Though there are a few major thoroughfares that provide some semblance of order, there is no discernable grid system, or even perpendicular lines on the map. Almost everything appears to operate in acute angles, creating a maze of recurring triangles that ensures that one quickly lose track of which direction they are walking at any given moment. On more than one occasion I ended up back in the same spot I had been just a few minutes before, a humbling feeling. It isn’t a small town either, significantly bigger than the towns I had spent my most recent days in and bigger than any capital in the region. Its sheer size was intimidating and made the prospect of getting lost even less appealing. That said, by the time I was ready to move on it seemed I had finally figured it all out, noting the important landmarks that would guide me to and from the sights of interest on my agenda. Even the bus system became increasingly self-explanatory, a rare necessity to conquer in a city of this size. One can only walk so many miles in a day before their will to explore has been sapped. With no real center, and no hostels conveniently located in a central location, once I left for the day, or returned, there was little flexibility to come and go. Be warned, Bucharest hasn’t been tamed.

The major attraction in Bucharest is the Parliamentary Palace, the second largest building in the world after the Pentagon in Washington. Though still not completed today, the project commenced in the early 80s, the brain child of then peasant turned Dictator Nicolae Ceausescu. Unfortunately for him – and to the great joy of most Romanians – he never moved in. Construction was halted at the start of the 1989 Revolution and Ceausescu and his wife were soon arrested, tried, and executed, all within a few hours. Today only a small percentage of the building is used for administrative purposes, leaving the remainder idle on most days, and otherwise used for state ceremonies or as part of the daily tours through it. It was an overwhelming sight from the outside, even more so inside with the grand ballrooms, enormous granite pillars that support it. To stand on the main central balcony and gaze down the main boulevard leading up to the palace permits one a small glimpse into Ceausescu’s delusional mind, the megalomania
that drove him to remake Bucharest.

It was truly an audacious vision, with an imprint extending far beyond the Palace walls. His ambition was to reinvent Bucharest as a capital, tearing down almost one fifth of the city – most of which constituted the historic center – to create an Eastern rival to Paris. He purposely built this main road leading to the Palace one meter wider than the Champs-Elysee, a decision which I imagine was received in Paris with little more than a laugh. The result is an enormous east-west road bisecting Southern Bucharest, replete with fountains and flanked by seemingly endless run of identical looking residential and commercial combo buildings. In truth, there is nothing offensive about the street. You can tell there is nothing organic about its development but the problem lies elsewhere; the reality that it’s a hollow shell, with little behind it capable of matching its ostentatious image. In fact, there are often empty, undeveloped lots sitting stagnant. Perhaps that is what happens when a dictator’s vision is interrupted by a revolution, but it leaves in its wake an awkward feel to the whole project – more Hollywood set than neighborhood. This Potemkin village is only aggravated by the former university library which sits vacant, a stone frame with nothing left within. Not so surprising this isn’t the only library sitting idle in the Balkans – Sarajevo’s was burned as well during the siege, leaving a beautiful exterior deceptively covering for a rotting, yet to be restored, interior.

Tears down a fifth of the city but leaves this tree in the middle of sidewalk that goes around the palace?

I didn’t get a chance to canvas local opinion on the Ceausescu’s vision, whether reinventing Bucharest was viewed as a positive thing at the time – a necessary facelift to revive Bucharest’s greatness. I imagine views would be quite biased though, given the hated figure responsible for the changes and what must have been upwards of hundred thousand people who were forced to relocate. Even more interesting would be how its viewed today? Is it treated as a giant scar? An endearing bastard son they have come to accept as their own over time? Or perhaps an unintended monument to an ugly past? Many possibilities…

The remainder of the city, beyond its confusion, presents a weird fusion of old and new. Almost every part of the city shares this strange juxtaposition, decadent old homes showing off impressive wood and stone work up against nondescript cement blocks, with little continuity in style from one building to the next. The new kid on the block seems to be the even more modern looking glass windowed number, mixed in just as haphazardly with virtually no effort to fit the existing landscape. Throw in all the road work, a constant it seems in all parts of Romania right now, and you make a grim, dirty city feel even dirtier, grimmer. Even more telling of the jumbled manner the city was put together is the sheer number of electricity wires that hang from pole to pole – see picture. It’s a scary sight, with almost every pole in the city harboring a giant knot of wires – ten to fifteen minimum it seems.

The only real oasis the entire city has to offer is a great central park – the Cişmigiu Gardens – teeming with activity after night falls and a favorite place to congregate for young couples and families. It is a very green area, with plenty of trees hanging over cement paths winding around a number of man made lakes. It has a very pleasant, calming effect on everyone, very much needed amidst the chaotic, cement jungle around it.

The last area of note to mention is the Memorial of Rebirth, the monument commemorating the revolution located in Revolution Square. It’s a strange piece, a giant pillar with what is referred to as a crown though looks more like a brain driven though it toward the top. Next to it sits a wall that is a little reminiscent of the Vietnam memorial in that it names all the victims who sacrificed their lives for the movement. It seems to be controversial in Bucharest, with many confused as to the message or symbolism it is trying to evoke.

Memorial of Rebirth

River View:

In the end, if not a pretty place to visit it was a fascinating one. Its scars are open. Nothing is hidden. And memories of recent growing pains are latent. Don't spend a lot of time here, but definitely see it. It's unique.

A City Planner’s Nightmare remains copyright of the author AAY, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Waking up alone in a foreign country on your birthday is somewhat of a strange experience. Though never one to place too much emphasis on my birthday, it was a little goofy spending an entire day in the company of strangers, never mentioning what is personally relevant about the date. Sure the emails from home were nice, but having everyone you care about operating on an eight hour time delay can be limiting. So perhaps next year I will make more of an effort to be around friends and family, though it remained memorable.

As mentioned in the previous entry, my goal for the day was to navigate my way from Sighisoara to Sibiu in as pain free a manner as possible. My transport options were limited to three buses across the afternoon so after one last stroll through the old town I gathered my belongings and set off for the bus station with my fingers crossed. Though there was some confusion over the timing, and one mini-bus missed, I was able to catch a normal sized bus that would take me the three hour journey through the hills. My wait turned out to be less than two hours – genuine progress – though the ride was another story, the bumpiest bus experience one could imagine. The full sized bus had no business on the back roads, with the road’s contours causing a consistent bob up and down for the entire journey, w/ occasional bumps sending the passengers airborne, once or twice catapulted more than a foot in the air. Thankfully the landscape was some of the best I had seen in a few weeks, rolling farmland stringing together one village to the next.

Arrival in Sibiu was somewhat confusing, having been deposited on road side is some random part of town rather than a central bus station, or such. Thankfully there were a few other backpackers – Hungarian and Spanish couples - in the same boat as me, and after a few awkward interactions with locals, as well as a few educated guesses, we successfully navigated are way to the center before heading our separate ways. As I was unable to find housing in advance, my first order business was to find the tourist office in the central square in hopes that they would be able to help arrange a bed for the night. Thankfully this wasn’t much of a challenge, with the office quickly setting me up a hostel 10 minutes from the main square, just down the way in the lower town. When I arrived, it turned out I was their only guest for the night – a little odd.

One of my main reasons for visiting Sibiu was its status as one of Europe’s Capital of Cultures. Each year, Brussels confers this title on two cities within the union as a means of promoting the cultural prowess of a country and more so, in hopes of stimulating its tourist industry. In its initial years the title was typically awarded to well known cultural giants like Paris and Athens, but in time has evolved into an instrument to elevate often overlooked cities not only deserving of attention but also in need of a boost. Sibiu embodies these two characteristics, a fantastic little place which remains off the radar for most seasoned European travelers, particularly the English speaking crowd. Visiting Sibiu was not only an opportunity to check out another one of these anointed cities, but to do so during the height of its reign, with its resulting festivities.

Each day, locals and tourists were treated to a laundry list of cultural activities, both promoting the local heritage and traditions but also those from throughout Europe. As one would imagine, churning out a daily agenda of activities is a handful for one city or region alone, so talent from all over the continent is flown in to fill in the empty spaces. Events included almost daily concerts on the main square - one of the more pleasant, cleanest I have encountered, particularly in the East – uncluttered by automobile traffic and dominated more by the varied pastel colors of its buildings than some iconic church. There was also an entertaining parade - led by a drum/beat troupe from the Dutch West Indies - held on a pedestrian shopping street near the square which captivated the mostly Romanian crowd (Caribbean culture is, as you would imagine, typically quite scarce in these parts). In the rain I also watched an amusing Dutch rap group whose lyrics were predominantly in English. My guess is the locals didn’t really understand what they were saying, but in most cases this was probably a good thing as their message wasn’t so uplifting.

That night, I stumbled into the Spanish couple from the bus and ended up sharing a drink with them. It was great opportunity to begin practicing the language given my impending move to Madrid. We slipped in and out of the two languages pretty effortlessly, and I learned a little bit about their home Galicia, the region of Spain which I have been most interested in traveling to in during my time there. After parting ways, I found a little Jazz bar to have a drink, delighted to splurge on a Leffe Blonde, my preferred Belgian beer during my five months in Brussels. Not that I haven’t enjoyed the beer in the Balkans, but you typically encounter simply another iteration of light beer with few distinguishing features from one country to the next. After a beer I decided to turn in, go back to my empty hostel and enjoy the solitude.

The next day was spent mostly on foot, exploring all corners of the upper and lower towns, Sibiu’s modern sprawl, and many of its churches. There aren’t many museums worthy of attention, no historical landmarks of note, and few signs of the revolution or scars of communism. It simply is a pleasant little city to meander through during the day, with pleasant parks to sit and read in, great cafes/squares to grab a drink at, colorful architecture to admire, and a marginalized river to laugh at. It was peaceful, packaged for tourism during the time of my visit – on show, in every sense of the word - and that made it good place to be, raising my spirits and overall opinion of Romania before returning to the capital. Next up, Bucharest – a four hour bus ride which proved to be the most pain free yet – normal in every sense of the word minus the pit stops on the side of the highway where everyone ran into the woods to relieve themselves – who needs a toilet?!

A Breath of Fresh Air remains copyright of the author AAY, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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That said, the owners of these mini-bus lines have yet to truly master the demand and supply curve for their services, at least for certain popular routes. These buses – simple vans with capacity for fifteen or so – roll into train station parking lots every two hours or so, at which point the waiting horde of men and women scurry to the door, throwing elbows, stomping on feet, everything short of biting to gain pole position on the few spots left vacant by exiting passengers. The most egregious offenders were elderly Roma women – the Gypsy-like underclass often discriminated against in Romania. These seasoned veterans have mastered the subtle art of using their short, stout frames to bump unsuspecting foreigners just enough to slow their progress to the sliding door. Each time a new bus arrived it seemed as if only a few passengers, never more than three or four, would get off. Rinse and repeat two hours later. Though I didn’t take the time to consult a Romanian dictionary it would be safe to say there is no word that translates directly to a queue.

Having arrived at the train station at nine in the morning I finally managed to muscle my way onto the bus shortly after one. I was the last one on this time around, and can thank my good fortune to a Romanian girl who took me under her wing and showed me the ropes, keeping me close and using each others positioning to secure a spot. Unfortunately, there was no seat. Instead I stood with my back plastered against the sliding door, head far above the windows and thus unable to see anything outside the bus. I remained this way for almost two hours, until I was fortunate enough to grab a seat in the back when a few passengers were let off in the middle of nowhere. At this point, I really wanted to just head back to Bulgaria, to the Black Sea to rest at the beach for a few days, to do nothing but relax and prepare for Turkey. But I had a plan to stick to..

The Pearl of Transylvania:

The journey to Sighisoara takes one further into the heart of medieval Transylvania. There is a more rustic feel to the surrounding area; far more sheltered from the debilitating creep of Bucharest than Brasov, whose proximity to the capital ensured a far more aggressive assault on the town’s development. Here one truly can feel as if they are taking a few steps back in time, with only the occasional coca cola bottle littering the roadside there to remind you what year it is, how far we seem to have come. The small city, with no more than forty thousand inhabitants, straddles a river, with its modern development extending from one side and its medieval core enclosed against the backdrop of a small valley on the other. The main square and famous clock tower are perched on one of these hills, safeguarded from attack by its now crumbling city walls.

The approach to the main entrance – through the base of the clock tower – is well preserved, permitting one to enter the old town in style. It opens up on a nice square complete with church, some restaurants, and the birth place of Vlad the Impaler – again, the inspiration for the Dracula story – which today houses a tourist café. The homes are a colorful mix of pastels, quite similar to Brasov and what one encounters throughout the Transylvanian countryside. It was a bad time to visit though as the towns streets were in disarray. This road work took away a lot from the beauty of the place, but I imagine by this time next year it will only be that more pleasant, that more worthy of a visit. Further up the hill, through a wood covered walkway one finds a secluded church surrounded by a giant cemetery, tightly crammed in and adapted to the uneven lay of the land, with the unrestrained flora enveloping each grave. The morning’s rain intensified the green tint.

At night the place remains quite sleepy. I met an American couple in my hostel who invited me to dinner but beyond that, there wasn’t much life to the town. We set out in search of a kebab place, my mainstay of the entire trip, but after almost an hour of searching, decided best to settle for some pizza, my other bread and butter option. It was a pleasant enough meal and nice to talk to some people from home, as Romania’s surliness had made me a little homesick by this point, particular with my birthday right around the corner. I had considered staying in Sighisoara for two nights, mostly because I was having trouble arranging a place in the next town on my agenda – Sibiu – but decided to press my luck and move on the next morning after one last tour of the town. Sighisoara simply didn’t feel like birthday material.

Next stop: Sibiu - the 2007 European Capital of Culture

Mini Bus Hell and Medieval Transylvania remains copyright of the author AAY, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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And to be honest, though pleasant from the perspective of a student of geography, as a traveler the change wasn’t welcome, and in many ways forecasted my ongoing disappointment with Romania. We were like oil and water, with new issues arising on an almost daily basis which fortified the walls of resistance between me and what is otherwise a pretty fascinating country, with varied landscape, pleasant towns, and its share of unique history, both in the short and long term. I presume that things would have been different if the country had seemed Balkan in nature, that I would have been far more forgiving if I felt like it was part of the quirky, endearing nature of the region. Perhaps it would have been different if I had been traveling from the other direction, from Poland or the Ukraine, even Serbia. But I expected an extension of Bulgaria, a far more inviting country whose sunny disposition welcomed me with open arms. I was not prepared for the unforgiving nature of Romania – where Tourists wear giant targets on their back and moving only a few hours down the road can be a discouraging, all day event. My patience was short when it all began and it took all my resolve to resist sprinting back to Bulgaria, a craving that only swelled with each passing day. I lead with this message only in so much as I’m sure the writing that follows will obscure this impression, as I do my best to recount the country’s best qualities and interesting sights. There are some of those as well.

Brasov via Bucharest Pit Stop

Anticipating a return trip in a little less than two weeks I spent only one confusing night in Bucharest – and therefore will save my impressions (and criticisms) for a later entry. I took an early morning train from the Gare du Nord station – a veritable den of iniquity – to Brasov, a notoriously picturesque town situated little over three hours from Bucharest, right over the Carpathian Mountains which separate Wallachia – Southern Romania – from Transylvania. Be certain to count your change when buying a ticket as the women behind the counters are known to, and tried, to short me my change. When I pointed the difference out to her she didn’t even question my math, or show an ounce of contrition. She simply reached for the additional five lei bill I was owed – just over two USD – and passed it my way without batting an eye. This “tourist tax” is a recurring problem, and appears to be perceived as an entitlement of sorts, a job perk for those who face the inconvenience of interacting with tourists.

The trip to Brasov is a pretty one. To get there one must travel through the valley separating two mountain ranges, passing a number of pleasant resort towns that provide a good base for exploring the mountains or skiing come winter time. The approach to Brasov conceals the inner beauty of the town. Tall concrete slabs saturate the landscape in and around the modern train station. For a moment I questioned the suggestion of those who urged me to visit the small city but once the bus began moving toward the heart of the old town it quickly became apparent that Brasov had much more to offer than my first glances led me to believe.

Passing from new to old parts of the city feels like taking a trip in a time machine – from concrete jungle to renaissance Germany in a blink of an eye. The decaying, pastel paints which peel away from the two story homes that constitute the downtown remain the most distinctive, and endearing, quality of the region. No matter the weather – and the sun doesn’t appear to shine too much – it brightens the landscape in a way that is far more pleasant, far more bearable. The old town is nestled against the hills; with its giant Hollywood-esque “Brasov” sign – as tacky as it might be - looming high above. The town square might be one of the best I’ve seen on my trip, with the old town hall and its impressive clock tower sitting awkwardly in the center, surrounded by a colorful barrage of buildings. All of the main arteries of the town depart from here.

In terms of activities, there really isn’t much to do in Brasov. It is a pleasant place to walk around, with a few nice churches/monasteries, a few hills worth climbing for better views of the city and mountains, and an eclectic mix of bars to grab a drink in. More so, it is used as a base to explore some of the castles that are located in the immediate vicinity of the city, notably Bran and Peles Castle. Bran castle is the more famous of the two, or perhaps the more touristy of the two – allegedly belonging to Vlad the Impaler, the ruthless warlord whose story served as a basis for the popular vampire story Dracula. Though not a vampire, he was a pretty mean dude who is remembered for once having constructed a wall of impaled Turkish bodies as a deterrent to an invading Turkish army. Though the truth of this story is questionable - the Ottoman army is said to have taken one look at their fallen brethren and turned back. Needless to say, this castle has turned into a giant tourist trap, one which I decided not to visit in hopes of sparing myself of the crowds, and more so, the hordes of peddlers looking to make a profit selling Dracula t-shirts to the ‘invading’ tourists.

Instead, I decided to head to Peles Castle – a short walk from the town of Sinaia (one of the cute mountain resort towns located a little short of an hour from Brasov). It was a great decision. Though there were quite a few tourists the castle did not disappoint and is a suggested visit for anyone who ever finds themselves in the neighborhood. It was built in the late 19th century as a summer residence for the Romanian King and no expense was spared in creating an eclectic architectural interior which reflects many foreign styles of the time. I am usually not one to get excited about design features – preferring the history of the room over its architectural merit. Merely standing in the hall of mirrors or bedroom of Louis the Fourteenth at Versailles was too exciting for me to pay attention to the gold plated bed he had once slept on. That said, this place was cool, really well put together with lots of thought and care. Not too flashy, not too decadent like one would encounter during a visit to one of the Western European counterparts. Perhaps the difference is those palaces always seem to have an awkward sense of history, spanning many generations and thus forced to withstand multiple iterations, multiple attempts to remodel the interior to the fashion of the time. It creates a confused environment, lacking consistency – in particular, Schonbrunn in Vienna comes to mind – as an empire grasps to the last vestiges of its greatness, stumbling to the finish line. Here that isn’t a problem. It has a sense of vitality, from a time in Romanian history when there was a sense of optimism, no sense or expectation that it could all come crashing down with misguided alliances in the world wars and then the crushing weight of communism. It serves as a great symbol of a recent time when Romania exuded strength and for that reason seems to be a popular destination for the Romanian people. Meanwhile, foreigners head to Bran for their vampire fix. I wish I had some pictures of the interior to share but unfortunately, like most places in Romania, there is an exorbitant picture taking fee - about 10 euros – which seemed a little steep.

Sinaia itself was pleasant enough though was undergoing significant construction projects during my visit, something quite common in all of Romania and for which there will be more pictures to come. The EU has recently opened its coffers generously to Romania to improve its infrastructure and the government has not hesitated to put the available money to good use. Meanwhile, Bulgaria has made little use of its funding. It is a green place, surrounded by dense woods and mountains and would be a quiet place to stay for a bit if you wanted to be closer to the mountains. Brasov is quaint, but it’s the area which matters, not the town in this instance. Just depends on how quiet you like it, what your price range is, and if you like antiquated German style hotels which reminded me a lot of what I saw in places like Interlaken in Switzerland.

Next stop: Sighisoara – the “Pearl of Transylvania”

Am I Still in the Balkans? remains copyright of the author AAY, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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It was not as if I had not been warned by other travelers, had not heard rumors of the excessive wait times to be expected, but having seen how efficient, how pain free every other border cross through the Balkans had been to date, I couldn’t help but proceed a little skeptical. Bulgarian and Romania are notoriously not the best of friends – perhaps an important factor in the equation – but how difficult could it be if Serbia and Macedonia can handle the same task in a 5th of the time? Though the Danube’s breadth forces all traffic to one crossing point – and the word traffic is misleading, there isn’t an extraordinary amount of movement between the two countries – wouldn’t concentrating the resources be a boon for efficiency, not a detriment?

It probably didn’t help the situation that the train – originating in Istanbul – arrived in Turnovo more than two hours later than expected. I found a seat in the emptiest of compartments with a Romanian man on his way back from Istanbul. We exchanged simple introductions, and continued to communicate sporadically across the trip using whatever hand gestures and facial expressions in our repertoire to express frustration over the trip’s length, the oppressive heat, and any basics facts about each other like where we are from or headed. Over the course of the trip it slowly became apparent that he was either smuggling jewelry across the border or was deathly afraid of the border guards taking his watch, necklace and such – more later.

We were soon joined by, oddly enough, two separate Japanese travelers, probably both in the 18-22 range whose refusal to engage in conversation baffled me to no end. Compatriots, thousands miles from home, are prime candidates for small talk on an excruciatingly long train ride with a three hour wait time sitting at the border. I, by no means an extrovert, passed the hours attempting conversation with a person with whom I shared no common language, no common vocabulary – and would have been quite pleased with someone to speak to in English. It just seemed very awkward for 2 solo travelers to refrain from conversation - even if it is out of character; it is part of the beauty of traveling solo, a necessity to maintain sanity.

The train proceeded along smoothly until we hit Ruse, Bulgaria’s fourth of fifth largest city which rubs up against the Danube. Time drew to a stop as one border guard boarded the train to check/stamp passports – meanwhile, four of his buddies remained sitting idly on a track bench talking among themselves, oblivious to the train’s presence. Eventually one stood up, grabbed a giant hammer which he used to pound the under side of the train – seemingly checking whether anyone was clutching on in hopes of earning him or herself a free ride across the river. After more than an hour of patient waiting – the train lurched forward. Soon the mighty Danube emerged in the distance whose crossing afforded a few fleeting moments of entertainment.

The Romanian side turned out to be much worse. We sat idly for twice the time – just north of two hours – much of which was spent with windows forced closed and thus limited air circulation. The reason which was provided by my new Romanian friend was to prevent people from jumping out the windows, or that at least is what I gathered from his mimicking a person diving into water with the window as his prop. I never realized charades could be so fun, so useful, a game – a training ground for later experiences. My food was now long gone, hunger beginning to strike me down and fully aware that dinner was at minimum few hours away in Bucharest. Used to many a long journey, my impatience was astounding. Sitting idly is no fun.

But, just when I thought we could wait any longer, we began to move. The train’s occupants let out a giant, collective sigh of relief, one of surprise, one of disgust for the wait, and one of anxious hope that we would reach Bucharest – two hours away – by nightfall. At the first town, my new Romanian buddy closed all the blinds, got down on his knees, and reached deep into a crevice behind the garbage can to grasp some item he seemed to have been storing across the long trip. Seconds later he pulled out a giant ball of tape. When we then made I contact, and he saw my look of confusion on my face, he pointed at my necklace, shook my hand, grabbed his bag and moved out of the compartment. It was a very strange series of events.

I finally arrived in Bucharest’s Gare de Nord sometime past 8pm, anxious for a snack and exhausted from a long day on the road. The map gave no indication of the pain I was going to go through this day, and to be honest, having done so many trips like this – whether all day or all night – I wasn’t preparing, or expecting, to feel so worn out from it. The only logical explanation is that there must be something far more deflating about spending as much time sitting in one spot than moving at a consistently slow pace for hours on end. The only silver lining was the few seconds I had to view the astounding breadth of the Danube at this stage of its flow, almost approaching its end at the Black Sea. It’s wide in Budapest, it’s a monster here.

As I set off on foot from the train station I dreaded the fact that I would be taking that same course to get to the Black Sea coast in two weeks time, on my way, on this very same train, to Istanbul. What a nightmare..

Danube:

Romanian Countryside - an Industrial Wasteland:

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The old town has a rustic appeal once you wander a little beyond the center, particularly the higher up one travels from the river. In some backstreets one stumbles upon roads – more like paths – which are a strange combination of cement and dirt, unkempt with weeds seemingly swallowing up what little remains of the walkway. My hostel was situated almost at one of the highest points in town, almost as far from the modern order below as one could venture. Though the walk added unwanted stress to my quads, and saturated with multiple communities of stray cats, once reached the views afforded from the balcony made the trip of the hill two to three times a day well worth it, particularly at night during the daily fortress light show. I know it sounds quite tacky, but when you finally see it is kind of entertaining, if not impressive thought.

The fortress was truly a majestic site. More archaeological site than fortress, it is teeming with remnants of stone homes which once sat inside its walls to protect against the Turks in centuries past. As the pictures try to demonstrate, it is so well positioned and fortified that it in times past it truly functioned as the core of the town – probably why there is no discernable center - the place where all activity of consequence took place under protection of any potential siege. That said, its modern appearance shows the ware of repeated sieges – up to the challenge but eventually succumbing to recurring attacks. In the center though, high up on the hill the fortress sits on, is a fascinating little church, rebuilt in modern style and displaying some surprising artwork inside. I have never in my life seen murals and paintings inside a church there were so modern, so abstract, so different from the traditional church montages and their conservative nature. I was surprised to find this deviation in Bulgaria where the Orthodox Church seemed to be well-entrenched and traditional in nature. Unfortunately I have no pictures but if you ever find yourself here, don’t miss its interior.

Veliko Turnovo is also the sight of Bulgarian independence and where the constitution was signed. There is a small museum – as usual, quite an empty one – which recounts the struggle for independence, promoting the war heroes revered in these parts for their part in the Turkish resistance. Upstairs in this museum is also the very room where the constitution was designed and then signed, recreated to look it had in 1878 when the nation’s leader convened with Russian and Turkish envoys to officially usher in the Bulgarian state. It was difficult to tell whether this region truly was the epicenter of the resistance – it seems all regions want to elevate their roles, demonstrate their significant contributions. It seems every region has its story, valiant attempts squashed year after year until some breakthrough, or more importantly, the introduction of some new ally backing them with their own specific incentives – Russian seeking a weakened Ottoman state. It was a worthwhile place to spend an hour plus, though strange – but somewhat expected at this point – for a staff member to follow you room to room turning off lights to conserve energy once you move on.

Finally, I must devote a little attention to the river and the monuments built up around it. To call it a wind would be misleading – this is the truest meander (think aerial photo in geological sense) I have seen at the heart of a town or city, truly defining the entire geography of the place in a way which is quite fascinating. I spent some time walking down by the water’s edge though this is not something easy to do, really forcing a few paths and pushing the overgrown bushes and weeds out of the way to get some great views of the town from below. The inside of this bend here, the portion which looks out to the town which rings itself around the peninsula like plateau, is the sight of a museum and an amazing sculpture jutting out to the very edge – see the picture, its pretty amazing. The landscape – much of which is defined by the river – might be the most alluring aspect of the town, as more than the average place, every aspect of the town is defined by it.

As you can tell, there was a lot to like about the town. Every step I took I was struck by the temptation to pull out my camera and capture the beautiful landscape before me. It would be extremely difficult for me to identify a more photogenic town on my journey, and I have seen some truly special places these past two months. And the town had its fair share of modern sculpture which has become a must-see experience part of my trip of late. But this is not a place I could spend more than a night or two without growing restless. It may be because I just came from Plovdiv, an eminently livable place which although perhaps not the most exciting place I have ever been it is one where one could settle and be content. Veliko Turnovo lacks the same depth, the same livable qualities that could sustain someone’s interest beyond the sights mentioned above. It is purely a tourist attraction to me – a place to take pictures, enjoy the cheap Bulgarian fare, and then move on to greener pastures. There is no magnetic pull – more repellant after seeing the highlights.

More than a Postcard? remains copyright of the author AAY, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Renewed Optimism

Departing Sofia did wonders for my spirit. It allowed me to finally put the camera fiasco at the monastery behind me and concentrate all my attention on enjoying my time in Bulgaria. Though I enjoyed Sofia, too much of my time in the capital was spent sulking over the loss of my beloved camera and fretting over the cost of a buying a new one. Bulgaria may be the cheapest country I visit, but that label does not extend to electronics. Times like those make me miss the States and, more so, my friends at Amazon.

Outside of stumbling upon some fellow travelers – three Austrians and a Canadian girl with whom I would spend much of the next three days – the short, 2 hour ride to Plovdiv was quite uneventful – and wanting of pretty landscape. Bulgaria’s geography often leaves much to be desired with most transport lines running east-west through two giant plains that run parallel to two enormous mountain ranges that extend almost the entire length of the country. Moving east to west therefore is quick and painless though crossing either of the mountain ranges – as I late found out – is a slow, time-consuming journey, something which is quite common across the Balkans. Mere distances are often deceiving, providing little insight into the true length of a journey and the circuitous route the bus must take through the mountainous landscape.

Plovdiv itself is a great place to visit. It has the feel of a modern and vibrant provincial capital juxtaposed against remnants of some of the most important historical periods in Bulgarian history. The old town sits on a small hill overlooking downtown and feels like one big monument to the national revival era – late 19th century shortly after Bulgaria’s independence. It is a very quaint and colorful setting, with traditional wood homes which give the area a small village feel in spite of the urban surroundings. Hidden among this maze of homes is a well preserved Roman theater facing south with great views of the Rhodope Mountains which loom over the city in the distance. This theater is but one sign of the city’s Thracian roots, though to be fair the remainder is more often than not a bunch of poorly preserved rocks sitting within some long neglected fenced in enclosure than something for which locals can take pride or tourists to visit.

One of my favorite parts of the city (and to be honest, the Balkans in general) was many of the more recent monuments/soviet style sculptures sprinkled throughout the city. In particular, the hill of the liberators was a well worthwhile hike where at the summit one finds two monuments commemorating the pivotal Russian role in driving out the reviled Turks. Though the Russians have their own checkered legacy here in Eastern Europe, Bulgarians seem to direct much of their antagonism toward the five hundred years of Turkish rule which preceded Communism and remain somewhat appreciative of Russian contributions to vanquishing the Ottomans from the region once and for all. No matter how destructive the Russians were, the Ottomans have left a greater scar on the nation’s consciousness and their independence is inextricably linked to them.

Last but not least, Plovdiv turned out to be a fun place to spend a few days because of the people that I met and some of the bars which I visited. The crowd of fellow travelers was diverse and interesting, the people who ran the hostel were fun and engaging, and the Bulgarians I met in town friendly, great hosts. The first night turned out to be somewhat of a wash because of the weather – in more ways than one, I have never seen it rain so hard in my life – and ended up marooned away from the hostel waiting it out with the people I met on the bus. The second night I made the decision to go out against my better judgment and ended up finding my favorite bar of the entire trip to date, this small wood paneled number with no name advertised outside, cheap Bulgarian beer on tap, a friendly relaxed clientele and though the music was a little hard for my tastes, all around great atmosphere. I met a Bulgarian med student who spoke basically no English – his name was Boris – and some fifty year old man who had once lived in Kansas City and wanted to me about my impression of his country and his memories of mine. We stayed out late with these randoms soaking in a great night with some friendly locals, closing down the bar early in the morning and delaying my moving on to Veliko Turnovo deep into the afternoon. That said, if I ever find myself back in Bulgaria which I will hope to be the case someday I made a promise to return to this town, to this bar, to relive some of the great moments I had here because it truly was an interesting place with plenty more to offer in terms of daytrips to the mountains which I failed to take advantage of during my short stay there.

Long Overdue Return remains copyright of the author AAY, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The monastery did not disappoint, meeting even my lofty expecations. It is set in the mountains, isolated maybe 20-30 minute drive from the closest town. I wish I was eloquent enough to describe the design and makeup of the place in lieu of a picture which I lack right now, but I am afraid I can't really do it justice. In brief though, there is a church in the center of the complex, which dates from the late 19th century as the previous one had burnt down, with colorful paintings covering most of the front and side walls of the exterior. It is then surrounded by a four story trapezoid like figure, the cells that the monks would stay in but which are now used to house many of the tourists who come for the night. I regret not having done this, 15 usd for a cell on the complex and all the time I desired to hike and enjoy it in relative solitude. Next time perhaps.

Unfortunately I had a pretty frustrating accident shortly after my arrival. As I prepared to take my first picture of the day I noticed a ledge a few feet to my left and decided that would be a better spot to snap my photo. Confident in my jumping ability, I lept up only the snag my foot, falling to my side. In my right hand was my camera, with my lens protuding, the only crutch I had to break my fall. It smashed hard into the stone. The camera was dead. The worst of timing really but thankfully one of the fellow travellers at my hostel who had made the journey with me kept with him a spare camera, which he graciously let me use for the duration of our stay. I was able to quickly put it behind me and enjoy my stay. I was really surprised by how little it undermined the experience. The next few days though were then spent scouring sofia in the rain for a good replacement. The prices were outrageous. All of the cameras were marked up almost twice the price of what they would be in states, or at least from the many online vendors that taunted me as I read reviews on the web. Pretty disappointing but now I have a much nastier camera to take pictures with, so it is perhaps a blessing in disguise.

As for Sofia, it seems like a city with a lot potential which I unfortunately experienced predominantly in the rain. It has a small town feel - few tall buildings, treelined sidestreets dominating the center - which never seems to really wake up, no hustle and bustle. To be fair, I was particularly sensitive to that moment when the city comes alive, as I arrived at the bus station at 5am, sat in the train station until the sun came up, and walked 2kms to the hostel during hours when you expect the streets to be full of people heading to work, starting their day. But that never really happened. People slowly trickled onto the streets, but it never seemed like a capital city. I can attribute part of this to it being the start of August, a time when most european capitals slow down as people head to the beach on their holiday, but not all of it. It just seemed to more like an sprawling village with no real defined center, no central square at which people congregate. There were some monumental government buildings sprinkled in, with some fantastic churches on yellow cobblestoned streets, but again, they seemed at odds with everything else going on around them. All that said, it was a really nice place to spend a few days. I had heard very little positive about the place from those I have met on the road but I had no problem spending three nights there, and enjoyed walking the city for hours on end, even in spite of the rain. All in all, the average person might not see much charm here but I did, and expect to return someday.

Finally, I know I am behind a few cities and will do my best to make these up these next few days. Since last writing I have spent two nights in Plovdiv, two nights in Veliko Turnavo, and then one in Bucharest. I am actually in Brasov, as it will be my intention to really see Bucharest on my way back to the Bulgarian coast, as I head to Istanbul. So, expect either individual entries, or a comparative one, on the remainder of my time in Bulgaria. Then Brasov/Transylvania.

Rila Monastery remains copyright of the author AAY, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Rejuvenated remains copyright of the author AAY, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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To be fair, much of the blame can be attributed to mother nature. The city suffered an earthquake here in 1963 which levelled 90% of the city. Its a case of unfortunate timing really - with the rebuilding effort occuring at the height of Eastern Europe's obsession with soviet-style high rises. What exists today Im only assuming is much different than what lied here before, rows of high rise buildings sprawling out of the central square. It makes one wonder what harm might be perceived forty years down the road if a city today was afforded a similar clean slate to start over from. The remaining 10 percent is fortunately some of the cities best sites - the old mosque, fortress, and original turkish bazar.

Where I gained the most was my time spent in the Turkish quarter north of the Vardar river bisecting the city. This side is more village than city, alive with action during the day and almost abandoned once night comes. It maintains an extremely genuine feel, vibrant and not tainted by even a speck of tourist oriented commerce. The market place is bustling during the day, with any commodity one might ever be in need of available for sale. Its a rare opportunity to visit any capital city and find it so devoid of fellow tourists, though there is a sizable english speaking community who commute to and from Kosovo. In a way it didnt feel like Europe, with such a strong turkish community, a remnant of their 500 year rule.

Anyway, I was very glad to move on to a more relaxing setting and have found Lake Ohrid to be a far more appealing destination in Macedonia. If it wasnt so far out of the way, I'd suggest you all come to visit this place. But then you would have to spend a few hours in Skopje. Proceed at your own risk. At least I have done my part, you have be warned. I have never had dirtier feet in my life. Its a dust bowl.

View from Fortress, Across Vardar River, of Modern Skopje:

Couple Interesting Encounters:

I arrived in Skopje on what ended up being a 14 hour night train through the Serbian countryside. The trip was quite eventful, spent talking with two extremely friendly Serbian guys who represented such different sides of the spectrum of your average Serb. One was from Novi Sad, a city two hours north of Belgrade. He was a teacher, quite religious, and on his way to volunteer in Greece for the next month. The other was a young guy from Belgrade, who drilled me for a long time about the nightlife in NY even after I explained to him that I had little info to offer. He was typical Belgrade guy in his mid 20s, stylish tight clothes who loved house music and was off to party in Greece with some friends.

At about 2 in the morning another man entered our compartment. I'd presume him to be about 45, and a self proclaimed Serbian peasant. For the next several hours the two younger guys took turns doing a rough translation of his ongoing monologue, apparently including serbian swear words every 5th word or so. He loved that I was American, and would not stop handing me his 2 liter beer which I reluctantly took in hand, sipped, and passed back. Must have had half of it by the time we finally went to bed. He even gave me a present on the way out, a gag gift that is a license to drink which he made, in Serbian of course. Quite the experience, very interesting guy, who brought the house down for a couple hours.

Next I arrived in Skopje with little more than a street address on how to get to my hostel, thinking that it would not be so hard to ask and then find it. Well, apparently street names change here every fifth day, leaving me ready to succumb to the line of taxis salivating for the chance to overcharge me, when low and behold, a jehovah witness recognizes my being lost, asks if I need help, and proceeds to walk me the fifteen minutes to the hostel, asking every policeman and store clerk in sight if we were on the right track. Great guy, didnt even preach to me in fact, though we spoke briefly of the philosophy. I just might show these people a little more love when confronted with them in the future.

Finally, my nemesis in Skopje was a young Norwegian electrian named Laurus. He latched on quickly at the hostel, and somehow suckered me into making him dinner alongside mine. I finally left his pasta to cool off, refusing to poor the sauce on for him, bc he was so reluctant to take part in the cooking. Even after I washed the dishes. But more so, he could not resist using the word in america before any of the thousand generalizations he made in our time together and hanging out with this czech dude. He was often wrong to, and we finally got into a debate about Norways welfare state as I defended the virtue of the American way. Worse yet, I ran into in my next hostel and endured another night of him. Awful..

Still Seeking Silver Lining remains copyright of the author AAY, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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When I use the word war though, I don't refer to the conflict over the breakup of Yugoslavia which is remembered so vividly in Bosnia, for that violence never reached Belgrade and resonates little with the young people in Belgrade. It is the Nato bombing which is remembered, the sirens which called for all of the people to head to the bomb shelters, and limitations on electricity, water as a result of it. There are a few buildings still vacant, but only one person - and I say this with all due respect - died during the half year or so of bombing. People are quite willing to speak of the time, but once on the subject it can be difficult to get them to move on from it. As for the earlier breakup, its amusing to hear the bias they have toward Croatia and Bosnia for having left Yugoslavia. Its as if they started the war because they seceded, not because Serbia laid siege to these countries to prevent their becoming indepedent.

As I read this over, seems not so different from the North declaring war on the South in America, but to an extent the motivation for the unification of such disparate people no longer existed. Yugoslavia was created as a counterweight again the Ottoman and Austrian empires, strength in numbers. For most of the communities it was a marriage of convenience, and once stability seemed to have arrived, and Tito had died, they no longer wished to take orders from distant Belgrade. Because of the capital's location Serbia has always held greater control over Yugoslavia's destiny, so when Slovenia, Croatia, and soon after Bosnia declared independence, they sought to keep it intact, or at the very least maintain control over portions of these countries with sizable Serbian minorities. This is the issue in Kosovo, referred to as the cradle of Serbian civilization even though its 90% Albanian today. The conflict here seems not so different from that of Israel, or to an extent Kashmir. Each community has a historical claim on the land, depending on the year chosen, which in some conflicts with the facts on the ground.

There is a sizable portion of the Bosnian state which is governed under what is termed the Republic of Srbska, a region which operates fairly independent of the government in Sarajevo. Serbia sought to incorporate this region into Greater Serbia, as well as some portions of Croatia which had come to be dominated by Serbs. And this is why to travel to Belgrade my only option was to trek 45 minutes from the city center to a small bus station on the tip of town which served this region, and had 8 buses a day to Belgrade as opposed to the 1 bus leaving the main station located in the center before 6am each morning. Quite the political statement, and is by no means unique in the region. Now that I am in Macedonia, travelling to Albania and Greece isn't easy. One can do it, but only by taking a bus to the border, walking across, and hiring a taxi or minibus to take you to the next city of consequence. Even as I sit here typing in Ohrid, Macedonia's second busies town an hour from the Greek border, if I wanted to head to Greece I would have to backtrack several hours to the capital to find good public transport that direction. When coordinating travel routes some days I wonder whether im in Europe.

Hostel Experience:

The hostel I stayed out was a big part of my experience. The place had opened less than two weeks ago and was still in the process of being set up. Though the girl running the place could at times be a know it all, she and her boyfriend (who lived in the spare room soon to become another dorm) genuinely seemed to be interested in showing the guests a good, and more so authentic, Belgrade experience. My 1st night in town I was their only guest and they took me out on the town to see some of the bars in a nice cobble stone area of town. My second night happened to be her birthday, and we and some other guests who'd arrived stayed up most of the night hanging out with some of her Serbian friends. These included a mafia wannabe with big sunglasses and Kangol hat who promised to get me anything I might want in town half price and a girl DJ studying Arabic who desperately wanted to move to Jamaica. Some real characters, but still people my age who were interesting in talking to me, offering a glimpse of their lives to me. While I'm meeting new, interesting people every day, there are usually fellow backpackers from distant parts of the globe with whom I can swap stories. Rare is there an opportunity to talk with locals for more than fleeting conversations, so really quite unique.

And at last, the City:

As for the city there is plenty to do. It sits at the confluence of the Danube and Sava rivers, at which point there is a great fortress which has been turned into a really cool park with basketball and tennis courts construted between the ramparts of the almost fully intact fortress and plenty of green space and benches for the citys people to enjoy when the sun goes down. Beyond the park, there is plenty of pedestrian only shopping streets with cafes brimming with people at all hours. There is no real old town as the city has been destroyed so many time in its history, but it does not detract from the citys charm and in a way prevents tourists from been quarenteened away from the locals. There are some great museums, some fantastic orthodox churches which are always interesting sites given how rare it is to find one in Western Europe. Tito was buried here as well, with a small museum complex and g The bar scene is quite varied, with cafes which blend into pubs and a slew of house boats along the river which to an extent are the liveliest of the city's club venues. It is a dirty metropolis, but somewhat endearing and pleasant change after so many of the small capitals that I had seen in recent weeks. Its new, and grandiose, and was built up to serve as a capital of a country far bigger than Serbia is today.

Aaron and Tito, Monument within Mausoleum Complex:

NATO Bombing:

Fortress at juncture of Sava and Danube River

Friendliest Locals (and some history) remains copyright of the author AAY, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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To be honest, its no different than most cities, but in many ways far from what I expected. The TV images fed to us in America due the city little justice. I expected to find endless rows of communist style tenement buildings, and while these exist in the suburban sprawl beyond the center, they are not quite the defining mark on the city that many of us would think. In fact, there is a wonderful city center, dominated mostly by the old Islamic quarter and the modern shopping district adjacent to it. The city is about half Muslim, it not more, with Minarets jutting skyward across the hilly landscape. The city sits in a valley, with houses sitting cascaded up each hill on three sides. My last night I trekked up the hill to watch the sunset with amazing views of the entire city below. If you make it to Sarajevo, do this your first night and you will fall in love with the place, I promise you.

While there are signs of the war still evident, one would have to look a little harder than in Mostar to find evidence of a three year long siege occurring just over ten years ago. Many buildings do have bullet holes across their facades, and occasionally one stumbles upon what the locals call velvet roses - red fillings for spots where shells had damaged the sidewalks, but for the most part, few buildings lay in ruin, and there are few daily reminders of the siege. If interested though in learning more about it, the historical museum had a sobering exhibition on life during the siege.

But history here extends beyond the recent war. All of us back home learn about the assassination of Franz Ferdinand as the stimulus for World War I, and seeing the spot where this happened really filled out my understanding of the event, how and why it occurred, and why it prompted an entire continent to go to war, one which ended four years later with millions dead and essentially a return to the status quo. There is a little museum, a plaque, but no much else there worth remembering. That said, its cool to stand there and think of the act and its historical significance.

Finally, as I ramble on, my accommodation here might have been the most interesting to date. Looking ahead to my visit, I had reserved what I thought to be a dorm room in a hostel but somehow turned in to a private room upon my arrival. Great news yeah - my own in room in the home of an old Bosnian couple who spoke virtually no english near the center of town. The language barrier brought new fun each day, whether it be me forcing down the local specialty Burek - cheese or meat pastry, or having to be explained that it was ok to use the shower and then basically forced into doing so on the spot. Its really the best way to do so, they really looked out for me almost as a concerned parent might.

Panoramas of Sarajevo:

Spot of Ferdinand Assassination - in car, along river, at junction of this bridge - Started World War I:

Muslim quarter, early morning:

Im leaving Belgrade tonight for Macedonia. I hope to write about this city soon upon my arrival, as it has proven the most interesting to date relative to meeting locals and has for some reason been the place that I have spent the most nights. It is a really cool city...

Rambling on Bosnia remains copyright of the author AAY, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Heat Wave remains copyright of the author AAY, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Mostar feels like an open wound which, fifteen years later, shows few signs of fully healing. Its the 2nd largest city in Bosnia, and home to the iconic I mentioned in the previous post. There is a Muslim majority here, with minarets dotted across the city landscape, though the city still retains a significant Croat - Catholic - minority; each inhabits their designated side of the city and mixes only as needed, it seems. The old town resembles a mini Turkish bazaar, though it caters more to the tourist and their interest in trinkets and other distinctive flare then the average local consumer. It is quite small, linked by the old bridge, but has a bunch of great little restaurants terraced along the beautiful river and its clear water with greenish tint. Extending out from the old town is a jumble of modern buildings extended along the river toward the bus station.

View of Old Bridge:

View from Bridge:

The evidence of the war is everywhere, with innumerable abandoned, roofless buildings across the city, each with untamed weeds growing through the windows/roof. One street, marking the division between the two sides of the city, has little left among the larger administrative buildings and schools that were once situated here. Even more disturbing, most of the green space that the city possessed had been used as makeshift cemeteries, with tightly packed graves haphazardly placed amidst the trees. It is a really surreal experience to find a sea of gravestones - men and women of all ages - all bearing the same year of death. Given these constant reminders, it seems it would be incredibly difficult for the city to get past the events of the war, and for the tension that it provoked to recede. But the city has rallied, and despite a lack of funds needed to address the effects of the war - the buildings will likely remain vacant for a while - it seems to be doing pretty well. There are plenty of new buildings on the landscape, next to or across the street from the remaining stone heaps, and now that the bridge has been reconstructed - finished in 2004 - tourists have returned in droves, though few spend the night as of yet, mostly on day trips. The bridge really seems to be a uniting force, with the community seemingly feeling cleansed by its return. It is these symbol of the city and its difficult to go somewhere that does not promote it.

Gutted Buildings:

Needless to say its a fascinating place, at a fascinating time. Entering a revival but unable to conceal the scars of its recent war. There seem to be few places in Europe where one can be exposed to such violence - and its not like this is a continent is unfamiliar with war. I guess the rest of Europe received plenty of monetary support from America in the form of the Marshall Plan. Makes one wonder how long it would have taken the evidence of that to disappear if not for us. Anyway, I have moved on to my next city, Sarajevo, another interesting city with its own war story and historical relevance. This entry is arriving a day late because of some issues with the internet. I presume that the same will be the case with my next from here, probably written a day or two from now from Belgrade. It has been an interesting ride here though - and my 6am bus ride, the only to Belgrade on Sunday, should be a good time for me to collect my thoughts on what to share about this place.

Fresh Wounds remains copyright of the author AAY, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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As you probably can tell, I am really taken by this city, a close second to being my favorite on this trip right behind Ljubliana. It has almost the beauty of Dubrovnik, but more bustle and life to it making it seems a little bit more real, a little bit more alive. And, as found all over Croatia and Slovenia, it teems with some of the most beautiful women I have seen, though my fellow travellers claim I havent seen anything yet, that the further east I travel, the better they get. We shall see. As mentioned yesterday I head inland tomorrow to Mostar, in Bosnia but part of the Hercegovina portion. It is a divided town, with a Muslim and Serb populations living on different sides of the the river which is spanned by what is the quintessential Balkan picture, the Mostar bridge. Any book or travel guide on the region uses it as their cover photo, and though only three years old - this iteration, it had been blown up in the most recent war - its said to be a pretty amazing spectacle in person. They used many of the same pieces to rebuild it after some Croat hooligans destroyed it back in 93 despite UNESCO protection. I think this is to be a really interesting place to spend two nights, given the Muslim influence and latent tension. It is a city that even 4 years ago the state department didnt want us to go, but now its cool, dont worry.

Ok, two in a row, feeling good about it. Hope you are all well. It is too hot - high 30s - and am going to spend the afternoon at the beach.

Also, nearby in Sibenek:

Diocletian´s Palace remains copyright of the author AAY, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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This past week has been busy, but still quite relaxing. Having moved on from Zagreb, I have spent the past four nights on the coast in Dalmatia, which is quite different from Inland Croatia. Situated on the Adriatic, it has more of a Mediterranean feel and garners greater influence from Venice, then the more Habsburgian Capital which, like Slovenia, seems far more akin to Austria. The first three nights I spent in zadar, an interesting though by no means special coastal town about 5 hours ride from Zagreb. Its most interesting aspect is its diversity of architecture, with buildings from many different ages sitting in close vicinity to each other, a result of many different sieges on the city. It was nice to be back on the coast, to have a chance to spend a few hours each day reading on the beach. From here, I was also able to take two day trips, one to Sibenik, also on the coast and home to what many describe as the most beautiful cathedral in Dalmatia, and the Plivice Lakes National Park. This second trip I had been looking forward to for a long time and still met my ambitious expectations. It consists of a series of 18 lakes - water with greenish tint - which pour from one to the next, with waterfalls of all widths, heights passing from one to the next. It was a whole day event, and quite pressure filled/agonzing at times as missing the last bus - at 5:20 - is a frequent problem for ambitious travellers. It is a must see though on a trip here and best done on your own terms, without the time constraints and pressure which to an extent took away from the beauty of the moment.

I am now in Split, Croatias second largest city and main transportation hub to the islands. It is as great as I expected. Since I am running out of time, I will write about this next time - and there will be a next time as I have found much cheaper internet here. That said, from here I go to Mostar, then Sarajevo, and it seems to my moms relief, I might have a travel partner for these two destinations. When I was up Bled I met a kid from Connecticut with a similar Balkan itinerary. We went our separate ways after a night of talking about our intentions and other travel stories, only to stumble into each other again here in Split, same hostel, same room no less. So, as we both intended to go to these stops next, we will to an extent be moving together. Anyway, a weird coincidence from the road, but one which seems to happen more often than you would think and more so in the balkans where there are much fewer of us backpackers - cringing as I call myself that - to go around. Anyway, im out but its been good to be writing again and hope my next one is sooner than later.

Pices from Plitvice Lakes National Park:

Mom, I am Safe remains copyright of the author AAY, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Again, Ljubliana is best enjoyed on a sunny afternoon, sitting river side in a cafe talking with friends, reading a paper and generally enjoying the serenity of the moment. But, there are a few worthwhile things that might keep you away from the cafes for at least a few hours. The castle is the natural first choice. It sits above the city, just above the river bend and offers fantastic views of the city. The museum isnt that special, but thats not why one goes up there, its to head to the top of the tower to look down on the city and to glance into the distance at the Snow dusted mountains of the Julian Alps. At the foot of the castle hill is a fantastic market open daily where one can pick up almost any food or clothing item desired, which is also flanked by St Nicholas Church, probably the best Ive seen in 3 weeks on road.

The hidden gem, where few tourists seemed to venture, was Tivoli park just west of the city center. The city is small, so we are talking no more than ten minutes from the main square. The first ring of the park is a fairly well manicured set of gardens, with walkways leading in numerous directions, each of which likely shares a common endpoint. What is more special though is the center of the park, a wooded hill - approaching mini mountain status - with hiking trails which, when trekking along, conceals not only the sight, but also the sound, of the bustling city below. It was hard to imagine any city having such hiking opportunities, albeit of no real difficulty, so close to a downtown setting. There is also a great, relatively isolated and thus empty, museum on contemporary Slovenian history that presents a few not so special exhibitions on life under Tito which I enjoyed, though doubt the average tourist would.

Now, to my Next Destination:

The last two nights were spent at Lake Bled, an incredibly picturesque lake in the foothills of the Julian Alps. Though its beauty is unquestioned, it is a little touristy at times for my taste. Who can blame the industrious folk who see fit to capitalize on the opportunity presented to them though - its not every day you find a lake situated so close to the mountains, with a castle overlooking it from high atop a mini-mountain and a mini-church positioned on an island that sits right in the middle of it. I promise, I found a chord and will get pictures soon. Anyway, among the better things I did in my time there was to trek 4km north to the Vintgar Gorge and take a day trip to slightly larger, and far more serene, Lake Bohinj which is about 20 miles deeper into the Alps and possesses greater natural beauty, albeit w/out like castle and churches. Still, it was a great place to hike - 3 hours around 3/4 of the lake - and get away from all of the tourists at Bled. Not to say Bled isnt worth the Journey, it definitely is, but if you are allergic to tourists there are better places out there. Thankfully the weather held out for most of my time there, only raining right at the end of it and the morning that I left. It is not a good place to spend time in the rain - unless you find a pub.

Today I left Slovenia - though somewhat disappointed I did not make it to Maribor or Ptuj in the Northeast - and am currently sitting in Zagreb. It is a much grimier city, more graffiti, and you can the changes as you move toward the heart of the Balkans. I have been here before - four nights in fact - and dont intend to spend much time here. Likely two nights, with most of the day spent on some trip elsewhere in the vicinity as I have yet to see much of the inland croatian area outside of the capital. It is my hope to post a similar posting on my way out to the first one I shared in Ljubliana and have my new 1000 page tome by Rebecca West - a Yugoslavian travel memoir from the forties - to help guide me in this pursuit. I cant believe I am towing this thing along with me - it literally weighs a kg. But it is one of, if not the, definitive piece on this region, and should be a great companion for the next few weeks.

Bled Picturesque, Bohinj Serene remains copyright of the author AAY, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The Balkans have become a special interest of mine because of their position at the fault line between east and west. Situated between the Habsburg and Ottoman empires, this region has suffered through a constant tug and war between these two powers (among others), enjoying only a few fleeting moments of independence over the last thousand years. This fault line has been in constant flux, leaving cultural remnants of each power who has held control of region. Existing ethnic divisions, the drawing of arbitrary borders, and likely even more destructive, the forced religious conversion, has helped cultivate an environment ripe for civil war, culminating in the bloody dissolution of Yugoslavia less than 15 years past. In what might be but a brief moment of peace, I came here to see firsthand the impact of each of these variables, and to an even greater extent, how the people are coping with the sudden and dramatic shift from the most recent authoritarian regime under Tito (Yugoslavia), to six (likely soon to be seven - kosovo) struggling, independent states in the midst of rapid modernization, and for some, recent or in the near term accession to the European Union. So at its core, a study of history and identity on 2 levels; the collective damage of a millenium of occupation under multiple leading empires of the time and the more recent, and likely more transient, challenge of transitioning away from its socialist past to a westward leaning capitalist partner with the rest of europe, and the world beyond. Potentially ambitious to apply meaning to this trip - a focused purpose for journey - but at the very least want anyone reading to understand how I am approaching my trip, what im seeking to gain from it, and lastly how and why I have selected these destinations. It also seems a necessary explanation to precede my discussion of Slovenia which follows.

Slovenia is a healthy, high growth, west leaning country which conjures memories of my time spent in Austria rather than anything that Ive seen, or expect to see, further to the East. Due to its geographic location, its historically lied within the Habsburg sphere (sprinkled with some Italian influence near the coast), too far from Anatolia to ever fall under its control. It has little diversity, not plagued by any of the ethnic or religious tension that have caused such division and reaped such havoc in some other former Yugoslavian states. The relationship with former Yugoslavian counterparts seems strained, a reluctant partner which has looked to the west to rekindle ties with central europe, not the Balkans. One college student I met 2 nights ago at a kebab stand explained that with the Slovenian economy so much better off, many bosnias and serbians are crossing the border illegally to find work in cities like Ljubliana - he pointed to the guy the stand, acknowledging that his accent gave away his distant home. This same guy then articulated a sense among the Slovenes that the current government appears quite anxious to embed itself within the European union, and in effect distance themselves from the rest of the Balkans, that Slovenes are worried that their identity, already quite fragile, will be threatened. This concern seems common among euroskeptics who question the benefit of an "ever closer union" which to the average person scream greater bureaucracy with no personal benefit - its true to an extent, though at a macro level, Europe benefits greatly as a single economic center.

Another guy I met last night, a bit older but probably not past his early thirties, spoke some of us about a growing frustration among the older generation of Slovene workers with changes made since independence, in particular the ills of capitalism. These workers never had to worry about a job, the cost of food, but with the rise of unemployment, and movement of jobs across the world (sounds familiar no?) they are upset, and to an extent, yearn for the predictable but lower quality of life that the socialist way afforded them. It was quite interesting to hear such a perspective and understandable perhaps for those who are caught in the middle during this migration. That said, it is quite evident that the younger generation has embraced the change, and in the process, have begun to adapt to the changing economy and opportunity.

So anyway, I am beginning to enjoy the opportunity to notice and learn from locals about how they feel and are coping with all the change occuring in their country. So far this trip, mostly my time in Istria, it was hard to recognize or enjoy these shifts, mostly due to the holiday package tourists which were all around me, and spending time in places which witnessed little of the recent conflict - for all intensive purposes Istria is an Italian peninsula - all bilingual - as distant as Venice from the damage of the Croat-Serbian war. In Ljubliana I have only begun to scratch the surface I feel, and look forward, after my time relaxing and hiking in the Lake Bled region about an hour drive north of where I currently am, that I will find more of this when arriving in Zagreb and beyond later next week.

For now though, Im heading out. Expect another post from Ljubliana regarding some more of the highlights of what their is to do here, and to those who are more curious about what the nightlife is like, some info on my jazz club and discoteque experiences from the last two nights which includes my first plum tasting which was placed within, and saturated with, a homemade moonshine-like local specialty drink which I couldnt even spell if I tried. Until then...

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That said, the caves here are really special. Not sure whether I was simply ignorning the potential all these years, but wow, what a cool afternoon it was walking through the Jama - cave in Slovenian - yesterday, even with the tour group of 50 or so heads which traveled along with me - you can not meander along on your own, stuck in a group. Anyway, wish I had pics to share, but even then they forbid you from taking them down there so I have a few stealthy shots, but none came out too well, or so at first blush this is what I think. As for the request for pics, I hope to address this and by address this I mean purchase the necessary cord, when I get to the capital today - Istria wasnt the place to find such a thing.

Now, for what most of you have been waiting for: food. Its pretty much been a nightmare trying to find balance between cost, what is healthy, and what I eat. The balkans are not known for having much chicken and or turkey, which has made protein a difficult thing to find. Ive been eating a town of cheese, even tried one of those disgusting yogurt drinks (cherry) but could not finish it. Last night I was fortunate to stumble upon a kebab place which had chicken, and surmise that this will be my best bet moving forward. The distances I have walked in hopes of finding something which comforts me has been enormous, and think that a diet of banana, bread, peanuts, and "cut pizza" may not be sustainable. Lets just say I havent become desperate yet, but in time, who knows..

Well, time to head to the train station. Happy Independence day to those at home, I literally didnt realize it until the day was over, but oh well.

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Yesterday was spent away from Rovinj, mostly in Pazin which is the seat of the Istrian government - slap in the face to Pula, too Italian. Not the prettiest of towns I might add, though it is positioned deep in a valley which was a quite impressive descent via bus. I had hoped to trek 6km to the next hill town but unfortunately there were few signs to ensure I was going in the right direction, and too infrequent of bus links to ensure my ever returning to Rovinj that day. I did headoff in one direction for forty minutes in hopes of reaching Beram, but given my uncertainty of direction, I returned to Pazin, exploring its castle and a gorge below - quite cool, said to have inspired both Dante, the gate to hell, and Jules Verne, some underground river. The bus home was a mess, having to switch once in Zminj, with little direction from my bus driver who spoke only a few words in English.

As to not use up my goodwill on the free internet, people are waiting, I am going to head out now. And one more thing, I am promising now no more determinstic quips about losing my readership, whoever you are - I am no longer preoccupied with your degree of interest. Keep reading at your own pace.

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I did take a short day trip today to Porec, about 30 km north of here and famous for being the Croatian tourist trip, but also for a basilica that has mosaics rivaling the most famous of ones across the sea in Ravenna. Ive never been, but so ive been told. Tomorrow I head inland to Pazin, and if time permitting, Beram a 6km walk upstream from there. This will be my opportunity to see what the hill towns away from the coast are like, or so i hope since without a car, im limited to only a few options via bus. Well, more to say, but less time as I hemorrhage Kuna. Swimming the Adriatic these past few days have been nice, completely blue skies sure help in cleansing my memory from the cloud that is Ireland. Seeya...

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Some History:

Pula began as a Roman settlement, with a few notorious remnants from their rule. Though not quite as big as the one in Rome, the amplitheater rivals the colleseum in how well its been preserved. Most of the seating has been removed, but at the time, it could fit 22000 people, though for a town of only 5000, the math doesnt seem to add up. Today its used for performances of all sorts - currently tickets are on sale for Croatian version of Grease and a ballet. Pula has since been under the control of Venice, the Habsburgs, and most recently Yugoslavia before gaining its independence in the late eighties. During the Habsburg period Pula was the main naval command station, and James Joyce once was employed here as an english teacher - amusing, nice company - for their officers.

Small town Airport:

Arriving via plane alone emphasizes the difference between Croatia and its more modernized western counterparts. Though my antiquated guide book warned me it would be the case, I took for granted there would be public transportation from the airport that could shuttle me the 7 km to town, but clearly not. The only way in is via taxi, and luckily I was able to find someone willing to shuttle me in to the bus station for a mere 5 euros, significantly cheaper than the going rate of 100 kuna - about 20 usd, 15 euro. The airport in itself was quite empty, and there was little evidence of any new flights coming or going anywhere, anytime, in the near or distant future. I'd bet there were no more than 40 employees of all things airport oriented making the place run smoothly.

Next Steps:

I'm leaving for Rovinj in the morning, a smaller, more picturesque coastal town where I intend to stay three to four nights. The timing is based on the circumstances of my accomodation, the first place where I am going to have to arrange a sobe or homestay/private accomodation. It should be interesting, and hopefully not too expensive given the time of year. I look forward to writing about the experience of securing one - often by negotiation right outside the bus station. Also, coming soon will be a far more evocative explanation of my special interest in the balkans, and in effect, why I am devoting two months of my life to traveling to cities + places so far off manz peoples radar.

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Yesterday the majority of my day was spent on a day tour to the Burren and Cliffs of Moher. Though I tend to avoid such tours, this one was well worth it given the wealth of Western Ireland's natural attractions on the agenda. The Burren is a strange, Limestone infested rocky mountainous region which is on the whole, relatively thinly inhabited. It was interesting to view the rocky landscape, once settled by the druids several thousand years ago, and what remains today of their time here. During one stop there was enough time for me to hike partially up this rocky mountain, with fantastic views below, with the lush green fields cleared in recent decades for farming. Some may say its just a bunch of rocks, but it was cool.

The real show lied ahead, the thing which made this entire day trip worth my time and my clams. Though saturated with tourists, the cliffs did not disappoint. Their is scale is astounding, crash of the Atlantic waves breathtaking, and the temptation to play chicken with the 200 meter high edge frightening. The tour afforded us just short of an hour to walk portions of the cliff's edge designated for tourists, though most - and I mean everyone - choose to ignore the signs and jump the fence to explore the private property of those fortunate to own land overlooking such a majestic site. This trip truly made the entire afternoon, and visit to Galway, quite memorable. It should not be missed.

Unexpected Reunion:

You hear the stories of people stumbling upon friends or acquaintances from the distant past on such trips and you wonder if and when it will ever happen to you. Well, it turns out pretty early in the trip and pretty distant in my past. Five years ago I was working for Emory University during the summer after my sophomore year and we were given free housing - the 20 or so of us employed - for the duration of our employment in one of the freshman halls on campus. A few doors down was this kid Bart, a good guy but not someone who I ever clicked with at the time. Last night, he walked in the front door of the hostel I am staying at and our eyes met, somewhat of a double take, before placing each other. It was real cool to meet up in this fashion, to go out and have a drink with someone you haven't even thought about in five years. Enjoyed it quite a bit, as well as a lot of the other people that were at this hostel. If ever in Galway, Claddagh is the place to be - I was never bored and met some great people with a bunch of great stories to share.

Next Stop:

I'm leaving for Dublin in an hour or so via bus, staying one night before I'm to fly to Istria, a Croatian Peninsula near Italy, in the morning. Internet has been so omnipresent in Ireland that it has made writing consistently in this blog surprisingly easy. I doubt Croatia will afford me the same luxury, less the ubiquitousness of cafes, but more so the price - one euro or free in the majority of Irish locations frequented. Anyway, til next time. Seeya.

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Next, some quick responses to the comments I received. To be honest, skipped the stone kissing as the line for doing so was a little longer than thought worthwhile. Also, need to express appreciation for the Dingle suggestion - I wish I had left enough time to make a visit out there, from everything I've read its great to check out, real peaceful, pretty and such. This trip was never intended to be a deep dive into Ireland, though having seen it, realize that it would be a fun thing to do down the road. Having moved on from Cork, I really do appreciate it being a more real city for those visiting. Life goes on, and tourists need to get out of the way bc the locals feel no real need to make it easy for you. I like that a lot about such cities, where the tourist remains out of place, with no predestined plan. I prefer to sit back and observe the locals.

Finally, I'm hoping to instill greater discipline into the topics which I am writing about in my blog. Focusing on clear, reader friendly issues like my eating adventures, top sites or attractions, weird interactions with other travelers and/or locals and such. Please email me if you want to put forth one over another, or suggest a new theme of interest which will give me greater sense of how the public - is there anybody out there? - would like me to organize, it in a way that I am not simply rambling along about each day. That, I think, will grow tiresome in due time, as I alone have already grown somewhat sick of recounting it all. So, if you are out there, please, if you for whatever reason have sustained interest in reading my blog, send me suggestions. I will be sure to do a better job organizing my thoughts in a thoughtful manner.

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Cork is a vibrant city with a busy city centre set on an island created by a river which splits to the east of the city, and meets up again further to the west after what seems like little over a mile or two. Having arrived on a Saturday, it seemed that most of the city was out and about, walking along the busy shopping streets. Beyond the main avenues, many of the streets are dominated by pedestrians. Pubs abound, and two local beers battle for dominance - Murphy's and Beamish Stouts - and oddly enough compete with America's own Bud Light for supremacy in the region. Weird no? Even stranger, as I arrived at my hostel, a little more pressed for space then the one in Dublin, I was handed a 'buy one get one free' voucher for Coors light at the bar inside the hostel. I reluctantly accepted later on in the afternoon. This hostel was located to the north of the city, on a street also shared by the local polish population - same as Dublin. I remember hearing about polish plumbers storming the UK when the borders were opened but had never seen the result, functioning polish communities but a few years later, with polish supermarkets, and even a pizza place which I ate at for dinner last night, though it wasnt very good.

So, as I mentioned, my time spent in Cork has been therapeutic. This morning the sky opened to reveal its familiar, though recently absent, blue tone, and the sun continued to shine most of the day, though it did give way to some rain late afternoon. I ventured to blarney castle only a few km from the city center by bus, spending a few hours on the grounds of this famous castle, with its famous stone which, when kissed upside down, allegedly grants one the gift of eloquent speech. The weather could not have been better - no jacket, no sweatshirt, so if I was to have clear skies for but one morning, this would be the time to have it. I also made friends with an older girl from Niagara, Canada - maybe young 30s - also traveling alone, spending the next few hours with her, returning to the city, and visiting the Cork City Gaol. Yes, a Gaol, or Jail, that very same thing which had eluded me during my time in Dublin. Hence, serenity now. It was truly cathartic experience, and helped to cleanse the memories of my previous failure. The jail was ok to visit, nothing extraordinary, but interesting to see what life would is like living in such a setting. I was disappointed that most of those who had been incarcerated had committed only petty crimes, whereas the gaol in Dublin had revolutionary relevance. That said, this visit was not about what was inside anymore, finding it was enough.

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