Day 325: Mala Strana (part 1)

My old ‘hood: Mala Strana. In 2006, I knew I was lucky to live here (two blocks away from the end of Charles Bridge) and loved every second of it. The neighborhood was (and still is) spectacular (albeit a bit more touristy than I remembered). I walked home either over the infamous bridge or towards one of the more famous churches in town everyday. My roommates were great. Even the ten flights of stairs to climb up to our apartment were more than manageable! It is probably my most favorite place that I’ve ever lived. I missed it all as we walked thirty minutes from our hotel room through the old town towards ‘the little side’ that used to be right out my bedroom window, and front door. Andrew humored me, and insisted he enjoyed hearing me reminisce about my year in Prague. We’ll all just pretend he really meant it and wasn’t tired of my stories after awhile…

I insisted the Kafka Museum was cool. I told Andrew that I’ve been, but still have yet to read any Kafka, so perhaps I should wait to return until I’ve read at least one book to better appreciate the museum. He agreed, and instead we took a picture of the statues of men peeing on a pool of water in the shape of the Czech Republic before moving on. If you want to read about the sculptor, David Cerny, and see more of his pieces, I suggest you check out this article. I had no idea he was the one responsible for so many works throughout Prague! 

Marionettes are popular here, and not just chintzy ones either. While one of our walking tour guides didn’t seem to understand their popularity, a Czech friend of ours remembered shows being put on for children at one point. I love (LOVE) marionette shops and dream of one day having a theater and put on a show much like the one in "The Sound of Music."

These marionettes only ran around $400-$600. I totally would have gotten them… you know, if not for the old budget. Oh right, and the fact that I don’t have a theatre yet, or a house to put it in, or a job to pay for it all…

After a quick lunch and some more of Mala Strana, we plopped down and took a nap in the park.

We walked back towards the area of town sandwiched in between Narodni Divadlo (the national theater) and Narodni Trida (where the best fried cheese sandwich stand used to reside). Walking around this town was like riding a bike. Usually Andrew relies on google maps to get us around, but I wouldn’t even let him peek at his phone, insisting I would figure it out. I did, and it felt good. What didn’t feel so good- eating cold (and overpriced) wings at Jama!

This restaurant, Jama- used to be a block away from where I worked. It had really cheap food (salads and wings were my favorites) and really terrible waitresses. We would go for lunch and try to order tap water with our food, and the waitresses would always insist, “It’s not possible!” wanting us to buy overpriced bottled water instead.

We would always grumble “IT IS POSSIBLE, YOU’RE JUST NOT GOING TO DO IT!” to each other and then order a (cheaper than water) beer instead. A friend of mine who left Prague only a year or so ago warned me about the decline of Jama, but I had to see for myself. At least now I know.

Paying a visit to one of my favorite places, which has (for the most part) remained the same made up for it. Hello, Usudu, you old friend! What’s great- is that it’s still pure awesomeness walking down several flights of stairs through an old, dark wine cellar that has been converted into a bar. What’s not so great- we learned later on that it’s on a tourist pub crawl and if you don’t time it right, you’ll suddenly be surrounded by thirty or forty twenty year old Brit boys drinking Pilsners in Prague for the first time.

Day 324: DOX Museum & Letna Park

Andrew likes to introduce me to new television shows and films (especially of the foreign variety) while I like to introduce him to art. More like: he humors me when I say I would like to visit a contemporary art museum. I promised a beer garden after- perhaps this helped. I have to admit, I really enjoy contemporary art museums, much like I enjoy thrift stores. As we were walking through the DOX Contemporary Art Museum, it dawned on me that they can be quite similar experiences. Often, in a thrift or secondhand store, it’s filled with a lot of things you aren’t interested in. at. all. You may even walk out with nothing, feeling a bit disappointed. But when you do see something you like- or even love- it’s like a bit of a treasure and it makes up for having to sift through so much that you simply didn’t appreciate. I felt this way walking through the DOX today. I was on the fence about the Disabled by Normality exhibition until I saw the Isolabella film by Danica Dakic and fell in love with the concept. I think Andrew even liked it… although I’m pretty sure he enjoyed Letna Park, the views of Prague complimented by the old school hip hop blasting from the skateboard park, and the beer (of course) a little bit more. But, hey, it’s pretty hard to beat this view, so I don’t blame him.

The exhibition was interesting, we may have done it in an incorrect order (I can never understand why museums don’t use more arrows) but like I said above, by far, my favorite part was this super interesting short film made in Bosnia and Herzegovina by Danica Dakic. I’m pretty sure it was the best part of the entire (somewhat large) exhibition.

Within this post, there used to be a still I managed to take of the video, of one resident playing the piano with his mask on backwards. I had credited the photo as being a still from the video made by Dakic, and in no way was trying to infringe on copyright, but was contacted by another photographer, who didn’t state any relation to Dakic. This photographer was unhappy with how I inserted the still of Dakic’s video in this blog post. Not only was he unhappy, but I found his message to be super condescending. Frankly had he not been so condescending or perhaps explained his relationship to Dakic… moreover if Dakic himself had contacted me- I would have immediately taken steps to appease him by “appropriately crediting” Dakic, even though in my opinion, I already had. It’s unfortunate. Dakic’s website is so minimal, it does not even provide stills or clips of the video to link up to at least try to convey how lovely the film turned out. It’s photographers and artists like the one who contact me that make me cringe and frankly dislike being any part of the “art world.” If I was Dakic, I would be ashamed of having this other photographer speak on my behalf. Artists, moreover photographers (like the one who contacted me) don’t have to be rude and condescending.

Instead of providing a still that I took (of one of my favorite moments of the video), and a complimentary “about” the video that I loved, I just took it all down out of annoyance. It’s a shame that art can’t be spread around the world because of persons like the one who emailed me.

I also enjoyed Kamila Ženatá’s solo exhibition: The Women’s Yard. When we got to the last room, it was filled with hanging crystals and changing lights. It was quite beautiful, but I scared myself silly when I walked into the dark room and then saw someone sitting (working) in the corner. He laughed at me. a lot. And then let me take a few pictures, but they really don’t do the light in the room justice…

After the DOX, as promised, we headed to Letna. First stop: the metronome. There used to be a huge (HUGE) Stalin monument here, but it was removed and a few years later this giant metronome was put in its place as a symbol of the change over time. The shoes hanging from an electrical wire were new to me though (so within the past six years they’ve been added) and I loved them! There were even a pair of old ice-skates dangling from the wire. They made me a little nervous, I mean, wouldn’t that be just my luck they accidentally fell on top of me walking underneath them? We walked around the park, and then doubled back to have a couple of Pilsners in the gardens before heading “home.”

Day 323: The best nachos in the entire world are at Radost FX

Yup. I said it. The best nachos in the entire world are at Radost FX in Prague. But we’ll get to them later. Because before we were able to enjoy a plate full of heaven, we were forced to endure the opposite with what is now known between me and Andrew as the worst ‘free’ walking tour (mostly due to the terrible guide) in the entire world. It was so bad another couple unabashedly walked away halfway through, and both Andrew and I wanted to desperately do the same but felt too bad… Instead we decided to do what any other mature and responsible couple would do instead, we took mental notes on exactly what made her so bad so we could impersonate her later. The trick is to use a LOT of hand gestures.

I thought our day was going to be spectacular, having seen a full circle rainbow before the tour started. Sadly, the tour was so bad that I didn’t even realize I didn’t take any pictures until I went to blog about our day. At least there were nachos to look forward to. We headed straight to Radost and it was exactly as I remembered it, only without Ally, Alex, Tina, Talar, Jess, Joe, Laura… you get the idea… I love Andrew, but I missed my old Czech crew. Radost is more known as a club, I think, but it has a really great vegetarian menu and a really great brunch on the weekends.

Oh right, and Rihanna also filmed “Please Don’t Stop the Music” here:

UPDATE (as of 10/21/13): Discover Prague messaged a week after receiving my Trip Advisor review that they fired (yikes! not my intention at all!) the guide that led our free walking tour. Since then, Ashley (of Discover Prague) has stalked me on Trip Advisor and has sent multiple messages asking me to reconsider my low rating that I have given them. Obviously not always having time (hopping countries and continents on this trip) nor adequate internet access, I haven’t been able to respond to her messages. After three messages ending with “I won’t be messaging you again” I’ve decided not to change my review. If you do end up going on a Discover Prague tour and don’t like it, and give a poor review… Be prepared for some serious stalking. Not cool, Discover Prague, Not cool.

Day 322: Oh Prague, I’ve missed you so!

I wanted to get out of Bratislava so badly and into Prague that I convinced Andrew to wake up early so we could leave on the first train. We were walking towards Old Town Square by late afternoon and even though we planned on going out for dinner and then heading back to get some much needed sleep, I ended up giving Andrew an impromptu tour/trip down memory lane from my year of living and working in this lovely city! We had Czech food at an old haunt of mine near Mustek, walked through Old Town Square and over Charles Bridge, and had ice cream on the square outside of my old apartment. We walked the back streets of Narodni Trida around more of my old favorite places, mourned the missing smažený sýr stand at the now closed metro stop before we snuck into the back offices in the building I used to work in not to visit my old employers, but to ride the magical (old-fashioned) elevator.

I stopped myself from taking pictures of the square thinking surely, we’d be back through many (many many) times in the next week to come. I was more interested in photographing my old apartment building for my old roomies. Tina was afraid that a Starbucks had taken over the first floor of our building. Luckily, Starbucks moved in across the street instead and our building looked very much the same with the tourist restaurants and jewelry shops below. It’s only a couple blocks away from the end of Charles Bridge. It was my most favorite place I’ve ever lived. We’d walk across the bridge late after a night out, or I’d walk down the tram street just to admire the view of the lit up St. Nicholas Church. It was magical every time.

This is where I mourned my favorite smažený sýr stand. Smažený sýr is fried cheese in Czech. At this particular stand, it was served on a bun with massive amounts of tartar sauce. I gained at least twenty pounds living in Prague for the year, and fully intend on the same happening during our visit this week. Riding the magical elevator (below) made up (just a teensy bit) for the missing fried cheese. It might not look like much, but it’s this incredibly old school elevator that you have to hop on and off of. It’s pretty awesome and might have been one of the best things about working there.

Day 321: Bratislava; the angsty middle child of Eastern Europe

Oh Bratislava, I know it’s unfair that you’re smack in the middle of Budapest, Vienna, and Prague, and they are all sooo awesome, and you’re… well, Bratislava. Despite being a lovely little town, on three hours of sleep, I was less than impressed. Maybe another free walking tour wasn’t the best idea after a restless night, but I was not having the city tax, nor the $20 dorm bunk, nor the overly nationalistic tour guide. I’m all for tour guides bragging about their city, their country, but I trust the guide more if she or he throws in some good jokes in at their own expense on top of the twenty reasons their city and country is better than someone else’s! Having exhausted the city before lunch, we made our way to the mall for popcorn and a really rather terrible movie. I was excited. Andrew was excited. Suddenly we liked Bratislava a little bit more!

The walking tour went through the old town, with history lessons covering the possession of the city, witch hunts, and communism of course! Again, there was more talking than walking at times, but it was interesting. As tired as we both were, I was still glad we did it.

The Church of St. Elizabeth (nice name, right?) is a Catholic Church that’s also known as ‘the blue church.’ We were told it’s the most famous church to get married in and has a year waiting list. One year didn’t seem so long to me…

This was the only street art that I saw in Bratislava. I thought it was fairly accurate.

Outside of Eurovea (the mall) we spotted this grand statue, unfortunately I have no idea what it is commemorating. Inside the mall, I was smitten with the sculptures that were scattered throughout the mall. It was a glimpse into a circus performance at every turn.

Day 320: Bratislava has a city tax?!

Another day, another train. This time to Bratislava. In all of my travels around Europe, I’ve always skipped Bratislava for reasons I can’t really name. Perhaps it was horror stories of gypsies on trains. Perhaps it was that after living in Prague, I simply didn’t feel the need to visit. Maybe it’s because there really isn’t a whole lot there. Or, it could be the €1.65 per person, per night Bratislava city tax on its visitors. Yep. You have to pay to play up in this medieval town. I wasn’t pleased, but hoped the our visit would be worth it. We walked around town, had dinner. I enjoyed photographing some Communist bloc style buildings and then it quickly turned into one of those nights where I needed to crash early.

I was elated when we returned to our hostel room and two other girls in our room were already in bed as well. I was NOT elated when I woke up to other guests partying on the patio just below and outside of our room around four in the morning. I usually enjoy hostels, they’re a great way to meet people, especially when traveling as a couple, and sometimes they can be nicer than a hotel room elsewhere. But I had a big “I’m too old for this sh*t” moment as I lay in my bottom bunk bed willing the young drunk backpackers outside our window to go. to. bed.

Day 319: Szechenyi Baths

It was recommended that we ride the tram along the river to see the city. Those who recommended it to us must not have known that half of the ride was closed due to construction. It was a pretty uneventful ride, and we both wished we had skipped it. By the time we doubled back to get tickets (from the nearest metro station) and got on the tram one way, circled back around, and then stopped… we both looked at each other like, “Seriously?” and got off to see the memorial along the Danube to those who were shot by the ArrowCross militiamen between 1944 and 1945. Then we made our way across town to Heroes’ Square and The Szechenyi Bath House.

En route to the tram, I stopped in St. Stephen’s Basilica to check out the interior. We had been outside of the church several times, but never in. It’s huge. There’s a lot of history behind the church, mostly (obviously) revolving around St. Stephen himself. I enjoyed sitting, watching others visit the church, and I took a picture for Andrew for a little game we sometimes play called “Korean or Not?” I’ve played various versions of this game before, “Hot or Not?” (Right, Shannon?) and “Art Student or Not?” when I was in art school, of course… But now, we play “Korean or Not?” judging clothing styles (any couples outfit is a dead giveaway) mostly. Girls wearing heels in Korea for absolutely everything wasn’t surprising, but I’m continually impressed when I see tourists wearing them knowing that they’re out and about all. day. long. in them. I had to chuckle to myself when the girl below instinctively put her sunglasses on for a picture inside a church, in front of the altar. Ha! Silly tourists and their picture-taking ways.

You can probably tell I’ve become increasingly amused watching my fellow tourists take pictures of themselves in front of church altars, in national parks, or in front of world monuments… On the flip side, I’ve become really appalled at what lengths some tourists will go to take a picture. Here, at this memorial to those killed by the ArrowCross party, some tourists were putting their feet inside the shoes and photographing themselves. I wanted to ask if they knew what they were doing, but walked away before I accidentally pushed one of them into the Danube instead.

The walk to Heroes’ Square and Szechenyi Baths was a bit of a long one, and we had to take a break and sit for a minute to give my bum heel a rest… but then slipping into the heated outdoor pool was worth the hike. I don’t think I’d consider this bath house to be that in the traditional Turkish style. It felt more like a public heated pool, with lots of indoor pools with it. I’m obviously very biased towards Korean bath houses where I’m in my birthday suit while an older Korean woman gets too close for others’ comfort to scrub me down… But I enjoyed the bath house in Istanbul, and I’ve enjoyed another bath house in Budapest before, that was in line with more of the traditional Turkish style.

We stayed outdoors, alternating between the hot and cold baths perhaps a bit too long, unaware of the extent of indoor baths there were. By the time we went indoors, we were both pretty pruney, so we didn’t stay long. Also, some of the baths had an unfortunate greenish/yellowish glow that made us both a little uncomfortable. I’m sure it was just the lighting, but as soon as Andrew cracked a joke about it, I wasn’t as keen on sitting in the pool. There were a few bluish hued pools that we skipped over to before we headed out.

Day 318: Budapest’s Great Market Hall & Thrift Store Spotting

The last time I was in Budapest, let alone in the Great Market Hall, it was without a currency converter accessible on my i-pod. I’m pretty sure I spent about $50.00 on a handmade Hungarian embroidered doily. Seriously. I remember getting back to Prague and doing the math, freaking out over how much I spent on A DOILY, and then promptly decided I shall enjoy the sh*t out of that doily.

It’s currently in a box in my parents’ house in Kentucky. I don’t think Andrew believed me, until he figured out the currency conversion of the long pieces of embroidery work on display on the second floor of the Great Market Hall.

“That’s $600.00?” He looked at me incredulously.

“Yep. Now you see how mine could have cost $50.00? Aren’t you glad I already got that out of the way? Now we don’t have to stop, because I already have one!” I tried to concentrate on the excitement of this thought, rather than the embarrassment over my rookie souvenir purchase.

The first floor, when you walk into the market has a lot of meat or fruit and vegetable stands. Some have spices including touristy souvenir spice sets. There are a few flower and newspaper stalls off to the sides.

We read in Lonely Planet not to miss out on the basement- something that I had missed out on before (when I was too busy negotiating a “good price” for my doily). We went down, but only found a few pickle shops. We did get some really tasty cheese stuffed peppers though!

The woman behind the pickle counter thought it was funny when we only asked for six stuffed peppers. I don’t think she gets many tourists as customers… She humored us though and we walked away with a little bag of peppers and an equally little bag of pickles to have for later.

One thing I regret is arriving to the market hall absolutely not hungry at all. For some really strange reason, we’ve been having a really hard time finding an authentic Hungarian restaurant to dine in! We’ve eaten Thai, Mexican, chicken wings, take-away slices of pizza… but the only Hungarian restaurants we saw were in the expensive touristy area near the river. Where were the small (and dirty) Hungarian holes in the wall that served excellent goulash and cheap langos?

The answer: The Great Market Hall.

If you have the chance, go when you’re hungry and walk around a little bit, but make a beeline for the food stalls on the second floor. They all looked wonderful!

One of Andrew’s favorite things about traveling around the world with me is when we roll into a city I’ve already been to and I have to find a specific restaurant or store or food stand that may or may not still be in existence. Half the time, this is NOT Andrew’s favorite thing. Sure, it’s great, when the bahn mi stand IS in fact still on the corner of the same hostel and serves Andrew an amazing sandwich… But when we’re in the middle of Budapest walking up and down streets looking for a bar I just can’t remember the name of, it’s a different story. (I just read this out loud to him and he insisted he didn’t mind, but it’s obvious, he’s just trying to be nice.)

“It has red walls… I thought it was called “Castro” or maybe “Cuba” or something like that… But it was sooo cooool!” I tried to remember and then stopped in front of another street insisting that we walk down. We walked past this place below. I wasn’t sure, but we stopped to have a drink anyway. I have a picture of ‘the cool bar’ in Kentucky. We’ll compare upon our return.

We wandered back towards our place afterwards, but not before I dragged Andrew into a pretty awesome thrift/vintage/independent designer boutique, Retrock on our way home. I loved it. I loved the store displays. I loved the selection. I loved that the dude behind the counter said “Sure” when I asked if I could take some photographs, and then loved it even more when he seemed to appreciate receiving my card so he could see my photos. I would have spent a small fortune on freshly designed cropped t-shirts and vintage leather bags if it wasn’t for this trip around the world. Although this store has been excellently curated, it’s not exactly the Eastern European thrift store for those traveling around the world (on a budget no less).

While searching the web to link up Retrock, I stumbled upon some possibly helpful thrift store listings in Budapest, in case you’re interested. I wish I would have done this while we were there and spent the day combing thrift stores!!! So for next time, I’ll remember to check out “How to and Where to Thrift-Store-Hop in Budapest” (although, to be fair, I did stop in Second Chance –1061 Budapest, Király Str. 28.- and I was not impressed with their selection. When I was there, it felt like a lot of racks full of 90s clothes without the occasional super good find from the 60s or 70s if you know what I mean…

I also found this map of thrift stores and a list of The best vintage shops in Budapest. Next time, I’ll spend a day cross-referencing the map and list and my own finds and see what I can come up with, unless of course someone else gets to Budapest and scouring the city’s best thrift and vintage stores before me! Let’s hope they share their list with me!

Day 317: Ruin Pub Hopping

You’re probably super impressed with our efforts to learn more about fascism and communism and what life was really like in Budapest during those times… How we spent an afternoon in the House of Terror and went on not one, but two three-hour walking tours in the past two days… After spending a week in Bosnia and Herzegovina trying to wrap our heads around the Balkans and the Bosnian War. Well, get ready to be equally impressed with our mission to check out as many ruin pubs as we could in one day.

It’s a day of drinking, folks!

In abandoned Hungarian buildings in the Jewish district of Budapest that have been transformed into what is arguably one of the coolest drinking scenes around the world. Yep. I said it: around the world. A few months ago, Al Jazeera published this pretty good read about the ruin pubs, and if you want even more information, a list of ruin pubs, a map, or even drinking coupons; then go here. (We totally should have gotten the coupon book when we first arrived to Budapest, if you like beer, or just hanging out in cool places, you should probably invest in one!)

So we got up and had breakfast… Andrew did some travel research, I blogged, and then we decided at around two in the afternoon, we could probably make our way to our first ruin pub of the day… I have to admit, we checked this out the other night after our tour and I loved it. But I wanted to take more pictures and figured it was a good excuse to return.

First stop: Szimpla, the original (and oldest) ruin pub. It was built, or transformed I should say in 2001. Even though I was here last in late 2006 (or maybe it was early 2007?) I don’t remember any ruin pubs being popular. We went out, and I remember the few places we went being very (VERY) cool- but not ‘ruin pub cool.’ According to Lonely Planet, it’s the third best bar in the world (in 2012). It’s kinda like that feeling you get of being ‘home’ when you’re drinking on a patio in Chicago, only edgier because you’re in an abandoned building surrounded by eclectic retro decorations and art installations and oh right, carrot vendors. One night we even walked past one guy performing a magic trick (which we read is a scam, so be careful!) while two fratty looking boys smoked shisha as they watched. I loved it. It’s laid back. It’s unpretentious. It’s just… cool. You can walk in as a tourist and take pictures before you sit down for a beer or you can meet your friends and film an Indian drum music video. We saw both. Simultaneously.

Yep, that’s a car in the middle of the garden. The interior had been redecorated. I was hoping it would have comfy old cushioned vinyl seats, but they had been replaced with a more outdoor appropriate bench. Although empty in the middle of the afternoon, I found the random rooms off to the side of the main entrance area just as interesting as the garden out back!

Carrots for sale? Yes, please! It’s very hard to turn down a fresh carrot. We actually went back another night and I was really sad there weren’t any carrot vendors walking around… I should mention too, that when we went back (on a Friday night) it was PACKED. There were security guards. There were groups of stag parties. There were locals expertly weaving their way through the crowd. Andrew and I didn’t even try to squeeze into the garden area and instead sat on an unclaimed bench in the main entrance area and people watched for at least two solid hours. It was awesome.

I guess some would say that the best part(s) of the Jewish Quarter are the ruin pubs that are scattered throughout. Obviously, we enjoyed them immensely. The beer was good. The atmosphere at each was pretty unique. There were a lot of international food choices in or near the ruin pubs… The list goes on. But one of my favorite parts was walking to and from each pub. The street art, the architecture, even the dilapidated buildings were fun to pass by, and of course stop and photograph.

Not far from Szimpla, is Koleves Kert (our second stop). It’s nice. In the afternoon, it was calm and quiet, but when we walked by on Friday night, it was bumpin’. I might go on a limb to say that this was the least, perhaps, unique kert. I love being in a garden, but as far as enjoying it because it’s a garden in Budapest, I don’t know if it’s worth it. The bathrooms were really nice though! I especially liked the rear-view mirrors in lieu of the more traditional type above the sink.

Directly across the street from Koleves, is Ellátó, garden and taqueria. Our third stop had a lot more character than Koleves (sorry, Koleves) but not as much as Szimpla or Fogas and the tacos are crazy small. Seriously. Crazy. Small. (There’s another taqueria next to Szimpla, so go there to get your fix.) It was still fairly early in the evening (ahem, afternoon) so maybe it’s more fun when there are more people around, but I wasn’t feeling it…

I thought perhaps we just haven’t seen a taco in awhile, and maybe sizes have shrunk… But even on the back of the door in the ladies room, one girl scrawled “THE TACOS ARE TOO SMALL!” and I wished I had my own Sharpie to scrawl “AMEN!”

Fourth stop, Fogas. Probably my second favorite ruin pub. They have chicken wings, people. How can any pub go wrong when there are cheap chicken wings available? It, like Szimpla has a lot of different rooms although, my favorite was the main garden mostly for the giant circus like ceiling.

We retraced our steps a bit for our fifth stop, Kuplung.

It looks super pretty with all of the jellyfish lamps hanging over the garden area. Had we known it was going to fill to capacity in the garden, perhaps we would have stopped in earlier instead of skipping over to Fogas. Because, instead of sitting outside and enjoying the ambiance of the garden, we had to sit inside.

And it was awful. Stop, if you can sit outside… skip it if you can’t. It’s advertised that there is dancing late night though, so maybe that’s worth it as well!

Sixth stop, Anker’t, the trendiest of trendy ruin pubs. Moby-esque music plays in the background. Wood beams and corrugated steel glow under both stark neon and soft paper lamps. The burgers looked ah-mazing. But I wasn’t hungry (after wings at Fogas, remember?) and sadly declined when Andrew asked if I wanted to order one. Every table was full, and often chairs were taken from tables of two. I’m curious what this place would be like really late. Would it stay the same amount of trendy? Would it get crazy? Go find out and tell me.

Seventh stop, Most. It was right around the corner from our apartment. It’s not on the ‘ruin pub website’ rather it’s one of their ‘recommended’ bars. It felt more like a restaurant than a ruin pub. I mean, it was a restaurant, and I think our waiter was disappointed we only ordered drinks in the garden. If you want Hungarian food (albeit a bit overpriced) go here. Perhaps the wine (bor) is great if they have an entire bar set up for it. But just to have a beer… nah…

To be fair, we also went to Instant on two other nights. Perhaps you’ll stop here at the end of one of your walking tours (we did on the Communist one). It was also right around the corner from our apartment and I was shocked to see a line down the block at around 11 one Friday. It felt a lot like Szimpla, only not as cool. The inside ‘garden’ had a retractable glass ceiling that was closed both nights we went in. It’s big. There are lots of different rooms, but it just felt like it was trying too hard. It was more on the ‘weird art’ style of things than the ‘retro cool’ that I like. If you’re into things like a herd of rabbits suspended from the ceiling, or photoshopped ‘family’ portraits, or even a very creepy mental-institution-like bathroom on display, then knock yourself out, otherwise stick to Szimpla or try somewhere new!

Day 316: What is this ‘House of Terror’?

The House of Terror was once the headquarters of the Arrow Cross Secret Police in Budapest. Many were interrogated and tortured within its walls. A plaque alongside many pictures on the outside of the building reads in part: ‘We cannot forget the horror of terror, and the victims will always be remembered’. In 2002, the building was transformed into a museum with incredibly well designed (some being interactive) exhibitions that often double as what feels like a modern art display. The museum follows the fascist and Stalinist times as well as the years after WWII leading up to the 1956 Uprising. It’s a LOT of information. So much information is not only in front of you, but print-outs are distributed in nearly every room. It started to feel like an intensive history class after awhile, but in a really great way (even if it was information overload). Because we’re gluttons for history lessons and free walking tours, we decided to spend the afternoon on the Free Communist Walking Tour.

The outside of the building was modified to set it apart from the rest on the street. I thought the move was interesting especially considering that originally the building was chosen to be the communist regime’s headquarters because it blended in so well with the other buildings. So much torture was going on right under everyone’s noses.

The museum also acts as a memorial to those who have died in the building, as you can see by the pictures behind the giant tank stationed in the middle of the closed courtyard. I remembered the tank to be dripping a lot more oil than it was today. I’m not sure if I’m misremembering or not. The flowing and oozing oil had a much different effect than the slightly dusty tank you see today. Unfortunately, photos weren’t allowed within the actual exhibition rooms. It’s a really impressive museum, and makes fascism and communism incredibly visually appealing. My favorite was the brightly lit communist propaganda wallpapered room. I LOVE communist propaganda posters. I’m fascinated by them and have a small collection. I wonder if they would share that wallpaper with me. My communist themed bathroom needs it.

The Free Communist Walking Tour was rather interesting, even if it involved more talking than walking… We both liked this guide a lot more than the one we had yesterday though, so that helped quite a bit. We walked through the same park (with the locked up love and skateboarders) and sat down to hear about what communism was like in Hungary. Our guide told us a story about how bananas were only available during Christmastime, but how her friend’s family was overwhelmed when they were in Austria for a vacation in the summertime and saw bananas everywhere! They were so excited that they bought some obscene amount of kilos of bananas to bring back into the country. Officials at the border obviously wouldn’t allow bananas to enter Hungary in the middle of summer, and our guide’s friend’s family didn’t want all of their precious bananas to go to waste… So they sat at the border and each ate 2 kilos or so of bananas before they returned home. Our guide said her friend hasn’t been able to look at, let alone eat bananas since.

I learned that the communist styled block buildings were initially created in Sweden to alleviate a short term housing crisis. In Sweden, these compact apartment buildings were made, used for a couple of months, and then destroyed. Our guide pointed a few out and talked about how many families were crammed into one apartment building. Living-rooms were non-existent because authorities didn’t want people to have any opportunity to meet in private. There was no privacy. She joked around how everyone could hear everything from neighbors fighting to… making up. Andrew and I nodded, from experience, as we can hear everything next door in our little loft/studio apartment we’re renting.

We walked by a bomb shelter. That’s a close up above, and a wider view of the cover/entrance below. Unfortunately, we missed a lot of the explanation because Andrew let our entire tour fill up their water bottles before he filled up ours. One girl on the tour smiled at me waiting for him halfway between stops on the tour so he would know where to go when he caught up.

“Your man is a good one… I saw him let everyone go before him even though he was the first one there.” She said.

“I know… He does this kind of thing all the time…” I rolled my eyes and smiled. We chatted in between stops and later when I told Andrew I had to say goodbye to my new friend, he looked at me funny, wondering when I had the chance to make a new friend.

We stopped outside the former national television station. Rent is too high these days for the station to remain in downtown Budapest. When the station would broadcast old James Bond movies, the villains weren’t Russian, they were Chinese. Everyone laughed. When talent shows were on, instead of calling in to vote for your favorite performance, viewers would turn their lights on or off depending on what they liked. If I remember correctly, kids weren’t big fans of the emerging hip-hop and would sneak down into the basements of their buildings and flip the electrical breakers off, voting for an entire building or possibly block of housing units.

This monument of the 'man on the bridge' is dedicated to the progress towards democracy, which is why the statue is facing the parliament buildings in the background.

Day 315: Budapest Free Walking Tour

Our first day in Budapest! Guess what we did? A free walking tour, of course! Now, I’ll admit it, this is not my first time in Buda(and)Pest… Did you know they once were two cities, one on each side of the Danube? It’s true! My first time in town was with ten of my closest friends from Prague (during the year I lived there) for a weekend away. It was in the middle of winter, about six years ago. Before the days of free walking tours and ruin pubs. So, I felt like I had just as much to see as Andrew. As always a ‘free walking tour’ is only as good as your guide and the others on the tour with you. Both were fairly ‘meh’ but the tour gave us a better understanding of the layout of the city, and the tour company provided a pamphlet of additional things to do, see, eat, and drink in town which made up for the ‘meh-ness.’

We started our tour in front of this statue (above) and I was somewhat intrigued when we were told it’s actually a girl AND it’s a communist statue. Usually communist statues are BIG and commanding and without facial expressions, this defied every communist statue I had ever seen before. It also made me wonder at what point she was put here, because there were a few statues scattered along the riverside that I had not remembered on my first visit. Walking through a small park with a ferris wheel and fountain, more locks were on display. Again, this was not a thing the last time I visited. When did ‘locking up your love’ become a thing? It’s everywhere these days. It started at some point during our time in Korea because that’s when I first noticed it… But I’m surprised at how many cities around the world we’ve seen it in! Andrew refuses to lock up our love. He did raise his hand when asked Who was in love though, so I guess that’s something… 

The best part about walking through Budapest is looking up. Always. Look. Up. You never know what kind of beautiful architecture you’re going to see or at least some interesting juxtaposition between the beautiful architecture and the communist block housing type structures.

This guy was pretty good. He made slack-lining look so easy!

This view is a gorgeous one and much warmer to admire in the middle of summer! 

We made our way over to the Fisherman’s Bastion, one of the sights that has been atop the hill on the Buda side of the city for quite some time. I had visited it with my friends, but it was dark and quiet. There weren’t any other tourists around and it was quite magical. This time around wasn’t the same, there were so many milling about, and it seemed as though some construction had been completed giving parts of the Bastion a Disney-like amusement park feel. I was even more disappointed when I saw the best part of the Bastion (a row of beautiful arches) had been roped off for a restaurant, taking away any possibility of a decent photo opportunity. 

I settled for a picture of this dude on his horse instead. And the view, well, the view was still lovely. 

On our way back through the same park (with the locks above) towards the ruin pubs (more on the ruin pubs later!) we saw the somewhat small skate park had been transformed into an event drawing lots of onlookers. We stopped to see what was going on, and then snuck in closer to see if these skaters were any good. I’m not into skating, but I can appreciate the sense of creativity and expression that goes with it, I’m also down for some good shots of dudes in the air. I guess these guys are somewhat well known or possibly famous? because the crowd was pretty big and there were lots of people taking their picture with some of the skaters. Andrew found this video online that was made about the event:

I was impressed (and jealous) that they had a video up the day after. And then I remembered that they had at least four different videographers and an army of others working together to make it happen.

I was able to sneak in between and below a few people to sit right by the edge of the ramp they were all coming down. It made for some good angles. This dude above kept trying to spin around on the ledge though and his skateboard kept shooting out from under him. One of those times the skateboard shot directly at me and hit me in the arm. I wasn’t phased, I mean, I was the one who decided to sit there while he was doing his thing, right? He came over to get his board and said apologized to me, something he didn’t have to do at all, but I appreciated. I told him not to worry about it, and then he looked back and told me that I should ‘Be Careful’ in a tone that kinda threw me off a bit. It was like he gave me a once over and decided I wasn’t a skateboarder, therefore I didn’t know what I was doing sitting in the front row taking some pictures.

“Why did he tell me to be careful? Can he not tell I am in my THIRTIES?” I ranted to Andrew.

“Since when are you in your thirties?” Andrew asked, teasing me.

“Since now. Thirty counts as being in my thirties. You don’t tell people in their thirties to be careful! I’m pretty sure I know what I’m doing when it comes to endangering me and/or my camera. I do it all the time.” I continued my rant.

“Exactly what ages is it not ok to tell you to be careful?” Andrew asked, simultaneously teasing and humoring me. (He does this all the time)

“Well, obviously thirty. Unless you’re out with your friends and one of them has had too much to drink and she’s hanging out with someone dirty.” I pondered out loud.

“Right. Obviously.” Andrew responded.

“Until maybe seventy… I don’t know though, ask me when I turn seventy if I want people telling me to be careful or not.” I concluded.

Day 314: Budapest, here we come!

We should have stayed in Zagreb to see the sites. I even have a friend living in the city, but thanks to our magnificent timing (as always) she was out of town for the day. With the hostel prices so high (Seriously, Fancy Hostel, you charge extra for coffee in the morning?) and both of us anxious to get to Budapest, we hopped on one of the first trains out of town and arrived in Budapest late in the afternoon. We were excited to get to the little apartment we rented out for our stay, but that enthusiasm quickly vanished when we found ourselves locked in the courtyard of a building that had signs up for the hostel/guesthouse office but no one indoors to take us to our apartment. This would have been a lot funnier had I not needed to go to the bathroom. We knocked on doors. We tried to break into the locked wi-fi networks. We finally found a nice neighbor to call another neighbor to call the guy we needed to talk to. We were in the wrong location, and had to walk a few blocks, take a tram, walk a few more blocks to get to the right location. Halfway there, we discovered the tram wasn’t running. We weren’t even surprised and hopped on a bus hoping not to get caught without a ticket. We made it, and even better, found a Thai restaurant around the corner from our place and promptly splurged on dinner.

What’s with the plastic cups in the window you might wonder? It was around the corner from our place and I was so impressed with the creativity in these window displays. It’s not the greatest shot (with the reflection and all) but I wanted to share and remember it for later. I told Andrew that I needed cheap decorating tips for our future American home. Don’t be surprised when you come to visit if our apartment is covered in plastic cups…

Day 313: We’re going to Zagreb?

This was not a part of the plan. Sarajevo was closer to Budapest… And Budapest was THE plan. Little did we know, there were no direct trains nor buses between the two, despite it being a quick (six hour) drive… I suggested we hitchhike. Andrew brushed the idea off. Instead, we had to spend an entire day on a train to Zagreb, and then another simply to get to Budapest. I wasn’t happy. Andrew wasn’t happy. When we saw the prices for even just a hostel bed in Zagreb (after not hearing from any couchsurfers) we were practically dreading the detour.

The silver lining (after nearly missing our train out of Sarajevo waiting for the tram to the station) was that we scored our own cabin and I was able to recline the seats into a bed and sleep for the majority of the ride. I slept so much that when I woke up, Andrew questioned if I was feeling ok.

Another silver lining, is that when we were given the wrong tram information in Zagreb, and ended up having to walk several blocks to our hostel, Andrew carried my big backpack for me. He always does. He won’t even let me carry it anymore, and instead gives me his smaller backpack in it’s place. Sometimes though, I’ll trick him and I’ll get to both big backpacks first. This doesn’t happen often though, because he has this whole height/long leg advantage over me.

Whenever other couples see him with both big backpacks, the men roll their eyes and I have this feeling that they give me the once over thinking I must be sooo high maintenance. But then they usually see me schlepping behind with our smaller backpacks, a bag full of snacks (now including coffee and toilet paper) and my Nepalese yak wool scarf under one arm while I try to balance my camera in the other for either a picture or some video… Then they don’t know what to think. The women look at Andrew like he must be the sweetest. I always want to tell them that he’s equally stubborn- even if it’s in a completely charming and sometimes infuriatingly chivalrous way.

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 310: If only a Sarajevo Rose was as sweet as it sounds…

We went on another free walking tour. This time in Sarajevo. As always, the tour proved to be educational and a great way to wrap our heads around the latest city we rolled into. I say ‘educational’ because I’m fairly positive I’m learning (and hopefully retaining) way more information than I ever did in any history class. I remember seeing Sarajevo in the news a LOT when I was young, but I had no connection to it, and no understanding of not only what was going on, but why I should concern myself with the conflict. When you find yourself walking through the streets of Sarajevo and seeing all of the bullet holes in the buildings and then you’re given an explanation of the ‘Sarajevo Rose’ you feel like a fool for not being more aware with what was going on in the world when you were younger. At least that’s how I felt as I stood in front of a Sarajevo Rose on our walking tour du jour. So what is it? Wikipedia rather beautifully defines it as “a concrete scar caused by a mortar shell’s explosion that was later filled with red resin.” Our guide explained that the Sarajevo Roses are filled in as a memorial to those who were killed by a mortar shell during the Bosnian War.

Throughout the tour, we learned all about the Ottoman Empire’s influence, the start of World War I, and bits and pieces of the Bosnian War. It was a lot. So much that I kept having to ask Andrew stupid questions like: “Ok, wait, which one was World War I?” “Who was shot?” and “Who was bombing Sarajevo?”  “But WHY Sarajevo?!” because my head was so full. of. history. All through the Balkans, I’ve been trying to wrap my head around the fall of Yugoslavia and keeping track of who was with who and who was against who… Before the Balkans, it was trying to understand Greek Mythology. Before Greek Mythology, it was the rise and fall of religions in Turkey. Before Turkey, it was apartheid in South Africa. My list of books to read is growing longer and longer. If I can remember just a teensy bit of all of this information we’re trying to absorb on a daily basis, it’ll be a success! (Educationally, that is. Obviously it’s already a success on so many other levels.) If my memory proves unsuccessful, at least the past ten months have been cheaper than one year of tuition at my alma mater!

During our stop at this Orthodox Church, a ceremony was going on, of what we weren’t told, regardless, the chanting was beautiful to listen to.

“Who told them there were two ‘t’s’ in Kentucky?” I grumbled to Andrew as we passed by the local KFC, I mean VFC?

“Probably someone from Kentucky.” Andrew snarked.

My favorite part of the tour was arriving in the park to quite the kerfuffle over a heated game of chess. These men were not messing around. Our guide told us that legend has it if you lose the last game of the day, you have to set up the pieces at seven o’clock the next morning. He asked his uncle or father (I forget which) if this was true, but was told that “they’ve never lost… so they don’t know!”

The eternal flame (just down the street from the park above) is a memorial to those who have died in the Second World War in Bosnia. Our guide told us that one day, the flame was not so eternal (it had gone out during a storm the night before). A tourist, I think on a walking tour, asked his guide if there was still gas coming out, and then walked up to it and re-lit the flame. He also burned his arm (to what degree, I’m not sure) in the process.

We ended our tour in a park that held the Memorial to Murdered Sarajevo children during the siege of the city from 1992 to 1995. The sculpture represents a mother protecting her child. Around the base, made from melted bombshell cases, are children’s footprints, friends of those who died during the siege. Sad. That’s all I have to say. Even sadder was when our guide talked about the ‘Sarajevo Red Line.’ It was a memorial of the 11,541 killed during the Bosnian war. 11,541 empty red chairs were arranged down the street that passed in front of this sculpture dedicated to the children on April 6, 2012. Just last year. Our guide said it was a sight to see, and it was rather difficult to do the walking tour during the installation because it was simply so moving to have a visual of all that Bosnia had lost during the war.

On a much (much) lighter note, after the tour, we waited for Josh and Leanne to get into town! Our fifth country together, we were excited to see them, and share an apartment with them again! Excited, yes, but again, it was driven home how much they ‘get it’ as in this whole trip. We were all tired, and despite just arriving into a new city that afternoon (or evening) the best part of meeting up with friends who ‘get it’, was that they readily agreed to a low key movie night before passing out in an attempt to get some rest before a busy day tomorrow.

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.