295: “Dracula’s Castle” and more!

I say “Dracula’s Castle” like so, because, really it has absolutely nothing to do with “Dracula” (obviously a fictional character that’s *maybe* based off of Vlad the Impaler). Andrew was disappointed. I wasn’t exactly surprised. Basically, Bran Castle (as seen below from the inside) explained that the Irish author Bram Stoker *might* have visited the castle and it *may have* given him inspiration for the character, Dracula’s castle. Vlad the Impaler, whom Dracula is *said to have been based on* visited Bran Castle once. That’s it. There are a few rooms in the castle dedicated to the history of Dracula and Transylvania and basically the acknowledgement that Bran Castle really has little to do with the fictional story. It was a beautiful castle though, as was the view from Rasov Fortress and the grandeur of the Romanian summer palace, Peles Castle.

First stop: Rasnov Fortress! There really wasn’t much information given to us about the fortress, and it was crumbling down in many parts. But it provided a beautiful view of the city below. On our way in, a North American accent greeted us and asked us where we were from. He was sitting down, waiting for his family and heard us speaking English. (We were a mix of nationalities, hailing from America, Australia, Germany, New Zealand, Singapore…) He was from Kentucky. Ashland to be exact. I told him I was from the other end of the AA and he smiled really big. He spends half the year in Romania working as a missionary. I’m always intrigued by these folks we meet along the way, but try not to ask questions that may come across as confrontational. Instead, I wished him well and skipped ahead to catch up with Andrew (who usually can’t be bothered with us ‘Kentucky folk’).

When we were in the heart of the fortress looking out over the view, we overheard a couple of older women talking about the view. They were obviously the family (or friends) of the Kentuckian waiting at the entrance below. Their accents were a dead giveaway. The very same accent I’m accused of not having time and time again on this trip. Andrew nudged me and reminded me that I’m supposed to sound like them. I responded with a few words I probably shouldn’t type out online. I thought it was sweet that they made the comment that the mountains reminded them of those in West Virginia. I find it interesting how so much of the land reminds me of home. Or how some flowers, like cannas seem to grow EVERYWHERE. In Sofia, I smelled something wonderfully familiar. Some of the streets were lined with catalpa trees. The very same tree that grows at the bottom of my parents’ driveway. In Bucharest, it was lavender. Women sold bunches on the streets, reminding me of the summer I spent studying in Aix-en-Provence. Obviously, I’m on this trip around the world to see. the. world. But I find such beauty and grace in these details that remind me of another place that has wormed it’s way into my heart.

The Australian girl did seem to agree with this thought. I decided I didn’t need to befriend her then and there.

“Why would you travel half way around the world to think the mountains look the same as they do at your home?” She grumbled and might have made fun of their accent. I rolled my eyes and walked away, knowing I would have to spend the next six hours in her company. We ambled down the hill and bought some fresh raspberries along the way. Knowing the Australian wasn’t around, I told Andrew all about the raspberry patch at my parents’ house in Kentucky.

Second stop: Bran Castle aka, “Dracula’s Castle”. I was expecting something dark and dreary, it was anything but. It was beautiful and modern (at least compared to what I expected it to be) and airy and bright. The beautiful wood floors showed off the collection of Queen Mary’s furniture well. It was quite simply, a well maintained, picturesque museum inside this once inhabited castle. The balconies overlooking the courtyard were my favorite- even though they were quite low and I’m positive Andrew had a hard time walking through.

Third (and last) stop: Peles Castle. We weren’t allowed to take pictures inside without paying an exorbitant fee. As we were only going on a tour of the first floor, I figured I could go without taking photos during the thirty minute tour. The Castle was and still is the monarchy’s summer palace, although we were told it’s closed in November because that’s when the family comes to stay in the palace. It’s gorgeous and over the top decadent inside. There’s a huge receiving hall with a retractable colored glass ceiling. Two arms rooms. A library with a secret door leading up to the King’s bedroom. An arts room, a receiving hall, a dining hall with places laid out for more than thirty guests. It reminded me of the dining room in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. You know, minus the singing tea-cup. There was a parlor for smoking and even a small theater before we were told that our tour was over and only those who have paid to see the second level could remain.

On our way back to the hostel from our day trip to the castles, we approached a car in the middle of the road missing the bottom of the car on the passenger side. We were the first vehicle to arrive and immediately our driver got out to investigate. Had we been a few seconds earlier, who knows what would have happened to us and our own vehicle. This is what I thought of, especially after our bus accident in Tanzania. Thankfully, the driver was able to get out and walk around. Maybe only suffering a concussion. His passenger, an older woman, wasn’t so lucky. With the bottom of the car completely gone, her legs were stuck and she eventually had to be cut out of the car. Police and Emergency services responded roughly within ten minutes. (Which was positive to see after none had arrived on the scene of our accident in Tanzania, even after an hour’s time.) We were told later how accidents happen all the time in Romania, mostly due to young drivers and the robust interest in drag racing. It made me cringe talking about it the next day with a Romanian girl as we got into a car for a two hour drive to the next town.

Once back at our hostel, we went out for a Romanian dinner with the majority of our castle tour group. Australian included. In addition to her negative comments of the Americans earlier in the afternoon, our entire group managed to hear her life story more than once. She had a way of cornering you and talking… and talking… and talking some more. She also liked to ‘country-drop’ which I’m not a big fan of. At. All. During dinner, she complained about how someone she had met at a passport control was excited over the number of countries she/he had just hit visiting. The Australian complained, not understanding why someone would count the countries they’ve traveled to. And while I don’t understand this either, her sentiments didn’t seem to correspond to her unsolicited tales of her travels around the world that we had all heard multiple times throughout the day.

“You know what I don’t like? Country droppers. They. drive. me crazy.” I deadpanned, responding to her country-counter rant.

“What do you mean?” She asked, like she had no idea…

“You know, those people who just drop the places they’ve been or tell a story when it has absolutely nothing to do with the conversation at hand…” I trailed off, trying desperately to ignore my new German friend giggling, and my new American friend leaning back pointing his finger at the Australian as if I didn’t know what I was doing.

“Ohmigod! Who would do that?!” She asked. Completely annoyed at the thought. Genuinely so, without a clue I was hinting at her own actions.

“I don’t know… But it happens… And I just think a conversation should be a two way street. Especially when it comes to travel. You know what I mean? I don’t need to hear or overhear about EVERY country another person has been to…” I practically had to pinch myself from laughing because by now the German and American were losing it.

The Australian didn’t notice. She didn’t get it. And the conversation took a turn, she asked about our time in Korea, only to talk about how much she likes Korean food, completely disregarding our response. I started to feel sorry for her. For her complete unawareness. I’m a talker. But if nothing else, this trip has taught me the beauty of listening. A trait I’m now grateful for, because as soon as I think “Maybe I’m talking too much?” I shut my mouth. I ask a question. I stop talking and listen.

Day 294: Brasov

It was a rainy ride from Bucharest to Brasov in the afternoon. Fortunately it cleared up for our evening ‘Guided Brasov’ free walking tour!  I’m continually amazed with these free walking tours, and the wonderful guides that do them! Our guide, Andre was so fun to talk to, and I really loved the stories he told about some famous figures in Romanian history. Again, if there’s a free tour in a city you may be visiting, I’m fairly sure it will be better than any paid one with a bored (and boring) guide.

On top of the ‘Black Church’ Andre pointed out a statue of a little boy on the roof. The story goes that this little boy was so good at building, that the guy in charge got jealous and threw him off the roof. The boy’s friends made this statue of him before building was complete.

I also got a kick out of hearing a little bit about Elena Ceaușescu, the wife of the infamous Romanian dictator Nikolae. Apparently, she wanted the world to think highly of her, despite having very little education. So, she basically stole some physicists’ PhD work and passed it off as her own. When she was invited around the world to give talks on “her work” she would go, and speak in Romanian, about gibberish, bringing the real physicist along to “translate.” Since he knew what the project was actually about, he would be able to talk about it in great detail wowing scientists all over the world, yet they never knew it was really his work and not Elena Ceaușescu’s.

We made our way to a tower overlooking the town at the end of our tour. It had such a beautiful view of the old town.

I especially loved the orange tiled roofs and how you can see the many, many courtyards from above. I asked if many people live in the old town in Brasov, but Andre informed us that these houses are usually passed down through generations and it’s exceptionally expensive to not only purchase a house if you would want to, but to afford the bills (namely the heating) once you moved in. Most people live in the communist style block apartments on the edges of the city.

Day 293: Bucharest’s Old Town

Bucharest is hot. That kind of melty hot where all you want to do is sit and focus all of your energy on not being hot. Which is what we did, over lunch. And then over iced coffee. We walked around the Old Town, which was much quieter than it had been the previous two days (and especially nights). Bucharest was the surprise party town that I was not expecting and the picture below sums it up. Lots of Eastern Europeans here to have a good time. The Old Town was full of bars, sidewalk cafes and old crumbling buildings. Usually I really like juxtaposition. Seoul was full of it, but the juxtaposition in Bucharest featuring popped collars on the men and tight stone-washed jeans on the women weren’t my thing. We walked around until we were again, too hot to do anything other than sit down outside for a cold drink. or two.

One of my favorite sights we took in during our walk around town was this monastery. Stavropoleos Monastery is an Eastern Orthodox Monastery for nuns. I had no clue those even existed! Monasteries for nuns! It was tiny, but extraordinarily tall and featured “the quietest courtyard” in all of Bucharest. So they say… (It was quiet, and a little cool in the shade, which made us both happy as we tried not to give in and find somewhere in doors with air-conditioning.)

After we tore ourselves out from under the shade in the little courtyard, we meandered through the streets some more. Not many others were out- at least compared to how busy the streets were after dark in the previous evenings. Perhaps we were silly for being out in the heat. It appeared as though some people were living in some of these buildings. I’m not entirely sure how, or if it is even legal. The buildings are marked “historical” and on either side of these were cafes with outdoor seating and young and old tourists eating and drinking. It was an interesting mix of people. Gypsies roaming the streets and getting chased away from tables at the cafes. One more thing to add to the list of “things to look up”: Gypsies.

We walked by Revolution Square, past the museums, Caru’ cu Bere (the famous beer hall we went to for Andrew’s birthday), and a famous old hotel, some other ruins, and tried to pass the time until the free walking tour began at six. But, we couldn’t do it. We assured ourselves that the walking tour probably covered all of the same places we walked to on our own in the afternoon (minus the information, I’m sure) and grabbed dinner before heading back to our air-conditioned room. We passed this Russian inspired church on the way back, but it was closed, so we snapped a picture and went on our way.

Day 292: Cismigiu Gardens

I thought Romania was going to be a bit dark, somewhat run-down, and a little on the post Communist side. And then we walked through the Cismigiu Gardens. Now, parts of Bucharest ARE run-down and you can there’s evidence of the Communist block going on around the city- but this garden is like a breath of fresh air. We had to walk through it to get from our hostel to the old town. Not that either of us minded, at all. Even late at night, we debated walking around the park, but then saw how many people were still enjoying the gardens in the evening that it made more sense to walk through! There was also a folk festival going on throughout the weekend. Sometimes when we would walk through it would simply be little shops set up with traditional crafts, one time, it was a lively beer garden, and during our last stroll through, there were some traditional dances on stage, and off (if you count the gypsies on the sidewalk). 

Day 291: Andrew’s Birthday!

If you follow me on Instagram, or saw my feed (on the right) you might have seen the video above and the picture below already. I had my camera with me the entire day, but didn’t use it once. Instead, I ordered birthday beers and a Romanian feast for lunch. When we *accidentally* got four beers at one time, Andrew decided it was time to play ‘Edward Mug-hands’ and being as it was his birthday, I used my ‘mind-tape’ and obliged. The waitstaff (at least one) was thoroughly entertained by us both when we refused to let them take away the empty mugs.

“I’m sorry, I have to keep it.” I said apologetically to the waiter. “We are playing a game…” I shrugged.

“You are losing?” He laughed.

“I guess you could say so…” I responded, looking over at Andrew’s nearly finished two and my full one.

I debated what to write for this day. A post dedicated to the one I love, or something like that. I hemmed. I hawed. I typed. I erased. I thought about rhyming, and then I changed my mind. (As Andrew likes to drop a beat and make me emcee, this would only encourage him.) Finally, I asked myself, What would Mindy do? (If you don’t know Mindy… she would have answered quite simply: write a haiku!)

 This trip without you,

Just the thought makes me so sad.

Even when you smell. 

Day 290: Bulgaria to Romania

The train from Bulgaria to Romania, Veliko Tarnovo to Bucharest to be exact was old, on the empty side, and super warm. For the majority of the ride, we had an entire car to ourselves. It sounds nice, but it actually made me miss (a little bit) the trains overflowing with people and animals and something that was bound to surprise you.