Snow, Red-tape, and Stuff

It seems that I’ve disappointed many people by not writing for a while.  Sorry guys, I’m getting back on that bicycle.  Honestly though, I haven’t been doing all too much recently.  I went to The USA for over a month which was nice and relaxing.  Nothing too exciting went on there other than my sister’s graduation, an iron pour, Christmas, me and my sister cooking all of Christmas meal, New Years (fantastic party), loafing about the house, and most importantly seeing friends and family.  So, I guess I did some things while I was there, but I don’t want to bore you all with the details of that.

I do however want to bore you with the details of this red tape I’ve been tangled in.  As most of you do not know, I’m supposed to be moving to St.Petersburg for this new job I’m getting.  It’s legal and awesome (and awesome because it’s in snowy amazingness-land).   This red tape involves me having to get an invitation into Russia before I can even think of crossing its boarders without getting shot in the back of the head.  Well, after nearly two months I finally received it on my return back to Budapest.  All I had to do after was get an HIV test, get it translated into English, bring two passport mug shots, and take these things to the Russian Embassy where I should be good to go.  This is the idea that I had and I think it involved me getting a high-five from the massive Russian guy at the embassy after pasting my little sticker with my photo into my passport as people danced down Andrassy street in the snow all choreographed by Daniel Ezralow (the dude who choreographed the fantastic film Across the Universe).  Sadly, even though most of these things took place I not only didn’t get my high-five but I also didn’t get my visa.  Boo.  Apparently, in Hungary, I have to get residency here first before I can get a visa for Russia.  Make sense?  I’m going to go with no.  Another thing they don’t tell you on the website is that you need to have Russian insurance before you head out there.  That way after they mistake you for crossing the border illegally and break your knees with a metal pipe you can get a walking stick paid for.  Anyway, even though I was extremely disappointed by this bureaucratic crap I nevertheless made my call to the US Russian embassy (located in DC) to make sure I wasn’t being taken for a ride.  They informed me that it is up to the country you are in who decides what the requirements are (on top of the normal Russian requirements ) for getting the visa.

Well, what was I to do but go to immigration and start the arduous process of getting long-term legal in Hungary?  Actually, after going to the immigration office I realized that the process is more expensive, difficult, and long than I had thought.  So what was I to do?  Well, I called other embassies in the bordering countries and hit the jackpot with Romania.  Apparently Romania just doesn’t care and they will process my visa like I was in the USA, but I may take a bit longer.  So that’s the deal.  I have to call them…right now, and find out about how much Russian insurance information (still a requirement) they need before I head over to Bucharest either today or more than likely, tomorrow.

In other news, it’s been snowing in a surprisingly awesome way.  So this lends itself to snowball fights in the streets (after going to the bar perhaps), swimming in the hot baths as you get pelted in the head with tiny flakes, and of course shin deep romps in the fluffy stuff.

Today I will be headed to Momento Park where I will be able to see all of these communist statues loaded up with snow.  Look for some pretty sweet pictures soon being uploaded soon!

I’ve been on the move!

Well, as to what the title alludes, I have been moving my butt quite quickly across parts of the globe.  I’ve been to some absolutely amazing waterfalls in Croatia.  I’ll be able to tell you all about a little secret I learned about this place called Plitvicka.  I’ve been back to Budapest where I truly lived it up for a few nights by dressing up as a teapot and involving myself in synchronized swimming (don’t ask, I will tell).  And right now, I’m sitting stateside; but don’t worry, it won’t be for too long.  However, I need you all to check out my last entry before I can move on to tell another story.  Plus I need this delirium to wear off from the past few days before I can write anything describing these absolutely crazy events.  Hope you enjoy!

Oh yeah!  And remember those pictures I told you about.  They were supposed to paint a picture of this gorgeous Fjord in Kotor.  Well, I ended up in a fight with a tree on a hill next to a pond where my camera was the looser in the situation.  Sorry, no pictures.  Google it.

Sarajevo, not really worth the lack of hype

So, there must be a reason some places aren’t talked about too much.  Sarajevo, Bosnia is a good example of why some places aren’t really the topics of conversation.  Let me explain my not-superbly-informed-but-more-knowledgeable-than-most opinion.  After arriving in the city after a crazy and exhausting day of bus hopping I arrived at the station in Sarajevo.  It was dark and as I looked around I couldn’t fathom how on earth I was going to be able to find a place to stay.  As this is a normal thing I decided to do what I usually do and that is walk.  So I walked.  When I was on the bus I had a fit of nostalgia when I noticed the extremely spread out layout of the city.  It really reminded me of the outskirts of Atlanta just with more side walks.  I also saw some trams and things but couldn’t find one near the station.  After a few minutes of direction-less circling of the area I decided to drop into a taxi and take the easy route.  The taxi guy was nice but trusting taxi drivers near a bus station is foolish at best.  As I sat vulnerably in the seat of his auto I hoped he wouldn’t peg me as some rich American so I sheepishly claimed Canadian citizenship when he asked me just before I went into the story of me being a poorly paid English teacher in Hungary.  Kissing up, which sometimes is not such a bad thing, I noted that they have really large and nice houses in Bosnia to the man.  I feel that he appreciated all this effort I went into to not get screwed over a faire as I later found he did give me a good deal on the taxi ride.

After I was left standing with my bags in hand in a seemingly abandoned old part of town I found my promise of cheap accommodation closed.  A fleeting feeling of dread vibrated up my back before I caught my composure.  The shop was a shady looking place anyway so I considered wandering off to another spot.  However, after a quick look around and finding I was in the middle of a junction of dark alleyways I decided to wait the fifteen minutes for the return of the receptionist as promised by the sign on the door of the establishment.  As I waited around I noticed a shady character hanging out in an ironically yellow and horribly kept car parked next to the place where I was waiting.  He kept staring at me, watching my every move, wondering whether he should get out of his terrible vehicle and approach the painfully vulnerable traveller.  Obviously, by this point, I began to feel a touch uneasy. But soon after I realized my nightmarish situation, this painfully questionable fellow, got out of the car and started talking to me… in English!  Slightly relived, I spat a few words back at him letting him know that if he wanted to abuse me verbally as opposed to physically I would prefer that.  It turns out that he worked at the shop that I was peeing my pants over as I waited for it to open.  This establishment was a placement agency for people who were looking for hostels.  Yes, it is as weird as it sounds.  Well, it seems the fellow prefers to creep on travellers from his car as he watches them crap their pants as they ponder sleeping in a nook between the side-walk and the building.

After making a huge job for my next laundry day this shady fellow opened the door to his shady shop and led me up to the shady counter for some business that was intended to far from shady.  Well, I was obviously weary about this entire situation but seemingly had no other choices.  Playing the fool that I tend to play, I tried to get on the good side of the creepy concierge who, I swear, often shaves with a broken razor, while at the same time testing him to see if things were legit.  He calmed my nerves a bit by showing me copies of passports from people who had stayed there (or been killed) previously.  Considering I didn’t have much of an option I stuck it out and warily gave the man 20 Marks (as it turns out, the cost of a room was supposed to be 13 marks.  This seven marks could have been used for my laundry bill so that I could clean my now pooped in pants.  Because of this I got it worked out the next day) and he showed me down the street to the hostel.

The hostel was small and occupied by one other guy.  Nice guy from Utrecht, Holland.  I was thrilled to meet someone who didn’t look like he was going to shank me as I slept.  We chatted and he told me about the unique quaintness (specifically quaint in size) of the old city and how one can become accustomed to it quickly and easily.  Translated in my own words: it’s small and can get boring quickly.  As I still was holding on to a romantic idea of the city, I decided to take this comment with a grain of salt. Sadly, after waking up this morning and wandering around the city I have found it twice as boring as the Dutch fellow stated.  Shame.  But good for all of you as I was able to write this.

Wait, I didn’t tell you what is happening in the city did I?  Ok, ok, well, there is a Temple, a Mosque, old buildings, a museum about the war, a Jewish Museum, some cafes, and restaurants all within 200 square meters.  The rest of the city is just a big city.  Nothing really charming outside that area other than a park and a tunnel that was built during the war that they hold tours in, oh, and a National Museum.  Budapest has a better tunnel with hospitals in it and many many more museums many of which I have shamefully never placed a foot inside.  If you must make it down to Sarajevo, I would recommend finding a place to stay before you come and definitely check out a place called City Pub.  It is in the old town and very popular, especially compared to the rest of the deserted places.  It also plays a nice mix of good (not exactly popular) music and sometimes has live bands play.

Alright alright, I guess there must be some amazing things to do here but I was not only lacking in time to find them but I was also mostly lacking the drive to even give it time.  I did meet some really cool people here and a few of them had really high hopes.  Sadly, I didn’t stick around to watch their faces as their hopes were dashed, stepped on, and scraped off the shoe of some random walker-by with a stick.  If you really do want to go to Sarajevo and wish to see the city beyond the mostly recent history I would at least recommend staying far away from the old touristic part and venturing out to the concrete and glass expanse that is just waiting to be discovered… or to disappoint.

Where I be?

Right now I’m in Sarajevo.  To be honest it’s not even worth the lack of hype.  I’ve already written why but I’m not going to post it yet.  Just chillax read the article about Montenegro below and I’ll post it in a few.

Kotor, Montenegro

Well, I took a bus from Serbia down to Montenegro. At my last hostel I was recommended to visit Kotor. The night bus was pretty fun as it was not full and I was able to stretch out for a little while which is not so normal on my usual adventures. Normally I would take the train but the trains are pretty expensive, slow, unpredictable, and you don’t really get the nice views like I did on the bus plus you never know when they may derail like that one recently did in St.Petersburg.  Anyway, the countryside was just amazing with its majestic Italian Spruce and jagged rocks all around.  It really made me wonder how on earth people when they first settled here decided to call this mostly stone land home.  The coast is also quite gorgeous with the black (hence the name Montenegro meaning black mountain in Italian)… well actually grey rock, just ejecting from the shoreline at a shocking grade.  Kotor is at the end of a fjord that connects to the Adriatic if you aren’t up on your geography.  It is surrounded by not only these striking black mountains but also a shocking amount of ancient ruins and buildings that are still being lived in probably by the descendants of the family that built them.  I stayed in one of these families houses, it was cold.  Allegedly Kotor was voted as one of the most beautiful Fjords in the world in 2000.  Honestly, I don’t think much has changed here for the past 200 years.  The main road is all the way down to the sea and if the weather gets bad I’m sure that it would lap all the way up to the streets and leave it as wet as the floor after a thirsty dog is done with its water bowl.

After a fantastic night bus with views of pure amazing.  I arrived in Kotor with the bus driver telling me that he did not believe my destination as he would have chosen another place to stay, but still I wanted to go there.  It was a bit odd way to start things out but that’s the way it goes.  I arrived and was nearly attacked by an enthusiastic taxi driver who told me I could stay at his house for a fee.  Considering I was not able to find a hostel online the day before, I agreed to his terms and went with him to his house.  We travelled about 8km from Kotor to drop my stuff off at his house.  There I met his daughter who gave me heaps of information about Kotor and the surrounding area.  Literally, she dropped at least four seven hundred pages of information in front of me and said, you can find about Kotor here.  She also told me all the fun things to do and some of the things that aren’t such a great idea (like climbing the rocks when it’s wet, an obvious thing that one of their Swedish guests didn’t really know and reflected this by breaking his leg while participating in the act).  As I was the only one staying at this family’s lovely and since they had room for three I had my choice of beds and I obviously chose the big one.  I mean, why not??

After dropping off my things Taxi driver man (whom I now call Taxi Driver Man because I never caught his name) drove me to the centre of the old part of Kotor and suggested I climb the citadel that reached at least half way up the mountain there.  After wandering around a bit trying to find the stairs unsuccessfully I decided to go up any one of the random stairs that looked like they went to someone’s house.  The ones I chose did go to many homes but at the end split to the right from a yard through a pile of trash and up into some trees.  As it looked like a bad idea to follow the trail I predictably ended up doing just that.  I wandered through the rubbage up the steep trail and stumbled upon an old abandoned house that had fallen to ruin many decades (if not centuries) before.  I of course, explored the area and continued up through fallen rock and thick thorn-bushes.  Here I found the remnants of walls and stairs.  Feeling I was on the right track to get to the top of this ancient structure I took some pictures of the Fjord and continued on my way.  As I started heading up I learned the important lesson that not all of the walls I was to walk on were as structurally sound as they used to be by falling from a crumbling wall onto my ass into a sharp thorn-bush.  It was good that I learned this lesson early on as falling higher up would have been painfully worse.

I kept walking up and up on these stairs as I held onto the walls in case the stones that created stairs decided they were finally bored with the spot they had been placed in lifetimes before.  Climbing higher and higher I stumbled upon many interesting things including the structure for an old spring mattress, an umbrella, and some truly amazing views of the fjord.  It was around this time that I thought it strange that there were no people climbing up a slightly dangerous (but not extraordinarily so) crumbling citadel.  I had quite an amazing view and thought it such a shame that no one else was able to enjoy it with me but did appreciate the peace that only solitary adventures provide.

At one point I found that I could climb no farther as my section that I was climbing had ended, yet I was not at the top I wanted to be.  What to do what to do?  Well what do you expect?  I took to looking for another route.  I realized that if I were to just scoot along this precarious area I could lift myself up to the next section.  It was a bit hairy but I finally made it up.  This is when I realized that the reason no one was making the climb I was making was because I was off the trail.  Like a back country skier I was blazing a new trail, except I was going up and I wasn’t wearing skis.

Once I reached the Montenegro flag at the top of the ancient wall I was rewarded by not only a fantastic view of the fjord (view I do plan on sharing via picture soon) and loads of goat poo, but also a view of the ruins of houses and things that were behind the citadel where I could see an old road that looked like it had been built during Roman times that just longed to feel human feet on it once more.  Feeling sorry for this old abandoned road I made my way down the citadel.  The way the citadel was built really wasn’t made to allow people in from any direction.  The main entrances I had not really found but they were on the same side that I had entered.  As I had not seen a door or entrance on the backside I decided to go back down to the city where I would have lunch and then make my way up to the old road again.  However as I was still in my explorer mode (wait, isn’t that my normal disposition?) I found a hidden door on the backside of the citadel wall that led to this really neat looking church.  ’screw lunch’ I thought and appreciated the view of this charming old abandoned structure.  The church was old and had a little garden with a very proud Italian spruce in it standing tall like it was now the keeper of the area.  This was surrounded by the cornerstone and many of its counterparts that were working together to make half a wall of other buildings which made for obvious locations of ruins.  But the church was the only one still standing with a roof!  I’m not sure but this church may still be used.

After exploring this area and snapping a few photos (which I swear I’ll stop hoarding after a while) I started on my trek up to the top of this mountain. On my way I met with a donkey.  This donkey was completely black and friendly, letting me pet it’s nose.  I also met with a cow who’s bulging eyes kinda freaked me out so I kindly insulted it and just continued on my way.  Up and up, it really wasn’t the most easy hike as I kept weaving back and forth, back and forth over an extremely rocky terrain.  About half way up I stumbled upon another building that was covered in trees that had pomegranates growing on them.  This fruit was so ripe many were literally bursting through their spongy husk.  These pomegranates really helped me as I was a bit hungry and the sugar helped me make it the rest of the way.  I believe I ate three on my way up.  It also cut a bit of the boredom as I need to constantly be entertained.  If you ever get the chance to eat a pomegranate with just your face it is a delicate procedure that involves many bitter moments but the sweet and sour moments totally make up for them.

After making it to the top of this area I decided to continue on the road to see where it went.  This is when I found that it didn’t really go anywhere as they (whomever they were) never really finished it or perhaps they didn’t need the structure they had before as it was no longer helping people scale such a dreadful slope as the beginning of this mountain started out as.  At the top I found an old Gunner station, sans gun (the use of sans here was completely unnecessary but fun to use) where I decided to break for my last pomegranate and a cliff bar (lifesavers for real).

After a few minutes and a thoroughly enjoyed view, I headed back down to the city.  It took a while but I thankfully stumbled upon this old spring that was built into the mountainside by whomever it was that build the road.  The spring was pretty dry but there was a tunnel that let to mystery places.  Guess what I did next.  Yeah, I climbed in, with my trusty headlamp.  It didn’t take long till I found water.  Neat!

After I made it back to the citadel I nearly came in contact with tetanus thanks to this massively old nail that found its way into the underside of my shoe.  I thanked the nail for only poking and not stabbing my foot and put it in my pocket.  On my way down I passed some kids beating the crap out of each other but decided that I was just too hungry to ask so I headed down to shove an entire pizza into my face.  The pizza was… pizza, go figure.  At this pizza joint I enjoyed a relaxing moment with madonna singing something about dry humping fifteen year-olds.  After catching a ride back to the house I believe I passed out around 9pm (2100).  A time that I would say was a record for me.  However, considering I hadn’t slept at all on the bus the night before it was much-needed and enjoyed.

Been here

So I’ve been in Montenegro at Kotor for the past few days. I’ve done some pretty sweet stuff and plan on telling you about it soon enough.

Geeze

OK, I’ve been thinking about this site for a while.  I’ve been diving into the recesses of my mind and soul and found that I’m not posting enough.  It’s nearly boring with the huge posts and no real-time updates.  I’ve gotta figure this out but I’m gonna fix this.  I must have the descriptive posts when I want to gush about things, or to tell a tale, but I also should inform you when I get behind.  Organizing this will get done…Sooon…. just not right now since it’s 3am and I’m in Serbia.

Update: I’m in Belegrade.  It was foggy all the way from Budapest to Belgrade… foggy like in a dracula film.  It was delightfully creepy.  I also enjoyed the weird humor of the Serbians on a 7 hour train ride.  Before laughing and claiming humor one said that he hated me because I’m American and was going to take me to a dark alley and shoot me in the head HA…. not funny.  They have special classes for sorting out bad humor like that in the US.  I see a market that badly needs it: The Balkins.  Just don’t wander down dark alleyways when one promises you candy…

New Photos

Check out these new Albums:

Romania, Moldova 2009

Camping trip through Stana de Vale

Transnistria 2009

Istanbul, Bulgaria 2009

chapter kettö (2)

The Romanian trip advances as such:

Being lost in the Romanian mountains with only enough food for breakfast and no drinking water, we were forced to limit our liquid intake that night and search for spring water the next morning.  After a cold, dry, and fitful sleep, a night in which I was accused of being an encroacher (in this context a person who steals the bed, and in this case the tent, as they herd their sleep mate to the last inches of the sleeping area whilst in dreamland) I awoke with a heavy desire to find water as both Louise and I were completely parched.

Thankfully, this spring search was quite easy considering our location was on top of a mountain.  All I had to do was climb down through the trees and foliage and listen for running water.  The spring I found was refreshing and cold.  It was located in a grove where the morning dew evaporated into a mist from the grass and trees that made the air so thick you could nearly sip it.  The grove from which this sweet stream flowed, looked like it could easily be found in a storybook.  And after washing the bitter grime from my neck and face, I filled the water bottles so that we could prepare the last of our pasta for a nice breakfast.

It was a good amount of pasta we had left for the morning but it was no more than a hearty meal for two.  I was very happy to have been surrounded by fur trees.  These branches easily explode into flames and starting a fire with them, for what ended up being a soupy pasta, was quite simple.  A few nights before I had learned that vodka does not burn too well, or at least enough to fuel a stove.  A sad fact since I had to carry the heavy chunk of metal around for the next two months and was mostly useless until I found I could use it as a bottle opener.  So working my pyro-skills on the mostly dried needles quickly got me a perfect sized fire for cooking.

After a not so meagre breakfast we packed up and headed out into the unknown.  Thankfully the trail had changed from the massive open field where it was obvious that bears had been there recently and we only had a cliff to run off to escape a charging wrecking ball full of claws, hair, and teeth (falling onto jagged rocks could be a fate better than being ripped apart by a bear… unless you consider the circle of life important *insert cheesy Elton John song).  But at least in this type of environment we could see them running from a distance and had time to think about how much it might hurt.  Our new scenario was a strange grassy area that was flanked by trees where we had opportunity to climb to escape death by fuzzy animal, but could be ambushed by a bear army (like what I would imagine should have happened in the newest Lion, Witch, and Wardrobe movie).  This time I’m sure that the bears wouldn’t be wearing armour nor would they be forming an army (unless Stephen Colbert is right…) so we trudged through the tall moist grass with our eyes peeled for anything that could have looked like something that we may or may not care to take as interesting or dangerous as we stomped toward a mostly unknown destination.

As the only thing we were sure of was our direction, we tried our best to keep to the trail; a trail that we could only assume would take us to the mystery city in the distance.  Our hike didn’t last too long before we hit a taste of civilization as nearly an hour and a half into the trek we stumbled across a house.  As we continued walking we considered the option of knocking on the door and asking for directions or just continuing on our unsure way.  This question was soon superseded by another question: who was that in the distance with the sheep?  We had walked into the territory of a mountain dwelling, sheep herding, woman who after friendly greetings whisked us into her shack (and I do mean shack) to stuff both Louise and me full of her homemade sheep cheese.

The inside of this shack consisted of her sheep cheese making… thing, one picture of the Virgin Mary, a bed, and a table.  The ceiling (or more descriptively, the inside part of the roof) was barely high enough to stand up straight in parts, and the entire place reeked of a mixture of bitter and savoury goat-cheese makings a stench that was magnified by the warming sunlight that flooded the place through a plastic sheet. At the tiny table the woman sat us down and filled a large bowl with this cheese, stuck two spoons in it, and motioned for us to eat.  Considering the language barrier, we never were completely sure what she was saying, but the offer for food was quite obvious. Her homemade goat-cheese chemistry set was her pride and joy, a fact that became obvious as she showed us how it worked while we shovelled dry, grainy, and, tasteless cheese into our not so empty stomachs by her instruction.

I am unsure if this goat herding woman was a mother but she definitely was motherly as she expressed that both Louise and I looked gaunt and needed to eat as much as possible.  It was a shame that we already had a good breakfast not two hours before so we were just adding to already full stomachs trying to stretch them past full capacity.  I do not know if she was offended but I was quite sure that she was disappointed when we told her that we couldn’t finish the entire bowl.  I know that she wasn’t disappointed by the waste of food as she just dumped our leftovers back into the bag she had poured them from.

As conversation was limited and we were anxious to get off of the mountain so soon after we had our fill of the paper flavoured cheese we announced our departure, I purchased some cheese, cheese filled bread, and veggies (thankfully containing no cheese) from the woman, and Lousie and I hit the trail.  We asked where the road we needed to take was to get down the mountain and then to the village.  Our sheep herding friend was very helpful and quick with this information.  The directions were not too difficult but she walked us to the trailhead anyway and sent us on our way.  It really was a nice experience being to be in such a hospitable place with a friendly person even though the language barrier was quite high.

On the way down the mountain we found wild raspberries that, though they were quite small, were vivid red and extremely sweet to the taste.  As we stumbled down this steep and rocky trail we felt like we were emerging slowly from the forest, being slowly birthed into civilization, as we slowly stumbled across more and more manmade structures.  After about three hours walking we found the key to getting out of the wilderness: a busy dirt road.  Being tired and sweaty we decided to kick our shoes off and take a lunch break by an ice cold stream before attempting to hitchhike out.  It is refreshing letting your toes freeze a bit in the frigid water after a long and hot hike and this is exactly what we did as we munched on the odd homemade cheese-bread and veggies.

When we decided to hit the road, our highway of sorts had calmed down a bit so we choose the direction down (assuming down was off the mountain) and stuck our thumbs at as many passing cars as we could.  After about fifteen minutes a car headed our way stopped and I stuck my head in to find that the driver spoke surprisingly good English and were shocked to find that we had been headed into the mountains, not out of the mountains like we were hoping.  After looking at the dirty mess with red hair I called Louise  and feeling my own grime I figured that a few more days lost in the mountains wasn’t a bad idea.  So we hopped into the car and rolled off to a new and equally mysterious destination.

Afterhours

Well, here I am stuck in the office of an NGO afterhours. For those of you who do not know the whole UN lingo and NGO is a non government organization. I am here with nothing better to do than write the next chapter in my eastern European experience and perhaps wrech up the old piece of meat and dried bread I found in the bottom of my bag and had for dinner… as I recall, in Romania I didn’t have much to eat but I rarely ate just a bit to see if it would make me sick like this old sausage may do.

What’s that? You may care to hear about my current situation before diving into the adventure? Please, hearing about the gross that may emit from my gullet really isn’t that interesting of a topic but if you insist I can tell you a bit about Geneva and why I’m here, why I’m stuck in an office building, and what the hell I just ate. If you stick around long enough you may get to read the dramatic, (or hopefully less so) conclusion of my gastronomic experience.

I arrived in Genova about a week and a half ago in the hopes that I would visit a friend in her Swiss city. I purchased my ticket from the automated machine in the lower intestine of the Milan train station. And convienantly caught my train eight (no less) minutes later. I was thinking of the gorgeous timesaving abilities this machine had. I mean, it was a genius thing not having to wait for the next train that was bound for my destination. And the money I saved was astounding as the ticket was suprisingly low! Arriving in Genova I called my friend and found that she couldn’t meet me till later that evening as she had University classes to attend. I found this a wonderful oppourtunity to wonder around a city that was just beyond my knowledge or my immideate recall. I wandered round this oddly linguistic city: people were hanging around speaking loads of Italian and books and magazines were printed in this common language. However most people were able to converse easily in French or a touch of German. English was spoken but not as much as I had expected… which was a bit odd. But I didn’t dwell on this as I was thrilled that I had come across a place that made learning many different languages
a necessity for its locals.

As I wondered around the innards of the city I came across an old looking building that was completly charming. After reading the plaque that was near the door I found that I was standing nearly upon Christopher Columbus’
threashhold. ‘Wow, Christopher Columbus lived in Switzerland? That is a shocking bit of information.’ I thought to myself as I stood and looked at the Genova city flag that strangely resembled the Swiss flag. I thought it quaint that the city had such a similar flag to it’s country and moved into this old part of town.

After getting lost in the labrynth that was the old part of town I wandered toward a bar and met a few people who were picking up a boat for this old lady. This little bit of information didn’t phaze me as I understood that there are many rivers that go through Switzerland though I did think it a bit strange that they were going to sail the thing from such an odd choice. But you know, people have money and they spend it however they feel fit. After a few more hours I found that it was time for me to meet my friend at the train station. So I walked the 15 minutes back to the station with no problems and was looking forward to droping my stuff at her place and sleeping somewhere. Oddly enough I couldn’t find her. So I called. She was wondering where I was as well. So I started describing the things around me. This is when she started getting a little confused as she didn’t recognize anything I was telling her. When I went so far as to tell her the name of the station she became concerned. Apparently I wasn’t in Geneva… the place I was supposed to be didn’t have an odd spelling Genova, nor did it have Christopher Columbus’ house. I had traveled the completely opposite direction I was supposed to go and in my haste at the automated ticket machine I pushed the odd spelling of the place I was supposed to go as opposed to the correct one. Sometimes citys are spelled differently in different countries: this is my story and I’m sticking to it.

Well, I told my friend I’d call her back when I made it up to Geneva. Sooo, considered sleeping in the train station, an option that didn’t really seem too interesting. I also weighed the option of wandering round the city more and finding a place to sleep. I, obviously chose the later option as it involved doing more stuff. On my way back to the old part of town (which really was charming) I met a group of five girls. These girls told me that they knew a place I might be able to stay for cheap. After following them through this complete maze we found it and I crashed (but not before some bar hopping with these charming girls was had).

The next day I did my fair share of wandering through the old town before I caught my train BACK to Milan and then to GenEva away from GenOva. I was very happy to be able to relax on this train and I couldn’t wait to get to the massive city of Milan so I could relax on my next train. HOWEVER, (obviously) the end of the line was not Milan at all!!

The rumor of Italian trains running late and sometimes not at all is very true, but I had never heard of one train leaving from the correct scheduled platform to a different destination. To be honest, I was throughly pissed. To add to the complications of the situation the city station in I was in (Torino)
was under construction so I couldn’t find the information office to find out ‘why the hell?’! I finally found a conductor near the next train to Milan standing around smoking a cigarette. I convinced him (perhaps a bit forcably) to take me to the information desk. He also got lost and had to ask someone (thankfully he spoke Italian).

In the information office everyone was super confused but since the next train to Milan was leaving soon they just told me to jump on the train with my conductor escort and my old ticket and THEN catch the train to Geneva. I was happy that they were not going to make me pay for another ticket to Milan but anxious to catch my connecting train in Milan. My conductor escort took me back to the train and told me everything was going to be just fine in as little broken English as he possibly could.

Sitting on the train as it pulled out of the station I was glad to be able to sit down and relax finally. However, (what now right?) a new conductor came by and checked my old ticket (the one for Milan from Genova). Well, apparently noone had told him that it was OK and he demanded that I purchase a new ticket. After I graciously (and I’m really not kidding here) tried to tell him that the ticket office said it was OK he said “no” and that I had to purchase a new ticket. I told him “no” and that he should call the information office or talk to the other conductor. My new conductor said that there was no other conductor on the train and that I had to buy a new ticket. I told him no one more time and he quickly turned away and said he was going to call the police.

Now I’ve heard stories about the Italian police. Like if there are two drunk people fistfighting in the streets and someone threatens to call the cops they will quickly make up and run away because if the police come, they will take you to the hospital, after they are done beating the pancakes out of you. I, however, was very optimistic and hoped that they would listen to my story (which the conductor didn’t do) or treat me gently. So, I waited… and waited, and hoped that I would get to Milan before the police could show up on the train. When we pulled into the station without another hitch I dashed off the train away from anyone that could be considered an authority. However, as I dashed, I passed my old conductor escort guy (the one from the information office in Torino) and this is when I knew that the other guy was trying to rip me off.

Well, how did I end up here in this highrise waiting for morning to come then? Oh be patient, things cannot come as you always wish them to but let’s speed things along shall we? I arrived in Geneva on my train after drinking a beer that was 10% alc. by volume (yes, it was disgusting and tasted like rotton wine but I had to try it) I met my friend in Geneva and crashed at her flat pretty quickly. I saw many art shows in town the next day, saved a lost swan, enjoyed a clock made out of shrubberies, and went through a bus washing machine (underrated by the way).

Soon I was falling in love with this city and realizing that they were not part of the EU I may be able to get a job in Geneva. The first place I checked was a bicycle CoOp and they wanted me and said that they would do the paperwork if I could get a bit more French under my belt. This is all that I needed and I jammed into high gear trying to cram as much french in my cranium as possible. Till then though, I decided to look for a few more jobs (American work ethic I guess). I dashed many of my CV’s, or resumes as they call them in the states, to many different companies and NGO’s under the heading “language consultant”. Not one day later I got an Email back stating that this NGO called….well, let’s keep that one secret, was about to publish a book and they were desperately in need of an editor. OH MAN! This was fantastic!! However, they didn’t pay… boo. No worries, it would be good to try out an editing job and see how I like it so I took it anyway under the agreement that the director would find me a new place to stay as I had allready stayed too long at my friend’s flat.

I went right to work and enjoyed a nice warm bed with good food and interesting conversation later that evening. However, the next day I met an intern here who suggested that I go Salsa dancing with her and a few friends. Having felt the need for some rythm days before I jumped at the chance (especially since the offer of a place to stay came along with).

Through the weekend I stayed at this friend’s place and enjoyed the city and mountains throughout the day, as she studied her masters stuff, and her floor at night.  I really had a great time over the weekend but was excited to return to the office today (monday).  My co-worker friend was a little apprehensive though as she was in the process of moving.  Because of this moving I was required to vacate the floor and the flat for that matter.  So, here I am, back in the office.  Everyone has left and I never got around to arranging anywhere else to stay.  I would continue my editing process but I have done all that I can do today.  I would go and get some food but if I leave I will not be able to get back in and would be sleeping outside.  So I’m stuck in here with my mostly putrid meat and a hard old piece of bread looking out the window at the UN buildings.  The meat is bad.  Trust me.  I think I should throw it away but again, I need some extra protein and I haven’t wreched since I started this whole thing.  Hopefully it gets better as it goes…