Most of you have figured this out by now, but I'm back in the states. I arrived in Omaha a couple of weeks ago after leaving Prague on a cool, wet morning. It seemed appropriate - the weather was nearly the same as when I first arrived nearly 8 months previous. During my intermittent visits, I'd seen rain, snow, naked trees and cold winds, early summer, green, crowds, more crowds, "all the sights," and again the cooling of the seasons; autumn. Sitting in my hostel the last day or so and watching the rain fall, I knew it was time to leave. New travelers came and went, full of the excitement of being in a city they'd never seen, I didn't feel that I was missing anything by staying warm and dry.
My family and a few friends still live in Omaha. I spent about a week there visiting, catching up and sharing stories. I also interviewed for a permanent job with Jefferson County's Department of Open Space for a job with their trail crew. I worked there last year before going abroad and while I like the work, I like the people more. It's a good place to work and it gives me the opportunity to live in Denver with my friends without being too far from home. Napa is a long way from Omaha.
It's been a busy week and a half since I arrived in Denver. Aside from seeing as many friends as possible, I've also been apartment shopping, and consequently, apartment-furnishing shopping. Right now I have a lot of clothes and some assorted sporting goods, but not much on which to sit or sleep. Two days ago - within about 45 minutes of one another - I received (and accepted) a job offer from JeffCo, and received (and accepted) a 1-bedroom apartment near Cheeseman Park. I move in on Monday. Things are going well.
My new address is:
1420 E 13th Ave # 9
Denver, CO 80218
View Larger Map
I will keep my PO Box, so if you're mailing stuff there, no need to stop.
I'll get a picture or two up when I move in next week, but if you're in the area, give me a call. New phone is 303-905-2750.
Friday, September 28, 2007
hmmmm
If you're having a resolution problem with the slideshow below, you can watch it directly by clicking here. Thanks
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Furthur – An Epilogue
Rhine River
Greg, Joel and I planned a trip to Germany this week to visit Christian, a friend I met in New Zealand, whose family owns a winery. We needed to relax and decompress a bit from the last two months on the bikes, and we figured drinking wine and sleeping in real beds was a good place to start. We caught an overnight bus from Prague to Frankfurt and a train on to Bad Kreuznach, where Christian met us on Monday morning.
Old Town Frankfurt.
Frankfurt
We only traveled a few hundred miles, but we might as well have boarded the magic time-travel bus into the future. Arriving in Germany, we were pleasantly reminded what it’s like to exist in the first world. I’m not saying Prague isn’t a great city – it is. But there’s something undeniably “eastern-European” about it. It’s a combination of characteristics (tangible or otherwise) that are present across the Czech Republic and down through the Balkans (uh-hmm, communism). So walking into a modern, clean, traveler-oriented train station was amazing. Automated ticket machines gave us the option to pay by credit card, customer service representatives weren’t sitting behind dirty glass windows with cigarettes hanging from their mouths, and smoking in designated areas was actually enforced. Things got off to a good start.
Famous vineyards on the Rhine.
With the last-minute change of plans, Christian didn’t get our email explaining that we’d arrive Monday morning rather than Monday afternoon. It wasn’t a problem, though, and we headed to Langenlonsheim, stopping for breakfast along the way. After a mean breakfast fry up (and naps), we set out with Christian and his girlfriend Julia for a tour of the Nahe wine region, which is near the Rhine River. The weather cleared up just in time for a relaxing afternoon drive through dozens of vineyards, and we had coffee overlooking the Rhine in the late afternoon sun.
Christian and Julia above the Rhine.
Wine tasting in Jacob's vineyard.
After dinner, Christian presented to us a selection of his family’s wines. Not adhering strictly to a tasting format, we drank the better part of 6 bottles that night. Christian has a degree in oenology and viticulture (winemaking and vine growing, respectively) and will be the winemaker at Clemens Honrath Winery (his family’s) when his father retires. Therefore, he was able to explain to us many characteristics about each wine, from the soil types of each vineyard, to the time each wine was in barrel, to the specific weather conditions each year that produced certain attributes in each bottle. It was the best wine tasting I’ve ever done because we were able to ask him anything without being made to feel stupid or un(der)educated. The wine is quite nice, too.
It would be difficult for Julia to look less interested.
The next two days were full of late mornings and visits to many of Christian’s friends’ wineries. We tasted and learned a lot, and it’s clear that Christian and his friends are passionate about what they do. That was reflected in their patience with us, the quality of the wines they produce, and their desire to continue to make a better product every year. Making good wine is a full-time, year-round job, and as Jacob said, he’d do it even if he wasn’t making money. The difference is that I believe him. Each of Christian’s friends welcomed us and made us feel at home, even helping Joel with his German.
Joel and Greg soak in the view.
Greg left on Thursday morning and Joel and I took some time to visit Bad Kreuznach. That evening the four of us made dinner and relaxed with a few more bottles of wine. Christian managed to outdo himself by presenting a Clemens Honrath 1982 noble-late-harvest sweet wine, a Reisling, from his personal library. He followed that with a 2001 Bordeaux blend (merlot, cab franc, cab sauv) from Robertson Winery in South Africa. Both of these wines were phenomenal, and Joel and I felt very fortunate to experience them with Christian. Seeing as it was nearly impossible to go up from there, we decided on a nightcap of a few German beers.
The future of Clemens Honrath Winery gains inspiration from the past.
And so I sit in Frankfurt waiting for a bus that will come shortly to take me back to Prague (again overnight). I spent the day walking around the city, most of which is really new, at least relative to many of the other places we’ve visited during the past couple of months. From the pictures I’ve seen, Frankfurt was leveled during WWII. The “old town” is nice but small, and much the city is now modern, lacking a “personal” feel. It looks more like Minneapolis than anything I’ve seen lately, complete with a big river running through the center of town. But my first trip to Germany has been a memorable one, and I hope to return.
Frankfurt's banking district.
Greg and Joel now gone, our trip is really over. It’s sinking in that I’ll be in the states in a few days, and I’m having mixed emotions about returning home. I’m excited to see my family and friends – it’s been too long. But this experiment – this experience, this past year – has been the best of my life. I’ve struggled with my own limits and been forced to change course more than once. I’ve made new friends, seen old places, and learned that you can never lose your “family.”
If you want some unsolicited advice (after buying property in Montenegro and visiting Bosnia, which I’ve already covered), get “out there.” “Out there” may be Peace Corps in Swaziland, it may be teaching English in Prague, or it may be making a decision that’s really for you, but it’s got to be uncomfortable, and it’s better if the odds are stacked against you. Take calculated risks. Don’t hesitate to try something that everyone tells you is crazy, and if you fail, fail well. Fail because you’ve given it all you’ve got, fail because you’ve run into a wall at full speed, fail because there’s no overtime and you chose to go for the win instead of the tie. But don’t fail because it’s too hard, too steep, or too long – for then you have truly failed. What’s more, you’ll probably succeed anyway - we’re smarter than we think and capable of more than we know. And that’s why I don’t want this to end.
This didn't make the cut from Belgrade. I know I'm acting like an 11-year old. It's still funny.
go furthur
Sunday, September 02, 2007
And So It Ends...
Downtown Bucharest
We left Veliko Tarnovo and rode north toward the Romanian border, losing elevation as we approached the Danube River Valley. We arrived in Ruse at the end of another long, hot day, but this time with the added joy of humidity. So when we found a hotel room with air conditioning, we quickly settled up and bought some beer. Ruse doesn’t offer much, so we rested that night and crossed the Danube the following morning as we headed toward Bucharest.
The House of the People
Bucharest's own Arc de Triumph
Bucharest is a city still emerging from many years under a dictator with a “Western” complex. In some respects he succeeded; it’s at times Paris-esque (or so I’ve heard). The buildings lay along streets lined with trees and fountains. In fact, Nicolae Ceauşescu (the dictator) built one of his boulevards exactly (and intentionally) 6 meters longer than the Champs-Elysees in Paris. Bucharest has an Arc de Triumph situated in an enormous traffic circle, and in what is widely considered his cruelest urban planning effort, a Parliament building which required the bulldozing of 1/6 of the city’s area, displacing nearly 70,000 of it’s inhabitants. And he had the balls to call it “The House of the People.” Not kidding.
Cercul Militar Naţional
But for all the “westernized” areas of Bucharest, it is distinctly a product of years of communism. It’s thick and gray and sprawling. Furthermore, Romania falls exponentially behind progress with distance from its capital. Stray dogs are a problem country wide, along with poverty and gypsies, who are also known as Roma. Some studies show they are Indian in origin, but they’ve been around long enough to speak their own language and solidify their place as national “outcasts.” Often they live in their own communities at the edges of towns, and fierce nationalism across the Balkans has made their lives difficult.
"House of the People" from Ceauşescu's knock-off Champs-Elysees
Again
Our trip dynamic changed dramatically in Bucharest as Greg had to leave for Ljubljana, where he would meet his choir for a tour of Slovenia. That left Joel and I to explore the city in the heat and humidity. We tried to stay outside in the evenings, and we soon found ourselves on the roof of the National Theatre at an outdoor bar. However, we were feeling cosmopolitan (despite our dress) and headed next to a bar called Twice. For more reasons than our style of dress, we didn’t exactly fit in. But we had a great time dancing that evening. And that was Bucharest. The following day was basically the same. Sightseeing by day, beer and dancing by night. We left on a rainy Sunday afternoon by train toward Brasov.
Brasov, Old Town
Brasov, Old Town, lucky picture.
Brasov is Romania’s domestic tourist destination. It’s known for its Old Town Square, its varied architecture, and simply being the gateway to Transylvania. In a beautiful area, Brasov manages to impress. We also visited Bran, the mythical home of Count Dracula, and Rasnov, where Joel honed his bow-and-arrow skills. After a couple of nights, we were ready for our final day on the bikes, and we left for Sighisoara, 122km away. It was our longest day ride of the trip, and the weather was wonderful. After a night there, we caught a train to Cluj-Napoca where Lynne, my second cousin once removed (or maybe my second aunt?) lives with her husband Jim. They’re (you guessed it) volunteers with the Peace Corps working with the local prisons, stray dogs, and a few other things.
Joel works on his sweet bow skills.
Lynne and Jim took us in, cooked us dinner, and gave us beer. When we weren’t eating, drinking, or watching South Park on www.tv-links.co.uk, we also managed to sell our bikes and buy Joel some Nasonex. We actually had so much fun hanging out with Lynne and Jim that we didn’t see much of Cluj. On Friday, we left on a minibus for Budapest, minus the bikes. After an infuriating night in Budapest (see sidebar), we caught a train to Prague, and the greatest adventure on two wheels came to an end.
Sighisoara
I haven’t had much time to decompress and reflect on the previous two months, and I imagine that will take some time. I do know that it’s been a life-altering experience. Together, we bicycled over a mountain pass in the Alps, through lavender fields on islands in the Adriatic Sea, and below tunnels that seemed to run on forever. We witnessed progress, westernization, and scars slowly healing. We met people who’d lived under communism and experienced the horrors of senseless wars that took the lives of their friends and families. And yet it was these people who opened their homes to us, shared their food and drink with us, and talked with us about what it means to live in such an area. It's clear that life changes after living through such things. It has been remarkable.
Rasnov
We left Veliko Tarnovo and rode north toward the Romanian border, losing elevation as we approached the Danube River Valley. We arrived in Ruse at the end of another long, hot day, but this time with the added joy of humidity. So when we found a hotel room with air conditioning, we quickly settled up and bought some beer. Ruse doesn’t offer much, so we rested that night and crossed the Danube the following morning as we headed toward Bucharest.
The House of the People
Bucharest's own Arc de Triumph
Bucharest is a city still emerging from many years under a dictator with a “Western” complex. In some respects he succeeded; it’s at times Paris-esque (or so I’ve heard). The buildings lay along streets lined with trees and fountains. In fact, Nicolae Ceauşescu (the dictator) built one of his boulevards exactly (and intentionally) 6 meters longer than the Champs-Elysees in Paris. Bucharest has an Arc de Triumph situated in an enormous traffic circle, and in what is widely considered his cruelest urban planning effort, a Parliament building which required the bulldozing of 1/6 of the city’s area, displacing nearly 70,000 of it’s inhabitants. And he had the balls to call it “The House of the People.” Not kidding.
Cercul Militar Naţional
But for all the “westernized” areas of Bucharest, it is distinctly a product of years of communism. It’s thick and gray and sprawling. Furthermore, Romania falls exponentially behind progress with distance from its capital. Stray dogs are a problem country wide, along with poverty and gypsies, who are also known as Roma. Some studies show they are Indian in origin, but they’ve been around long enough to speak their own language and solidify their place as national “outcasts.” Often they live in their own communities at the edges of towns, and fierce nationalism across the Balkans has made their lives difficult.
"House of the People" from Ceauşescu's knock-off Champs-Elysees
Again
Our trip dynamic changed dramatically in Bucharest as Greg had to leave for Ljubljana, where he would meet his choir for a tour of Slovenia. That left Joel and I to explore the city in the heat and humidity. We tried to stay outside in the evenings, and we soon found ourselves on the roof of the National Theatre at an outdoor bar. However, we were feeling cosmopolitan (despite our dress) and headed next to a bar called Twice. For more reasons than our style of dress, we didn’t exactly fit in. But we had a great time dancing that evening. And that was Bucharest. The following day was basically the same. Sightseeing by day, beer and dancing by night. We left on a rainy Sunday afternoon by train toward Brasov.
Brasov, Old Town
Brasov, Old Town, lucky picture.
Brasov is Romania’s domestic tourist destination. It’s known for its Old Town Square, its varied architecture, and simply being the gateway to Transylvania. In a beautiful area, Brasov manages to impress. We also visited Bran, the mythical home of Count Dracula, and Rasnov, where Joel honed his bow-and-arrow skills. After a couple of nights, we were ready for our final day on the bikes, and we left for Sighisoara, 122km away. It was our longest day ride of the trip, and the weather was wonderful. After a night there, we caught a train to Cluj-Napoca where Lynne, my second cousin once removed (or maybe my second aunt?) lives with her husband Jim. They’re (you guessed it) volunteers with the Peace Corps working with the local prisons, stray dogs, and a few other things.
Joel works on his sweet bow skills.
Lynne and Jim took us in, cooked us dinner, and gave us beer. When we weren’t eating, drinking, or watching South Park on www.tv-links.co.uk, we also managed to sell our bikes and buy Joel some Nasonex. We actually had so much fun hanging out with Lynne and Jim that we didn’t see much of Cluj. On Friday, we left on a minibus for Budapest, minus the bikes. After an infuriating night in Budapest (see sidebar), we caught a train to Prague, and the greatest adventure on two wheels came to an end.
Sighisoara
I haven’t had much time to decompress and reflect on the previous two months, and I imagine that will take some time. I do know that it’s been a life-altering experience. Together, we bicycled over a mountain pass in the Alps, through lavender fields on islands in the Adriatic Sea, and below tunnels that seemed to run on forever. We witnessed progress, westernization, and scars slowly healing. We met people who’d lived under communism and experienced the horrors of senseless wars that took the lives of their friends and families. And yet it was these people who opened their homes to us, shared their food and drink with us, and talked with us about what it means to live in such an area. It's clear that life changes after living through such things. It has been remarkable.
Rasnov
Sidebar
It happens to foreigners in big cities everywhere. You probably know someone who knows someone who’s got a story like the one I’m about to tell. It involves the unsuspecting Americans, the ones too stupid to see they’re being played. It’s typically a sob story of some nature, and ours is no different.
But the night began well. After all, we were in Budapest; the bikes sold long ago. Having spent the previous Christmas there, we were excited to see the city by summer with its warm nights and beautiful people along the Danube. We’d been approached by a couple of girls we suspected to be Scandinavian (or perhaps Dutch) asking directions. Unable to help, they told us about an outdoor concert and we said it sounded nice but were headed the other direction. “Good luck,” we said.
After finishing our beers on the Chain Bridge, we began walking back into town and decided we’d head toward the outdoor concert and look for the girls. It’d be good to hear some music, we were out of beer, and let’s be honest, the girls weren’t a tough sell, either. So when we were stopped by two more women along the way (and I say women because they were - ya know - attractive women in their 30s) also asking directions, we didn’t plan on chatting for long. But they were headed the same way and asked us if we wanted to have a quick drink.
It didn’t take us long to say yes. After all, you know what they say about a bird in hand. So when we began walking toward a restaurant, we assumed a beer was a beer. We’d have one, yuck it up with these “old ladies” for a few minutes, and be on our way to the more appropriately aged ones at the outdoor concert. I made the first mistake, which was going to the toilet before getting to the table.
When I arrived at the table, there were already four wine glasses, four shots of schnapps, and two energy drinks (the women ordered these for themselves). The waitress was uncorking the wine bottle, and I was confused. It seemed strange that they wouldn’t even wait for me to arrive from the toilet before ordering. So as the wine was poured from a half-liter bottle, I was already suspicious that something wasn’t right (half-liter bottles of wine are often really expensive).
The conversation wasn’t stellar, either. The woman talking with Joel seemed riveted to every word that came out of his mouth and laughed (excessively?) at all of his jokes. The one talking to me was pretty much the same. This made me very uncomfortable (I’m not really laugh-out-loud funny). When the conversation turned to our accommodation for the night, we explained we didn’t have much money and were staying in a hostel. “It’s like a hotel for poor kids,” we said. Joel’s “date” then extended an offer of returning to their place later that night, presumably after going to the discos. At this point, I knew we were going to get fucked.
When the waitress returned asking if we wanted another bottle of wine, I clearly said “no,” and Joel followed my lead. After all, we were leaving early the next morning and had to get to bed (we managed to work that into the conversation about as smoothly as they worked their ex-boyfriends in). My suspicions confirmed, the bill was 44,000 forints, which converts to about $240.00. Not surprisingly, the women had no cash. However, the waitress was “kind enough” to show us outside to an ATM. As Joel headed out, I asked to see a menu (having not been, uh, afforded the opportunity before ordering). The energy drinks were $20 each, the shots the same. The bottle of wine was about $120. Sweet.
I asked if the menu was for “stupid tourists,” and tried a bit to fight our way out of it. But Joel was already tapping the cash machine, and by the time he returned, the bill was paid in full. Still slightly in shock (and hoping my mental conversion was way wrong), we left the restaurant with the women. We walked to the corner together where we said our goodbyes, turning down an only slightly veiled offer of “more fun.”
I don’t get seriously angry often. It’s only when I’ve been taken advantage of, betrayed, or, in this case, robbed. The walk home that night was at a fast pace, and I mastered a vernacular in which the word “fuck” assumed nearly every known part of speech. I was furious with the women for clearly taking advantage of us, but in reality, I was probably more upset for allowing it to happen. We should have seen it from a mile away - the restaurant too good for us, and the women, well, we had no business with those women, for any reason. We were set up and knocked down. I would have rather taken my bike and thrown in into the Danube River than spend the money from it’s sale to halve the cost of our night with Joel.
A de-briefing not withstanding, the lessons learned from this night are clear, and I won’t bore you with a drawn-out explanation. I’ve been through it more times in my head during the last 48 hours than anyone could ever dream. I guess it just goes to show that you’ve got to stay sharp all the time. While I was upset for a little while, there’s no way I could let it dampen the previous two months. It’s disappointing that it happened at the end of the trip, but it could have been worse. I still recommend Budapest, but now that recommendation comes with a small caveat.
But the night began well. After all, we were in Budapest; the bikes sold long ago. Having spent the previous Christmas there, we were excited to see the city by summer with its warm nights and beautiful people along the Danube. We’d been approached by a couple of girls we suspected to be Scandinavian (or perhaps Dutch) asking directions. Unable to help, they told us about an outdoor concert and we said it sounded nice but were headed the other direction. “Good luck,” we said.
After finishing our beers on the Chain Bridge, we began walking back into town and decided we’d head toward the outdoor concert and look for the girls. It’d be good to hear some music, we were out of beer, and let’s be honest, the girls weren’t a tough sell, either. So when we were stopped by two more women along the way (and I say women because they were - ya know - attractive women in their 30s) also asking directions, we didn’t plan on chatting for long. But they were headed the same way and asked us if we wanted to have a quick drink.
It didn’t take us long to say yes. After all, you know what they say about a bird in hand. So when we began walking toward a restaurant, we assumed a beer was a beer. We’d have one, yuck it up with these “old ladies” for a few minutes, and be on our way to the more appropriately aged ones at the outdoor concert. I made the first mistake, which was going to the toilet before getting to the table.
When I arrived at the table, there were already four wine glasses, four shots of schnapps, and two energy drinks (the women ordered these for themselves). The waitress was uncorking the wine bottle, and I was confused. It seemed strange that they wouldn’t even wait for me to arrive from the toilet before ordering. So as the wine was poured from a half-liter bottle, I was already suspicious that something wasn’t right (half-liter bottles of wine are often really expensive).
The conversation wasn’t stellar, either. The woman talking with Joel seemed riveted to every word that came out of his mouth and laughed (excessively?) at all of his jokes. The one talking to me was pretty much the same. This made me very uncomfortable (I’m not really laugh-out-loud funny). When the conversation turned to our accommodation for the night, we explained we didn’t have much money and were staying in a hostel. “It’s like a hotel for poor kids,” we said. Joel’s “date” then extended an offer of returning to their place later that night, presumably after going to the discos. At this point, I knew we were going to get fucked.
When the waitress returned asking if we wanted another bottle of wine, I clearly said “no,” and Joel followed my lead. After all, we were leaving early the next morning and had to get to bed (we managed to work that into the conversation about as smoothly as they worked their ex-boyfriends in). My suspicions confirmed, the bill was 44,000 forints, which converts to about $240.00. Not surprisingly, the women had no cash. However, the waitress was “kind enough” to show us outside to an ATM. As Joel headed out, I asked to see a menu (having not been, uh, afforded the opportunity before ordering). The energy drinks were $20 each, the shots the same. The bottle of wine was about $120. Sweet.
I asked if the menu was for “stupid tourists,” and tried a bit to fight our way out of it. But Joel was already tapping the cash machine, and by the time he returned, the bill was paid in full. Still slightly in shock (and hoping my mental conversion was way wrong), we left the restaurant with the women. We walked to the corner together where we said our goodbyes, turning down an only slightly veiled offer of “more fun.”
I don’t get seriously angry often. It’s only when I’ve been taken advantage of, betrayed, or, in this case, robbed. The walk home that night was at a fast pace, and I mastered a vernacular in which the word “fuck” assumed nearly every known part of speech. I was furious with the women for clearly taking advantage of us, but in reality, I was probably more upset for allowing it to happen. We should have seen it from a mile away - the restaurant too good for us, and the women, well, we had no business with those women, for any reason. We were set up and knocked down. I would have rather taken my bike and thrown in into the Danube River than spend the money from it’s sale to halve the cost of our night with Joel.
A de-briefing not withstanding, the lessons learned from this night are clear, and I won’t bore you with a drawn-out explanation. I’ve been through it more times in my head during the last 48 hours than anyone could ever dream. I guess it just goes to show that you’ve got to stay sharp all the time. While I was upset for a little while, there’s no way I could let it dampen the previous two months. It’s disappointing that it happened at the end of the trip, but it could have been worse. I still recommend Budapest, but now that recommendation comes with a small caveat.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Crankin' Along
Sofia from 2000 meters.
So after gorging myself on John and Nancy's high-speed internet uploading videos to YouTube during our first day in Sofia, we finally got out of the house and saw the town. Well, let me back up a minute. Greg and Joel did visit the US Embassy on the first day, and returned from the "American Store" with peanut butter, Dinty More and Ruffles. That night John and Nancy grilled hamburgers and we enjoyed our first "American" meal of the trip.
St Nedelya Church
Russian Church in Sofia.
The following day we decided to get back to nature (sort of) and explore Mt Vitosha, which rises high above Sofia on the south side of the city. We rode two ski lifts to avoid hiking up, and this was a good thing, because we didn't get started 'till well after noon. It felt amazing to be in big mountains again, and looking down across the wide valley below, the smog-choked city of Sofia might as well have been Denver. After a few hours in the alpine, we began walking down the mountain (we missed the last chair) before Nancy met us in the car. That night we met John and had dinner at a local microbrewery.
Alexander Nevsky Cathedral
Alexander Nevsky Cathedral - note gold-brick roads below.
It wasn't before our final day "in Sofia" that we actually made it into Sofia. We followed the Lonely Planet's suggested walking route of the town and enjoyed being full-on tourists for an afternoon. Sofia is beautiful and yet undeniably the product of many years of communism. Near the stunning Alexander Nevsky Cathedral you'll find things like the National Palace of Culture, which is perfectly ugly (and not surprisingly opened under the Iron Curtain). However, after walking around the golden brick streets for an afternoon, we felt satiated with Sofia and returned to John and Nancy's for a traditional Bulgarian dinner of shopska salad and stuffed peppers. We followed it with some Rakia and cigars, courtesy of John. It was tough to leave the next day. We'd experienced unmatched hospitality and kindness and we all felt as "at home" as we had since, well, leaving home. So, John and Nancy, thank you again for everything.
John and Nancy with "the smelly boys."
We call him "Joel the Lionhearted."
We headed out of town by train to Karlovo, and with some fellow Peace Corps contacts from John, we met up with Matt Sumpter, a volunteer living in Kalofer. Matt works with the local municipality on a few different projects, but spends a lot of his time "advertising" the community and nearby national park in an attempt to bring more visitors to the region. Their website is actually modeled on the state of Colorado's tourism site, so check it out if your planning a trip to Bulgaria any time soon. Matt opened his flat to us and we all enjoyed dinner in town that night. As a note, we also saw our second burning car of the trip.
The Balkan Range
Biking through central Bulgaria.
The next morning we headed out on the bikes for one of our better rides. Heading east, we soon began our accent of Shipka Pass, passing through the town of Shipka and the most heavily plated, gold-domed church I've ever seen. It shown brightly on the hillside from miles away, and upon approach became more impressive. That was before the 14-km climb to the top of the pass, which was long and challenging. The view was alright, but the mass amounts of traffic (the pass to the east was closed for repair) made the climb longer, louder and smokier than it should have been. The decent was steep and fast as we passed through dense forests approaching Gabravo, where we'd meet up with Casey and Lindsey Foltz, also Peace Corps volunteers.
High country on Mt Vitosha
Casey and Lindsey welcomed us into their spacious flat and even let us do a load of laundry. So after stashing our bikes on their neighbor Amanda's porch, we showered and headed out for dinner. Casey and Lindsay also work for the municipality on a number of local projects. The next morning they took us to the local orphanage, which they explained is actually one of the nicer facilities of its kind in Bulgaria. We met many of the kids and spent about an hour with them before heading to lunch and back on the road. We rode on toward Veliko Tarnovo and met Melanie (yeah, also Peace Corps) in another town just up the hill.
John and Nancy would call this a "Bulgarian moment." Trash dumpster in the middle of town burning, and no one seems to mind.
VT, as it's called, has received a lot of attention of late, and the Lonely Planet has even gone as far as calling it the "new Prague." We all agreed that's blasphemy, but it's a town not without charms. It was once the capital of Bulgaria, and a fortress stands proudly above a large kink in the river. At night, a laser-light show captivates tourists. We missed it last night because we were still eating dinner, but we'll try and make it tonight. Tomorrow we're headed north toward the Danube River, which we'll see for the third time this trip. It's also the border with Romania, and with any luck we'll be in Bucharest in two days time. Thanks again to everyone with the Peace Corps who've welcomed us along our journey. It's been wonderful to speak with Americans again, and your hospitality won't be forgotten.
Fortress by night.
Fortress by day.
route update
View Larger Map
So after gorging myself on John and Nancy's high-speed internet uploading videos to YouTube during our first day in Sofia, we finally got out of the house and saw the town. Well, let me back up a minute. Greg and Joel did visit the US Embassy on the first day, and returned from the "American Store" with peanut butter, Dinty More and Ruffles. That night John and Nancy grilled hamburgers and we enjoyed our first "American" meal of the trip.
St Nedelya Church
Russian Church in Sofia.
The following day we decided to get back to nature (sort of) and explore Mt Vitosha, which rises high above Sofia on the south side of the city. We rode two ski lifts to avoid hiking up, and this was a good thing, because we didn't get started 'till well after noon. It felt amazing to be in big mountains again, and looking down across the wide valley below, the smog-choked city of Sofia might as well have been Denver. After a few hours in the alpine, we began walking down the mountain (we missed the last chair) before Nancy met us in the car. That night we met John and had dinner at a local microbrewery.
Alexander Nevsky Cathedral
Alexander Nevsky Cathedral - note gold-brick roads below.
It wasn't before our final day "in Sofia" that we actually made it into Sofia. We followed the Lonely Planet's suggested walking route of the town and enjoyed being full-on tourists for an afternoon. Sofia is beautiful and yet undeniably the product of many years of communism. Near the stunning Alexander Nevsky Cathedral you'll find things like the National Palace of Culture, which is perfectly ugly (and not surprisingly opened under the Iron Curtain). However, after walking around the golden brick streets for an afternoon, we felt satiated with Sofia and returned to John and Nancy's for a traditional Bulgarian dinner of shopska salad and stuffed peppers. We followed it with some Rakia and cigars, courtesy of John. It was tough to leave the next day. We'd experienced unmatched hospitality and kindness and we all felt as "at home" as we had since, well, leaving home. So, John and Nancy, thank you again for everything.
John and Nancy with "the smelly boys."
We call him "Joel the Lionhearted."
We headed out of town by train to Karlovo, and with some fellow Peace Corps contacts from John, we met up with Matt Sumpter, a volunteer living in Kalofer. Matt works with the local municipality on a few different projects, but spends a lot of his time "advertising" the community and nearby national park in an attempt to bring more visitors to the region. Their website is actually modeled on the state of Colorado's tourism site, so check it out if your planning a trip to Bulgaria any time soon. Matt opened his flat to us and we all enjoyed dinner in town that night. As a note, we also saw our second burning car of the trip.
The Balkan Range
Biking through central Bulgaria.
The next morning we headed out on the bikes for one of our better rides. Heading east, we soon began our accent of Shipka Pass, passing through the town of Shipka and the most heavily plated, gold-domed church I've ever seen. It shown brightly on the hillside from miles away, and upon approach became more impressive. That was before the 14-km climb to the top of the pass, which was long and challenging. The view was alright, but the mass amounts of traffic (the pass to the east was closed for repair) made the climb longer, louder and smokier than it should have been. The decent was steep and fast as we passed through dense forests approaching Gabravo, where we'd meet up with Casey and Lindsey Foltz, also Peace Corps volunteers.
High country on Mt Vitosha
Casey and Lindsey welcomed us into their spacious flat and even let us do a load of laundry. So after stashing our bikes on their neighbor Amanda's porch, we showered and headed out for dinner. Casey and Lindsay also work for the municipality on a number of local projects. The next morning they took us to the local orphanage, which they explained is actually one of the nicer facilities of its kind in Bulgaria. We met many of the kids and spent about an hour with them before heading to lunch and back on the road. We rode on toward Veliko Tarnovo and met Melanie (yeah, also Peace Corps) in another town just up the hill.
John and Nancy would call this a "Bulgarian moment." Trash dumpster in the middle of town burning, and no one seems to mind.
VT, as it's called, has received a lot of attention of late, and the Lonely Planet has even gone as far as calling it the "new Prague." We all agreed that's blasphemy, but it's a town not without charms. It was once the capital of Bulgaria, and a fortress stands proudly above a large kink in the river. At night, a laser-light show captivates tourists. We missed it last night because we were still eating dinner, but we'll try and make it tonight. Tomorrow we're headed north toward the Danube River, which we'll see for the third time this trip. It's also the border with Romania, and with any luck we'll be in Bucharest in two days time. Thanks again to everyone with the Peace Corps who've welcomed us along our journey. It's been wonderful to speak with Americans again, and your hospitality won't be forgotten.
Fortress by night.
Fortress by day.
route update
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Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Wild Life
As it goes, we struggled to get out of Sarajevo in a timely fashion. We went on what nearly became a 4-hour wild goose chase in search of a Fed Ex, all the while using directions from a well-meaning woman who was instead thinking of a DHL. Problem is, DHL didn't do what we needed. We needed Fed Ex. Eventually we found a Fed Ex, but it was about 5km from the DHL and not in the direction we needed to go. So after getting things sewn up with the package people, we struck north toward Visoko and the "world's largest pyramids", or so we thought.
See, it's a "pyramid."
Upon visitation/investigation, we believe the "pyramids" to be nothing more than generally pyramidally shaped mountains, or, as some people believe, a mass-marketing scheme. I suppose with a bit of creativity, you can see pyramids, but Giza these ain't. However, because we had a late start, we didn't mind spending the night in Visoko in favor of an early start the next day. This turned out to be a good thing.
Yeah, so I mentioned in a previous post that buying property in Montenegro might be a good investment. Well, this isn't Montenegro.
First, let's get something out in the open. Bad maps prevent good planning and often lead to frustration. This was the case for most of our day, and the frustration was magnified as Greg and I thought back to our decision two days earlier; "we don't need a better map, it's expensive and this one's got the roads we need." Well, 12 hours, 120km (lots of backtracking) and a really steep, rocky pushing section later, we found somewhere to camp in the Bosnian countryside. But things were (almost) all up from this point. We ran across the first major wildlife of our trip in the form of the meanest, ugliest, hairiest woman any of us have ever seen. We call her the grizzly bear. She tried to charge us 20 Euro per person for a room without a bathroom or running water. Luckily, a family was grilling out across the road and saved us time and money by translating and telling us not to take her room, and that we'd be better off to sleep outside. One of the men was a local cop, and he assured us that no one would bother us there; it was perfectly legal for us to stay all night. We sat around and talked for a while, and it turned out they were Muslims from Albania and Bosnia taking a short holiday. They gave us beer and fired up the grill, cooking the rest of their food for us and leaving us with more than we could manage.
Engineers take note.
That night, the leftover trash attracted what Greg initially thought was a wolf. We yelled loudly and scared it away, but when it returned an hour later, we watched it for a while before deciding it was not a wolf, but something much smaller. We thought it'd be a good idea to charge it and scare it away because it was keeping us awake as it rummaged around the bottles and bags. So I put on my shoes and picked up a rock and started running toward it. About half way there, I realized it was a lot bigger than a raccoon, and in fact it was probably a coyote. No matter. It was more scared than me and after it ran off we built the fire back up and slept well the rest of the night. How could we not when we were sleeping in such a masterfully designed shelter (engineer friends of ours, take note)?
Skinned sheep - 9am.
We planned on riding about 80km the next day, but were slow getting out of bed. Just as we were about to leave the site at 9am, a car pulled up and a man got out, walking over and re-starting the fire we'd just extinguished. We said hello, but he didn't speak much English. Over the next 5 minutes, a few of his friends arrived and offered us a beer. We knew we were walking a fine line, but accepted the offer as "stretching beers." Well, during the coarse of our stretching, about 15 more guys showed up with two sheep (one cooked, the other prepared for a rotisserie-style slow cook over the coals), 10 cases of beer, and a soccer ball. Our "stretching beers" just below half full, we were presented with a second round (by now it's about 9:30a) and an invitation to spend the day with these guys and share in the lamb-roasting festivities. We decided that 'cause we had to go so far that day, it'd be best to hit the road "as soon as these beers are finished." Yeah, right.
Skinned sheep 3 hours later. Notice we're "ready to ride" only in a clothing sense.
The next 5 hours were a party the likes of which we may never experience again. We had 3-on-3 soccer matches (the USA didn't fair too well in the international match), drank about 7 or 8 beers each, and had a few shots of bourbon to balance out the 2 - 3 pounds of lamb we inhaled. These guys were thinking ahead. They had cooked one lamb the night before so that they wouldn't have to wait the 3 hours for the second lamb to cook. So between beer and soccer, we gorged on lamb, Ćevapi and bread. Turns out these guys all worked together at a shoe factory and came camping once a year at this spot together. They were all Muslim (hence the lamb), and welcomed us completely, sharing stories and telling jokes, listening to music and even inviting us to stay the night back at their homes - after all, 80km was looking harder and harder. But as the storm clouds rolled in, they decided to move the picnic to a better campsite with more shelter, and we decided to ride toward Banja Luka, the capital of the Republika Srpska (but not without a heaping plate of freshly finished lamb and a loaf of bread from the guys).
The sheep scene.
Riding 80km in rain while drunk is not a good idea. We survived the drunk part, but the hangover, combined with the professional lamb consumption of the morning, made for a long, cold, wet afternoon. Arriving in Banja Luka (Бања Лука - yeah, we've moved onto the Cyrillic alphabet now), we found a hotel and dried out before passing out. It'd been a long day, and we didn't make it out of the hotel 'till almost noon the next day. We were planning on touring around the city, but we met someone in the hotel lobby who dramatically changed our plans.
Nikola is a 63-year old, rally racer-turned-drag-racer-car-modification specialist. We started talking in the lobby and quickly hit it off with stories from our bike trip and his rally racing past. Turns out he and his son have been the numbers 1 and 2 rally drivers in the Republika Srpska over the past 4 years. Nikola's son, Nikica also rides bikes, so Nikola offered to take us to his house and introduce us to his son and his drag racing car.
Arriving at his flat, we were amazed as he fired up his Peugeot 205 MI 32, which he's modified by adding another engine! The front engine drives the front tires and the rear the rear. It's a one-of-a-kind vehicle that Greg was lucky enough to get test drive in. Joel and I laughed as we listened to Nikola and Greg screaming around Banja Luka. We talked with Nikica, who does freelance web design when he's not racing cars or bikes, who has posted the story of the car, along with some videos and pictures of the car on the net. After the test drive, Nikola offered to give us a tour of town in their 1 of 400 special addition unmarked Peugeot 405 T 16. It's a street legal version of the car that's won the Paris - Dakar road race a number of times, and it's really fast. We had to take him up on this offer, and we felt like VIPs as we were whisked around town at very high speed.
Greg = co-pilot.
Nikola's one-of-a-kind Peugeot 205 MI 32.
That afternoon we also visited the Motel Dragana, owned by one of Nikola's friends. There we participated in the Bosnian putt-putt golf championships and dined on the river. We were treated very well, and I've got to say that if you're ever in Banja Luka, this is the place to stay. After our late lunch, we headed back into town, but not before Nikola took us to one last place. You see, the best view of town is from the WWII monument high on the mountainside, but because it was Sunday, the road was closed. Well, Nikola carries a bit of weight in Banja Luka, and after telling the guard he was escorting "very important American journalists working on a big story," we were allowed to drive to the top of the mountain. As we arrived, a beautiful rainbow appeared over town, and Nikola spoke candidly with us about the recent war and his interpretations of the events of the mid 1990s. We were grateful of his willingness to share with us, and very appreciative of his open-minded approach to the story. He recognizes that everyone has a slightly different view of that difficult time and encouraged us to listen to his story, but also to do our own research. Although it's difficult to call one amazing day better than another at this point, we were truly humbled in Banja Luka by Nikola and Nikica's kindness and willingness to share their time with us. There's no doubt that we could have easily spent a week with them, sharing stories, riding bikes and learning from one another.
Special Report: Rainbow over Banja Luka.
Graphic depiction of the Nazis on WWII monument above Banja Luka.
So after Nikola dropped us back at the hotel, we had only a few hours before our overnight train left for Belgrade. Arriving at the train station we were faced with the common hurdle of, "there are no bikes allowed on this train." After numerous requests of the conductor and the help of many locals curious by the silly bicyclists, we wore him down and he relented with the caveat that we may only make it to Croatia where rules about baggage are "very strict." Breaking down the bikes and "stowing" them in a train car is an exercise to be avoided at all costs. It's difficult and time-consuming. However, we secured our gear just as the train pulled out of the station and after 8 semi-sleepless hours aboard the train, we arrived in Belgrade, the capital of Serbia. Here's some more free advice: visit Bosnia (by bike if possible). The people are amazing, friendly, and helpful at every turn (this is probably an understatement). We were welcomed nearly everywhere by people of different race, faith and economic background, all of whom shared their resources, but more importantly, their time and friendship. The country is physically stunning and offers far-reaching history that's relevant to us all.
Serbian Parliament
With Greg feeling a bit under the weather and not much time, Belgrade became an independent adventure for the three of us. While we spent some time together, we mostly freelanced, seeing what we thought to be the most important sights. Belgrade has an enormous fortress at the confluence of the Sava and Danube Rivers, which has been the subject of many battles between many powerful peoples. It's the thing to see in the city that never sleeps, and provides a relaxing spot to spend an afternoon surrounded by trees and grass instead of buildings and concrete.
Belgrade fortress.
Beer on Skadarlija
The pedestrian streets are full of outdoor cafes and beautiful women are seemingly everywhere. We've heard the nightlife is among the best in Europe, but the one night we spent in town was relatively relaxed. We drank beer and ate Italian in Skadarlija, the hip, bohemian quarter of the city. And as we sat eating, I was surprised when someone covered my eyes from behind. Nikola and Maria had driven into town to celebrate Nikola's birthday, and they happened to run into us that night. After dinner we shared a few beers and a group of musicians played and sang to us at our table. Nikola and Maria danced before heading back to Banja Luka, a much shorter 3 hours by car (that's with Nikola behind the wheel, otherwise it's more like 4).
Beer in Belgrade with Nikola and Maria.
Nikola and Maria have a dance before hitting the road.
The next day I visited Josip Broz Tito's grave site and a few of the well-known government buildings before relaxing in the park.
St Mark's Orthodox Church in Belgrade. Construction started in the 1930s and it's still not finished.
Cafe along the old walls of the fortress in Belgrade, high above the Danube River.
That night we hopped another train to Sophia, and it proved to be the most interesting train yet. The trip started well. I was talking with the station supervisor and he helped us out by talking to the conductor, telling him the station master had allowed us to secure a compartment for our bikes and that we only had to pay 10 Euro to do so. So bikes aboard, we dozed off for a few hours. But then things got weird. At about 1am, the police came through checking passports. If we'd been at a border, this wouldn't have been strange. But because we were still in the middle of Serbia, it was odd. A couple of hours later at the border, the guards came through and checked our passports, asking us to open the compartment with our bikes. We couldn't do this as the conductor had locked it, so when they unlocked it and started snooping around we got a bit nervous. Then they started taking pictures in the ceiling with a digital camera, and no sooner did we hear loud, destructive sounds coming from the cabin did they start pulling carton after carton of cigarettes out of the space above the lights. At this point, I think we might be headed to jail. It's the middle of the night, no one speaks English, and the "authorities" have found what appears to be a cigarette smuggling operation in the cabin with nothing other than our bikes. No one is telling us anything and our bikes and bags have been ransacked. But nothing else happened. The train sat and sat, and the Bulgarian border guards finally entered, checking and stamping our passports. Then the train started moving again. It was surreal and we couldn't figure out what had happened. But when I got up to try and reorder the bikes, I noticed a group of people in plain sight of the conductor with more cases of cigarettes, and they were stashing them in the ceiling of the bathroom! No one ever told us what was actually happening, but best we could make they were testing the border patrols by hiding contraband throughout the train. In the end nothing else happened, aside from being overcharged by the Bulgarian conductors for the bikes. We got off the train in Sophia and rode on our way.
And that's where we are now, resting peacefully in John and Nancy Sasser's house just south of town. John is the director of Peace Corps operations here in Bulgaria and Greg is good friends with their son, with whom he worked in Colorado. We'll be here for a couple of days so I'll try and get a few more updates posted before we head out. and sorry this is so long - I hope the videos make up for the length.
route update
Because we've finally found some fast internet, I've posted a number of other videos from the trip here on youtube.
Other videos...
Crazy road in Montenegro (extended version)
High-country camping.
See, it's a "pyramid."
Upon visitation/investigation, we believe the "pyramids" to be nothing more than generally pyramidally shaped mountains, or, as some people believe, a mass-marketing scheme. I suppose with a bit of creativity, you can see pyramids, but Giza these ain't. However, because we had a late start, we didn't mind spending the night in Visoko in favor of an early start the next day. This turned out to be a good thing.
Yeah, so I mentioned in a previous post that buying property in Montenegro might be a good investment. Well, this isn't Montenegro.
First, let's get something out in the open. Bad maps prevent good planning and often lead to frustration. This was the case for most of our day, and the frustration was magnified as Greg and I thought back to our decision two days earlier; "we don't need a better map, it's expensive and this one's got the roads we need." Well, 12 hours, 120km (lots of backtracking) and a really steep, rocky pushing section later, we found somewhere to camp in the Bosnian countryside. But things were (almost) all up from this point. We ran across the first major wildlife of our trip in the form of the meanest, ugliest, hairiest woman any of us have ever seen. We call her the grizzly bear. She tried to charge us 20 Euro per person for a room without a bathroom or running water. Luckily, a family was grilling out across the road and saved us time and money by translating and telling us not to take her room, and that we'd be better off to sleep outside. One of the men was a local cop, and he assured us that no one would bother us there; it was perfectly legal for us to stay all night. We sat around and talked for a while, and it turned out they were Muslims from Albania and Bosnia taking a short holiday. They gave us beer and fired up the grill, cooking the rest of their food for us and leaving us with more than we could manage.
Engineers take note.
That night, the leftover trash attracted what Greg initially thought was a wolf. We yelled loudly and scared it away, but when it returned an hour later, we watched it for a while before deciding it was not a wolf, but something much smaller. We thought it'd be a good idea to charge it and scare it away because it was keeping us awake as it rummaged around the bottles and bags. So I put on my shoes and picked up a rock and started running toward it. About half way there, I realized it was a lot bigger than a raccoon, and in fact it was probably a coyote. No matter. It was more scared than me and after it ran off we built the fire back up and slept well the rest of the night. How could we not when we were sleeping in such a masterfully designed shelter (engineer friends of ours, take note)?
Skinned sheep - 9am.
We planned on riding about 80km the next day, but were slow getting out of bed. Just as we were about to leave the site at 9am, a car pulled up and a man got out, walking over and re-starting the fire we'd just extinguished. We said hello, but he didn't speak much English. Over the next 5 minutes, a few of his friends arrived and offered us a beer. We knew we were walking a fine line, but accepted the offer as "stretching beers." Well, during the coarse of our stretching, about 15 more guys showed up with two sheep (one cooked, the other prepared for a rotisserie-style slow cook over the coals), 10 cases of beer, and a soccer ball. Our "stretching beers" just below half full, we were presented with a second round (by now it's about 9:30a) and an invitation to spend the day with these guys and share in the lamb-roasting festivities. We decided that 'cause we had to go so far that day, it'd be best to hit the road "as soon as these beers are finished." Yeah, right.
Skinned sheep 3 hours later. Notice we're "ready to ride" only in a clothing sense.
The next 5 hours were a party the likes of which we may never experience again. We had 3-on-3 soccer matches (the USA didn't fair too well in the international match), drank about 7 or 8 beers each, and had a few shots of bourbon to balance out the 2 - 3 pounds of lamb we inhaled. These guys were thinking ahead. They had cooked one lamb the night before so that they wouldn't have to wait the 3 hours for the second lamb to cook. So between beer and soccer, we gorged on lamb, Ćevapi and bread. Turns out these guys all worked together at a shoe factory and came camping once a year at this spot together. They were all Muslim (hence the lamb), and welcomed us completely, sharing stories and telling jokes, listening to music and even inviting us to stay the night back at their homes - after all, 80km was looking harder and harder. But as the storm clouds rolled in, they decided to move the picnic to a better campsite with more shelter, and we decided to ride toward Banja Luka, the capital of the Republika Srpska (but not without a heaping plate of freshly finished lamb and a loaf of bread from the guys).
The sheep scene.
Riding 80km in rain while drunk is not a good idea. We survived the drunk part, but the hangover, combined with the professional lamb consumption of the morning, made for a long, cold, wet afternoon. Arriving in Banja Luka (Бања Лука - yeah, we've moved onto the Cyrillic alphabet now), we found a hotel and dried out before passing out. It'd been a long day, and we didn't make it out of the hotel 'till almost noon the next day. We were planning on touring around the city, but we met someone in the hotel lobby who dramatically changed our plans.
Nikola is a 63-year old, rally racer-turned-drag-racer-car-modification specialist. We started talking in the lobby and quickly hit it off with stories from our bike trip and his rally racing past. Turns out he and his son have been the numbers 1 and 2 rally drivers in the Republika Srpska over the past 4 years. Nikola's son, Nikica also rides bikes, so Nikola offered to take us to his house and introduce us to his son and his drag racing car.
Arriving at his flat, we were amazed as he fired up his Peugeot 205 MI 32, which he's modified by adding another engine! The front engine drives the front tires and the rear the rear. It's a one-of-a-kind vehicle that Greg was lucky enough to get test drive in. Joel and I laughed as we listened to Nikola and Greg screaming around Banja Luka. We talked with Nikica, who does freelance web design when he's not racing cars or bikes, who has posted the story of the car, along with some videos and pictures of the car on the net. After the test drive, Nikola offered to give us a tour of town in their 1 of 400 special addition unmarked Peugeot 405 T 16. It's a street legal version of the car that's won the Paris - Dakar road race a number of times, and it's really fast. We had to take him up on this offer, and we felt like VIPs as we were whisked around town at very high speed.
Greg = co-pilot.
Nikola's one-of-a-kind Peugeot 205 MI 32.
That afternoon we also visited the Motel Dragana, owned by one of Nikola's friends. There we participated in the Bosnian putt-putt golf championships and dined on the river. We were treated very well, and I've got to say that if you're ever in Banja Luka, this is the place to stay. After our late lunch, we headed back into town, but not before Nikola took us to one last place. You see, the best view of town is from the WWII monument high on the mountainside, but because it was Sunday, the road was closed. Well, Nikola carries a bit of weight in Banja Luka, and after telling the guard he was escorting "very important American journalists working on a big story," we were allowed to drive to the top of the mountain. As we arrived, a beautiful rainbow appeared over town, and Nikola spoke candidly with us about the recent war and his interpretations of the events of the mid 1990s. We were grateful of his willingness to share with us, and very appreciative of his open-minded approach to the story. He recognizes that everyone has a slightly different view of that difficult time and encouraged us to listen to his story, but also to do our own research. Although it's difficult to call one amazing day better than another at this point, we were truly humbled in Banja Luka by Nikola and Nikica's kindness and willingness to share their time with us. There's no doubt that we could have easily spent a week with them, sharing stories, riding bikes and learning from one another.
Special Report: Rainbow over Banja Luka.
Graphic depiction of the Nazis on WWII monument above Banja Luka.
So after Nikola dropped us back at the hotel, we had only a few hours before our overnight train left for Belgrade. Arriving at the train station we were faced with the common hurdle of, "there are no bikes allowed on this train." After numerous requests of the conductor and the help of many locals curious by the silly bicyclists, we wore him down and he relented with the caveat that we may only make it to Croatia where rules about baggage are "very strict." Breaking down the bikes and "stowing" them in a train car is an exercise to be avoided at all costs. It's difficult and time-consuming. However, we secured our gear just as the train pulled out of the station and after 8 semi-sleepless hours aboard the train, we arrived in Belgrade, the capital of Serbia. Here's some more free advice: visit Bosnia (by bike if possible). The people are amazing, friendly, and helpful at every turn (this is probably an understatement). We were welcomed nearly everywhere by people of different race, faith and economic background, all of whom shared their resources, but more importantly, their time and friendship. The country is physically stunning and offers far-reaching history that's relevant to us all.
Serbian Parliament
With Greg feeling a bit under the weather and not much time, Belgrade became an independent adventure for the three of us. While we spent some time together, we mostly freelanced, seeing what we thought to be the most important sights. Belgrade has an enormous fortress at the confluence of the Sava and Danube Rivers, which has been the subject of many battles between many powerful peoples. It's the thing to see in the city that never sleeps, and provides a relaxing spot to spend an afternoon surrounded by trees and grass instead of buildings and concrete.
Belgrade fortress.
Beer on Skadarlija
The pedestrian streets are full of outdoor cafes and beautiful women are seemingly everywhere. We've heard the nightlife is among the best in Europe, but the one night we spent in town was relatively relaxed. We drank beer and ate Italian in Skadarlija, the hip, bohemian quarter of the city. And as we sat eating, I was surprised when someone covered my eyes from behind. Nikola and Maria had driven into town to celebrate Nikola's birthday, and they happened to run into us that night. After dinner we shared a few beers and a group of musicians played and sang to us at our table. Nikola and Maria danced before heading back to Banja Luka, a much shorter 3 hours by car (that's with Nikola behind the wheel, otherwise it's more like 4).
Beer in Belgrade with Nikola and Maria.
Nikola and Maria have a dance before hitting the road.
The next day I visited Josip Broz Tito's grave site and a few of the well-known government buildings before relaxing in the park.
St Mark's Orthodox Church in Belgrade. Construction started in the 1930s and it's still not finished.
Cafe along the old walls of the fortress in Belgrade, high above the Danube River.
That night we hopped another train to Sophia, and it proved to be the most interesting train yet. The trip started well. I was talking with the station supervisor and he helped us out by talking to the conductor, telling him the station master had allowed us to secure a compartment for our bikes and that we only had to pay 10 Euro to do so. So bikes aboard, we dozed off for a few hours. But then things got weird. At about 1am, the police came through checking passports. If we'd been at a border, this wouldn't have been strange. But because we were still in the middle of Serbia, it was odd. A couple of hours later at the border, the guards came through and checked our passports, asking us to open the compartment with our bikes. We couldn't do this as the conductor had locked it, so when they unlocked it and started snooping around we got a bit nervous. Then they started taking pictures in the ceiling with a digital camera, and no sooner did we hear loud, destructive sounds coming from the cabin did they start pulling carton after carton of cigarettes out of the space above the lights. At this point, I think we might be headed to jail. It's the middle of the night, no one speaks English, and the "authorities" have found what appears to be a cigarette smuggling operation in the cabin with nothing other than our bikes. No one is telling us anything and our bikes and bags have been ransacked. But nothing else happened. The train sat and sat, and the Bulgarian border guards finally entered, checking and stamping our passports. Then the train started moving again. It was surreal and we couldn't figure out what had happened. But when I got up to try and reorder the bikes, I noticed a group of people in plain sight of the conductor with more cases of cigarettes, and they were stashing them in the ceiling of the bathroom! No one ever told us what was actually happening, but best we could make they were testing the border patrols by hiding contraband throughout the train. In the end nothing else happened, aside from being overcharged by the Bulgarian conductors for the bikes. We got off the train in Sophia and rode on our way.
And that's where we are now, resting peacefully in John and Nancy Sasser's house just south of town. John is the director of Peace Corps operations here in Bulgaria and Greg is good friends with their son, with whom he worked in Colorado. We'll be here for a couple of days so I'll try and get a few more updates posted before we head out. and sorry this is so long - I hope the videos make up for the length.
route update
Because we've finally found some fast internet, I've posted a number of other videos from the trip here on youtube.
Other videos...
Crazy road in Montenegro (extended version)
High-country camping.
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