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…

Yikes

I would like to apoligise for not having finished my story in quite some time.  I have been here in Geneva and have had time to but the kezboards here are all crazy and it does get frustrating.  The other reason for not being able to post for another week is the fact that I have been given the opportunity to edit a book for the DCI, an NGO here in Geneva.  This is the opportunity of a lifetime for me and I cannot turn it down.  Don’t worry though, the deadline is the first of October so I will be back in Budapest for the third and then some.

The Beginning

Alright, well, it seems that I’ve eaten something that I probably shouldn’t have or something that I should have but it contained something that isn’t too friendly to the digestive tract so I’m stuck in one place for a few days. Seeing how this is the case I’m now able to tell you about my trip from the beginning. It’s a long tale so I’m going to break it up into chapters. The first chapter is going to be called “Lost in the wilderness with Lou”. Crazy, name for a crazy event.

Getting out of Hungary was a breeze.  We took this little bus through the countryside between fields of corn and sunflowers and enjoyed the fresh breezes and scents of the earth and these crops.  Crossing the boarder was a little different as our bus rolled across the boarder into what at first looked like a creepy industrial country who’s transport system was falling apart and people tend to stare at you for no particular reason.  Welcome to Oradea.

As our bus pulled into this boarder-town I was shocked and amazed that a country could look like such hell and get invited to be a part of the EU.  Many people experience Eastern European countries and not think much of them but I was amazed by many things and felt like I had been transported into a new world.  The younger men walked down the streets with their shirts off all the time, flexing their muscles and showing off for no particular reason.  The women would gaze at you with eyes that were filled with a burning desire.   And the older men would stare shamelessly at anything that moved with a menacing look that seemed almost lustful.  I was a little freaked to be honest.  Gambling houses were four to a block, and the blocks were just that: Eastern Communist blocks.  As my experiences with such blocks were limited at the time I can say I didn’t quite appreiciate it.  For those in the states that have never experienced this: imagine an apartment complex that is made of poured concrete.  There is no flash, or decoration aside from the laundry that is being hung out the windows and tiny balconies to dry.  The city of Oradea seemed to be quite lawless with shady figures lurking in the shadows (I wanted to get a picture but was afraid of getting shanked).  After a five minute glance around this odd town I wanted to leave.  I wanted to get away from all these creepy people and I needed to head for the hills.  So Lou and I did just that.  We caught the next bus headed to another town near this mountain range where we had hoped to camp for a few nights.

Getting a ticket wasn’t quite so easy but we eventually managed a cheap one.  This bus dropped us off in a less scary village called Beius that was about 40 Kilometres from the foot of our mountain.  Our driver informed us that we needed to catch another bus to the town Stana de Vale that was nestled in the middle of the mountain range we were headed to.  Oddly enough, we could find no bus, nor bus station, so we walked.  We walked till hunger nearly got the best of us both.  Thankfully, soon after considering eating the next small cat that we saw we came across a general store where we bought food and asked about taxis and buses.  The owner offered to take us there for 50 euros in his Mercedes(‘ooh a Mercades!’), an offer we quickly declined .  Hitch-hiking was the way to go we thought, and thankfully it turned out that we were right.  After setting out on the road again a Toyota Tacoma picked us up and dropped us off at the base of the mountain.  Now all we had to do was scale the mountain, descend the other side, and we were in!  However, this was easier said than done.

After hiking up for about 4 miles I realized that I was genuinely out of shape.  I had been sitting on my ass for over a month because of my broken neck incident and nearing exhaustion.  However we pushed on.  As we rounded every turn and stumbled upon any brief flat period we made claims that we were at the top of the mountain.  However, this rock seemed to be growing as we hiked.  It was relentless.  As the sunlight started to fade we realized that we hadn’t finished climbing much less started descending and our self denial in the matter wasn’t helping.  Louise and I started joking that we may have to camp out on the side of the road as no cars would pick us up and finish the hike in the morning on an empty stomach.  Thankfully, right around twilight our burdeons were relieved by two very nice girls in a car that was obviously past its prime, as it struggled to make it up the mountain.  Tired, sweaty, and hungry we crammed ourselves into this car and finished the trek on wheels.

This girl dropped us off at a camp-site where we were told we could camp for free.  At this spot we found clean water and even optional electricity (which we didn’t use).  So after dinner cooked over a barely flickering stove we stuffed ourselves into Louise’s tent and passed out.

After a cold and restless night’s sleep I awoke refreshed and hungry.  Seeing that we only had pasta reserved for actual camping we headed to the only restaurant in town and filled ourselves keeping in mind that we had no idea when the next big meal we were to have would be.  After this delightful spread of veggies, meat, cheese, and bread that these mountain folk called breakfast we headed out.

The trail-head was pretty impressive after a severe dumping of rain with it’s sparkling dark green trees.  The deluge we walked through after breakfast cooled and refreshed us before we started the hike.  Heading up the mountain was really exciting as we were able to experience breathtaking views, cows, and other wildlife.  Walking through the crisp air that was dampened by a quick rainfall was refreshing and cool.  I truly enjoyed walking in the sunshine as well as hoofing my way through the forest.  At times we just stood around looking at the views behind us, amazed by the scenery.  Other times we would stand around desperately trying to catch our breath while nonchalantly attempting to look like we were admiring the view.  Getting over and on top of the mountain didn’t really take that much time but was sometimes a painful experience seeing how I was supremely out of shape.   Once we summited the mountain range the going was nice and flat.  The flatness consisted of a nice plain full of grass, some streams, and obvious tire tracks where people had gone off-roading perhaps weeks before.  On top, the trees had dwindled and were easily found on either side of us in the distance a little ways down the mountain.  In this open area we got some really nice views of our surroundings.  However, the plane in spots could be quite wide and the trail was extremely poorly marked.  This trail was actually the worst marked trail I’ve ever been on.  I would bet money that the symbols they use to tell you which trail you are on get rotated every few years.  We came across many trails we had never heard of and the fact that we didn’t have a map or compass didn’t help at all.  We ended up missing the trail we were supposed to be on (marked by a red line) and foraged through a mystery blue line trail that every once in a while would change to a red dot or a yellow cross.

During our little journey we saw only remote signs of human existence though no human encounters were had other than between ourselves.  The walking over time became monotonous and frustrating as we unwittingly wandered farther and farther from the place we were supposed to be going.  After a good full day of hiking and not seeing the campsite we had been promised, we decided to set up camp next to the trail in a little grove.  Here we cooked a good meal over an open fire (as my stove refused to burn the only fuel I could find at the store the previous day:  rubbing alcohol) and enjoyed not carrying heavy packs across a mysterious terrain.  Running out of water was not a problem as there were many springs around.  However, food seemed to be limited.  Our dinner was quite meager and the breakfast the next day was exactly the same thing: pasta.  Sadly, our rations lasted only for these two meals but we had seen a town in the distance and decieded to blow off the trail and head to this place that may be the saving grace for our stomachs.

So sad

Much needs to be said about not posting here but I believe the necessary words are ‘I’ve been busy’, though it may seem like a cop-out.  My experiences here in Eastern Europe have lent themselves to not having any time, and usually, opportunity to writing things and letting you all know about them.  Currently I have some time to sit and rest here in Varna, Bulgaria so I’ll fill you in on my recent activities.

I lost my passport.  These words will send any traveler into a mild frenzy and perhaps push a person into a panic.  However, I just calmly got off the train at the border and headed for the American embassy in Sofia.  I would blame my calmness on the fact that I had nothing else to do and my mental capacity was so very pushed to the brink of crashing, from lack of sleep, that I was physically unable to do much else.  So after an expensive taxi ride and thoughts of getting abducted by an obviously unregistered taxi driver this man dropped me off at a secluded train station in the middle of nowhere.  Honestly, the guy was super nice and told me everything I needed to do to get to Sofia as the taxi ride would cost me three heaps of money as opposed to two if I were to pair this super inexpensive (yet long) train ride through the mountains and between the gorges of central Bulgaria with the obnoxiously long and silent taxi ride.

You may all be wondering how it was that I came to loose my passport.  Well, I have found truth in the saying that ‘bad decisions [or experiences] make for good stories’ so to put it in a nutshell:  I slept through it.  To make a short story longer: I was on a train from Istanbul, Turkey headed for Bucharest, Romania.  Getting out of Turkey and across their border was quite breezy after being shaken awake at 2am and made to stand in line to get stamped out of the country.  Yet arriving in Bulgaria was a tad more complex.  They (the powers that be) let the poor souls crossing into Bulgarian soil (which didn’t seem to be much different than Turkish soil) keep their beds in the sleeper train.  Lacking sleep from weeks of travel I was thrilled and went to sleep immediately after the Turkish boarder.  I was woken up three times by the annoyingly persistent boarder patrol as they needed to check passports again and again.  The first two times the boarder patrol handed over the passports to the individual cars they took them from and we doled them out ourselves.  On the third passport check I was so exhausted I decided to put my earplugs back in and pick up my stamped book in the morning.  Sadly, the patrol changed their ways and issued our passports back individually.  I, being the sleeping type, was not coherent for this, nor was I able to be woken for the fault of my amazing earplugs.  So, they kept my passport and let me on my way to the northern boarder of Bulgaria, ten hours away.

I realized that my passport was missing (as was a Turkish fellow who had plans on seeing Romania) later the next day, about two hours from the northern boarder.  After a mildly annoying rooting-through-my-stuff event I found that my papers were nowhere to be found.  In about three minutes the entire train knew about “the guy who lost his passport”.  I was famous, for a terrible event.  So, I got kicked off the train at the boarder.  But not before kindness smiled upon me and a few guys chipped some food and water my way for the suprisingly diffucult journey I had ahead.

I was supposed to catch the train south back to the southern boarder where they possibly had my passport but after a few phone calls my book was nowhere to be found.  Well, I was removed from my train north, and the one headed south left without me while waiting for word from the southern boarder,  so the conductor dude set me up with a taxi driver.  Honestly, the guy was really nice but when I learned he was a taxi man I poo pooed him.  Disappointed and bracing for the ripping of my wallet he kinda told me that I would be able to catch a train to Sofia or take the taxi the whole way.  In an attempt to catch the embassy while it was still open I opted to take the taxi as I’m an all out person: if I’m going to get ripped I’ll get thoroughly ripped.  In the end the three hour taxi ride wouldn’t lend itself to seeing me to the embassy on time so The driver dropped me off in this crazy looking town that just happened to have a tiny train station.  As he was driving me over the massive portions of missing tarmac I was thinking of all the things I would do if I was being kidnapped.  At this point the disappointment and lack of sleep (the six hour night sleep before wasn’t as good as I was hoping) suggested that I could use my trusty corkscrew to undo ropes, pick locks, and maybe steal a horse and ride off into the wilderness where I would kill hedgehogs and capture rain water to stay alive.   Thankfully, Mikael was a good guy who provided me every piece of knowledge to transport me to the ominous city of Sofia.

It’s beyond me why some train stations don’t put signs up so people know where they are.  Thankfully mine was at the end of the line, though I still had the knawing question as to where on earth I was.  Some dirty looking German girls were able to answer my question and provide me with information about sleeping for the night as it was already 10pm.  They told me that the train station sets you up with a super expensive hostel that wouldn’t reveal it’s location and won’t tell you about any others around the city.  Smelling a scam I opted to saunter around town looking for a bed and a shower after dropping the heaviest of my luggage in a box at the station.  Under cover of celebrating one of the girl’s birthday we headed out into the night to look for a few drinks and hopefully a pillow.  I lasted four hours.

Four hours till my breaking point: I felt sick, got a headache and even nearly exploded a toilet in a fancy bar next to a church.  At this point I just said screw it and caught a taxi to the nearest cheap hotel.  Sadly this driver wasn’t as honest as the last one, so the hotel was neither cheap nor close, but I didn’t care and crashed out quickly.  Four hours later I woke up and felt a knawing in my stomach indicating that I desperately needed to eat breakfast.  Realizing I had been eating less than a concentration camp victim I shoved as much food in me as I could before heading out to the American embassy.

At the embassy I was able to get the proper documentation done till they informed me that I needed a police report.  Remembering that none of the boarder patrol actually filed anything other than jotting my name and date of birth down into a strange notebook with a snowboarder on the front, I realized that I had to go to the police station.  A form was given to me that had pretty pictures on it.  Later I realized that they were not pictures at all but they were letters and I was supposed to write what happened using them in a language I couldn’t even understand.  I was yet again smiled upon by fate through a wonderful woman who helped me translate and write in Moldovan Cyrillic the necessary statement.

While waiting for documentation to be confirmed I thought it would be a good idea to find a new bed for the night confirming that I didn’t want a re-run of the night before.  However, the first hostel that I went to (Hostel Mostel) turned me away with a sneer saying they didn’t take people without papers.  After looking at my sheet of hostels I went to the other closest one which was extremely accommodating.  They even let me sleep as soon as I got there realizing that I was just dead tired.

After gathering all of the necessary papers I went to the hostel and crashed out for the night.  The next day I received my passport.  In the end I was glad to have my passport and happy to have a story to tell (and learn from) but sad that all my pretty stamps and visas were lost.  I guess I’ll just have to fill this new one up and tell you all about those adventures as well.