Engrish

Is that Colin Farell?

Sarajevo

Yes, we are in Sarajevo, and its not what you would expect. its the 2nd favorite place ive been so far. The hostel we are staying at was attacked and the floor we are sleeping in was blown off in the war, yes the entire floor, with six bombs. Harris the owner was sleeping in the basement along with his entire family at the time it was blown off. he and his father rebuilt it after the war. the hostel is on top of his house. Harris a 19 year old told us all about the history amd the war he lived through. took us on a tour showing us the tunnel that the Serbians used to cross under a airport to a free area out side of Bosnians control. sniper alley along the side of town. and the holiday in where the journalists stayed while covering the war. its frightening to think that this all happened not but 12 years ago. The Muslim religion is the majority in Sarajevo,Five times a day the Muslim prayer happens and is played all over the city through P.As from the mosques all over the city, its pretty and haunting as the sun is setting. Tomorrow we are leaving to either Zagreb ( the capital of croaitia) or Ljubljana in Slovenia. which may be my breaking off point to northern Italy, and possibly France to see the tour! well love you guys and congrats Theo and Consuelo, they had a baby Vincent. Ok, im dead tired and and going to get some sleep.

-Spencer

My trip thus far in summary:

Day 1-10: Oh my God. Wow. Wow wow wow. Look at that! That thing is 2000 years old. Its huge. Look at that other thing! We can sleep in that? You made a hotel out of that? Wow! Wow! I can't believe it. Truly mankind's history has been a full and splendiferous affair filled with drama and awe inspiring wonder. I could look at ancient ruins forever.
Day 11-22: That's pretty cool. Hm. Neat. Oh look, there was a battle here. I guess that's alright. Oh, an ancient castle. Wait, didn't we see that already? No? Oh yes, it was a different one, I remember. Look at those flying buttresses. They're not as cool as those first ones we saw, but they're alright. Shall we go get a drink tonight?
Day 23-27: Ruins? An ancient castle? Site of recent international conflict? Oh yes, I see. I hand't noticed them there towering above me. They look like the ones we saw before, only smaller. I suppose they're somewhat impresivish, kind of... I'm satisfied for the day. Lets go get some iced coffee and lay under that tree, its really fuggin hot.
Day 28+: Old stuff. More old stuff. Where are we again? Oh, a cat! Look at that sweet cat! He just yawned. Thats amazing. Lets go get some coffee.

Yeah...

It is with this as introduction that I begin to tell you about my biggest ˝I told you so˝ of the trip: Dubrovnik. Take my opinion of it with a grain of salt. I'm jaded, now that I've seen the mighty acropolis, the winding reaches of Kotor, the shaded stari grad of Split, and the yawning, lazy, rolling beauty of the Makarska sierra (we have pictures of all this too, be patient). That said:
Dubrovnik is a tourist trap. Its a tourist trap surronded by the most authentic and well-preserved walled city of Europe, crenelations, statues, ornate pillars and all, but a tourist trap nonetheless. I KNEW it would be this way. I sensed it as I watched it on Rick Steves, and was given further hints the more I heard about it. But when I saw it from the bus two weeks ago on our way from Herceg Novi to Split, I KNEW that it would be so. Let me explain it thusly: You walk down the streets of the city, initially impressed by the mysterious, narrow streets that run between the five story buildings. There are no cars. There are many handsome stray cats posing like postcards in meaningful ways. Then, as a American tourist brushes past you and apologizes, the magic fades away as quickly as it took you. You are not unhappy about this. You have felt this magic before, much stronger.
Then as you pass rows upon rows, whole blocks of souvenir shops, identical in look and inventory, same prices, same merchandise, you almost roll your eyes. Perusing menus that aggresive barkers have handed you for the ˝world famous˝ restruants they work for, you notice that all have identical dishes and inflated prices. Your head turns away, you glance an extremely well-kept statue of Roland and smile, and then a giggling Italian tourist wraps her arms around it and kisses its chest, a pose for her eurotrash boyfriend. Your smile fades, and you grimace at the babbling barker and reluctantly agree to patronize his establishment. The food is the same as it has been throughout all of Croatia.
I won't say that I didn't enjoy Dubrovnik. I am finding it impossible to not enjoy any of my time in Europe. Rather, imagine that you have, on a whim, stumbled upon a place that you are finding you cannot help but love more and more daily. You hope to return very soon. But then there is one area of this place that is slightly less, and despite enjoying it, you can't help but feel that your time was better spent in elsewhere.
I told you so. Kotor was better.
Here's something I've been knocking around in my head recently. The inspiration for this is a Rick Steves pamphlet that Spencer found here. Inside it is a few pages dedicated to peoples stories about being knicked during their travels in Europe. Falling for shell games, pick pockets, being led around by pretty girls and getting charged 20 euro for drinks, that kind of stuff. On the next page: Rick Steves money protection wallet. Keep your valuables safe while you travel! This feels like blasphemy, as I do like Stevesie, but after being dissapointed by Dubrovnik after he hammered it so hard...
Is Stevsie running a raquet? Just what is the percentage of people that have been ripped off in Europe? Is it larger than the percentage of crime anywhere else? Do I carry a money protection wallet when I walk around Seattle? Should I? I haven't run into a single traveler, and I've met a lot of travelers, that have been robbed.
Anyway, its been awhile since I made a dedicated post. We stayed at a very nice hostel in Dubrovnik, a twenty minute walk from the stari grad. The hostel owners were a family, and they delighted in teaching me more croatian. While staying at this hostel, we met a girl from Australia named Sara. I had a wonderfully interesting, all night conversation with her about comparative politics, schooling, culture, etc. etc. Then she sort of (kind of maybe I'm just imagining it) suggested we accompany her to her next destination. So we hopped onto the bus with her and that is how we've found ourselves here.
Sarajevo!
We met another australian on the bus, named Reece (hurray), and then about five more australians and some Americans at the hostel. We are a party of ten now, all as good a friends as friends can be with the knowledge that in two days we will never see each other again. We saw the tunnel that sarajevo used to maintain itself during the four year siege. We had a quick lunch followed by rich dark sugary bosnian coffee before taking a pleasant stroll down bullet riddled sniper's alley. All the buildings here are coated in bomb strikes and bullet holes. One the the Americans, Rebecca, asked our nineteen-year old hostel owner (he build it himself after the siege and now succesfully runs it. We are all impressed!) that we hear some local music. So he called up his friend, a local performer, who, for 100 konvertible markes, is coming over to the hostel tonight for a two or so hour performace of local bosnian music. Split 10 ways, its a steal. We will get pictures. I hope it is good.
Sarajevo is a wonderful city, all the more beautiful for its recent strife. Anti-establishment graffiti has blossomed on the bullet riddled walls, and the mainly muslim population plays its own pop music in stores and cars, not America's. Its tourist areas are kitschy, and trashy, but sweetly so. Like they have heard what people from other countries like from some guidebook, and have slapped together a motely collection of shops that sell their culture as well as trashy souvenirs together, all of which they display very seriously. Reece is obsessed with finding a store he wandered by before that sold dog panties, because he wants a picture of them and did not have his camera before. Alas, the dog-panty store has proven to be like a mystic monkey paw store: did it ever really exist? The locals shake their heads and say no.
We might stay another day, but we've heard that nearby mostar is good, and some of our new friends are going. Will we follow them? If we're not too drunk, we'll decide tommorow.
Miss you all. Thanks for the translation Ian. I will put more pictures on the next entry, I promise.

Next Stop

Dubrovnik.

Girls in Croatia.

My hrvatski progresses. At the internet cafe where I am writing this, the hostess/administrator commented that my hrvatski was good and that I was the only Americiki that she had met who had spoken so much hrvatski. I have decided to buy this book to translate at night or when I'm hanging out on one of the many beaches in Croatia. If grandma is reading this, relax. I also decided to finnally read the bible, and have purchased one for just that purchase. I figure this book and that balance out nicely.
We have finally exhausted our week at the Pavlovic's in Split proper, and are now heading to one of the nearby islands of Supetar to try our hands at camping. We scouted out Supetar before and found many secluded forests, abandoned buildings, and other clever little nooks that we might use for a campsite. Its so hot here that I don't think we'll even use our sleeping bags. I'm not sure how readily we'll be able to use the Internet, but I should be able to update every once in awhile.
Split has been interesting. Their weren't as many people that spoke english as I'd hoped, a discovery that was one of the impetusus (i? That's classic latin. Maybe impeti. Is Acci reading this blog?) for learning hrvatski. But with my limited grammar and vocab, I cannot... speak so good. No... more. I have not made as many aquaintances here as I'd hoped to... but it has been relaxing. It has been nice to be sedentary. And enlightening. I learned a lot. About girls especially. Let me tell you about that.
I had been expecting to see this. I have known a few american girls that went to Europe and returned home with horror stories about aggressive European men. So perhaps there is a little bit of "finding it because I'm looking for it syndrome" going on here. I am a fat white donut eating cop stopping black guys in nice cars, except that... I'm a gentle American boy (me, gentle. Ha!) documenting vicious European sexual predators. Even if I am expecting to see it, though, I have not had a hard time finding aggresive european boys. Objectifying women, and men too for that matter, is par for the course over here. Worse than America? I would say so. But, I did not think of how this would affect the girls, but it makes perfect logical sense.
They have very very thick skins.
I have noticed this about American girls as they get older, but to a lesser degree. Its a simple equation. The more male attention a girl gets, the less she values it. That makes sense to me, anyway. If I had girls pinching my butt in crowded subways, hollering at me on the street, approaching me at cafes and buying me drinks and telling me I was the most beautiful thing they'd ever seen, I'd eventually think I was pretty damn hot and value such attention much less. I guess you don't really know if you're attractive until you attract.
So if I look at a girl here and smile, or approach her to ask for directions, I often get immediately shunned. They assume I'm trying moves. Its like they know who I am! But this time, I'm not doing anything wrong. I promise! I'm getting punished for crimes I have not committed. Or even intended to commit! Its infuriating. I know that many of your mental images, with the exception I hope of my mom, probably just conjured a grinning, winking Rhys sidling furtively to the side of a croatian girl and saying (literal hrvatski translation):
"Hey, How doing you do, at babies? Are looking you very beautifuller, tommorow. Signs is what yours?"
I forgive you. There is a large, easily accessible palette that you may draw upon to paint this picture. Regardless, I really am just asking for directions. I have mostly stopped approaching girls to ask for directions or help because of the experiences it leads to. Young males my age (my historic rivals and enemies!) are surprisingly the most helpful, and also speak the best English. A close second is elderly females, with young children of both sexes coming in a distant third. But of girls, really, unless the girl is trying to sell me something, she is not out to help me.
Anyway, I'll bet I'm doing something wrong. Also, it cannot help that I'm sweating a lot and my feet smell. Girls the whole world over probably understand what that means.

Rhys

You know who's a jerk?

The sun. That guy is a dick. Seriously. Spend one hour with him. He will screw with you.

Difficulties and Hrvatski

I'm sorry guys, I really am, but Ian is jealous of our adventures. And you know how much I hate to see Ian unhappy. So, first thing tomorrow, we're going to call our airline and see if they can move our return tickets to next week. Its been fun.
Ahem. Yeah.
So today's blog will be about some difficulties we're having. Also, I noticed that the blog has been very picture heavy, and while I dearly like those pictures, and from the comments it seems as if ya'll do too, putting them on is very time consuming and detracts from the writing. I have lots of stuff I want to say. So... less picturey today.
Travel continues. Or doesn't, really, as we have connected with Spencer's friend Milos' parents, who have kindly offered us a nice place to stay for a week au gratis. So we're in Split until Tuesday. Where will we go next? Ah, the first of our difficulties. I'll come back to that.
The second is difficult for sure but extremely pleasant. Since we're going to be in Croatian speaking countries for a while, I'm going to try to learn a little Hrvatski. Zelim uciti Hrvatski. I can ask how much things cost, count to a thousand (numbers in Hrvatski are the easiest ever), and engage in extremely simple conversation. I can also conjugate a few verbs, but my noun declension... needs work. I bought this little translation book for 65 kuna that has all the grammar in it. Er, well, all the simple grammar anyway. It doesn't show how to do continuing actions in the present tense, or gerundives. Hrvatski has these things, doesn't it? Like, I can say govorim hrvatski. I speak Hrvatski. But how do I say I am speaking Hrvatski? Or I am learning Hrvatski? ucitem Hrvatski?
Grarg! Our third difficulty is that nowhere in all of Split can a guy in need buy a second-hand bicycle. Nowhere. Every bike store we ask at laughs at the very principle of the thing. Stara bicikl? they say. Sto? So, as much as I utterly loathe hate can't stand detest angry at stridently disapprove ardently dislike saying, but getting bikes seems less and less possible. Even renting them is 400 kuna a week, roughly 72 dollars. Although thats not SO bad, everything is mountain bikes, which increase onroad travel times almost twofold. Paying for bikes for that long will rapidly untie the shoestring that staying gratis at Milos' parents house has allowed me to secure. But gah! This was supposed to be a bike trip. I'm beggining to wish we had sucked up the trouble and just taken our bikes from home. Then again-
Sigh... also, its looks as if Spencer and I might split (Split? haha) for awhile, eventually. Relax, we aren't fighting. Thank God, as one of my top fears for this trip, marching in formation, its shield prepared to defend its neighbor Not Making Any Friends, was seeing this trip tear my friendship with Spencer apart. Did that last sentence make any sense? No, thank God, we aren't fighting. He just really wants to see Venice, and... me, not so much. I want to spend longer in Austria. But we'll see.
Life is also somewhat difficult in Split. Since we aren't staying in a hostel, we don't have easy access to other travelers. Other travelers are easy to talk to. There are many easily accessible conversation topics. But... just going up to someone in a Split bar (almost all outdoor, by the by) and trying to kick up a good rozgovor, especially if your hrvatski is bad. Its tough. It has a high potential for utter failure. Utter. Higher, I think, in my limited experience, than it has for success.
I rely so much on being good with words back home! I'm a conversationalist! I like talking! To be reduced to a few memorized phrases, a smattering of poorly recalled conjugations, and a tentative understanding of how reflexive pronoun gender works (I keep calling myself a girl!)... its almost more than I can bear. If it wasn't so goddamn fulfilling to learn all this stuff, I don't know why I'd bother. Seeing people laugh and smile when you say something that the average tourist can't. The delighted expression when you say 'zelim uciti Hrvatski.' Its approval. I like approval. I like it when people approve of me.
Too bad I'm coming home in a week. Ian.
Ian smells. Also I miss him and everyone else.
Also, uh, Milos... what does this mean? Is the grammar bad? Does it even make sense?

Zelim uciti Hrvatski. Ja cu kupiti pizza za vas ako rozgovore. Djevojke dobiju pica, takoder.

I'm willing to bet dimes to dollars that it doesn't make a lick of sense. I want to make sure before I hang it from my back like a friggin battleflag.

Kotor

Dubrovny is one of the few remaining walled cities in Europe. About two hours south of split and just North of a Montenegran border, well situated amongst forest islands and cliffs, Dubrovy is the number 1 tourist destination in all of Europe. Massive cruise lines make stops there. Rick Steves swears by it, and hotels run three times the cost of anywhere else.

We did not go there. We went somewhere better.

Kotor Castle is one of the OTHER walled cities in Europe. Only, where Dubrovny has a deep blue bay well trafficked by massive cruise lines eager to disgorge there cargo of elderly comfort tourists, Kotor features a steep 1300 meter hike up the side of a cliff along and amongst the old fortress walls and towers that defended the walled town. For a mere 2 euro, you can give yourself FREE REIGN of the old fortress. There are no closed off areas. There are no guards or do not enter signs. There is a map given to you at the beggining that depicts areas of safe travel, moderate risk areas, and dangerous areas. Guess where we spent most of our time?

These are some of the best pictures, although there are many many more. The pictures below this were taken at an abandoned church on the cliff adjacent the fortress. There was a little goat path climbing up to it, with goats and cows and everything. The path and the church were only accesible through a little cracked hole in the fortress wall, which was only accesible by a eight foot vertical climb. After the crack we had to navigate a narrow, steep set of stone stairs to a little path. The church alone was worth the trip. It seemed like hardly anyone ever went in there. There was almost no graffiti, and what there was seemed reverent.

We might go back there to spend the night in the church, or in any of the other nooks and crannies that a clever backpacker could rest in. Kotor fortress was truly one of the coolest things we have yet seen. As for Montenegro in general, it was very... I dont know. In some respects, we had a a great time. Kotor fortress for instance. But in another, we did not make that many friends and even had some misunderstandings. There were people that took us in, for sure. They have an entire system here set up for that. People routinely rent out rooms, painting Sobe or hanging Sobe signs outside there houses. These rooms can be very cheap to moderate, but are almost never expensive. still and all... while they are cordial enough, there is not the hospitable feel that comes with taking in strangers in need (and we have looked VERY bedraggled and in need, at times). Things change when money is exchanged. As the euro touch their hands they suddenly morph from savvy negotiators, expressions sharpened by concentration, to crazily warm hotel clerks eager to care for us. It seems less genuine than our Albanian friends, who absolutely would not under any circumstances accept money or gifts of any sort.

The misunderstandings ranged from funny to sad. Funny, like when I was trying to get the Croatian girl that was sleeping in the adjacent room to teach me Croatian swear words, and sad like when we misunderstood the terms of our stay with one of our renters (the nicest couple wed met) and left a day ahead. They seemed really upset and wondering what was wrong with their hospitality and home. Hurt, thats the word. Below is a picture we took at a cafe we ate at that Spence says is wallpaper worthy. The other is my answer to those who say there are no fat Europeans.

Alive

Well, for those who are keeping up with the blog, fear not. We have come through Albania alive. It was touch and go for awhile. We avoided taking a taxi for MOST of the way, but at the slightly scary Albanian Montenegran border, we had little choice, and paid a lot to get to Podgorice. Getting through Albania consisted of having one helpful person who spoke english, usually twenty something males, get us to a bus stop and give us a route to the next place. We made many friends this way, and whenever we pulled the map out to orient, five or six people would gather around and enter into lively discussion with our guide. It was hard to feel alone in Albania. Until the border. But everytime we got to some new place, away from our guide, we would get a new one who would point us toward a new direction. We headed North. North was the byword.
Will make a larger post later, when we have a computer that has accesible usb ports. Guess where we are now. Here's a hint.
Majesty.

Gained in Translation

And it's Albania! Never in our planning did we think of going to Albania. We considered passing through it, but never did we think about staying here. I think I remember the conversation. We laughed. Albania! we said, chortling and making a joke about backwards people. Borat was quoted liberally. We'd never spend time in Albania. Well, the joke's on us. There is no goddamn way to go straight to Croatia from Athens without renting a car. At least one overnight stop is needed. We spent that night in Tirana, the capital and largest city of Albania. Er, well really we spent 1 night on the bus to Albania (a night bus from Athens that left at 8pm and arrived at 10:30PM), and one bus in an incredibly cheap hotel (2500 Leke a day, the equivelent of 20 euro or $28 dollars. For two people. That's lower than rent in Seattle. Or DC. Amanda). This entry will entirely concern our time in Albania.

You know you're in a poor country when: 1.You look out the window of your bus and the driver of the donkey cart next to you waves hello. 2. Oil drills are right next to village water sources (we saw some ex-streams soaked in raw oil) 3. Every third building is an unfinished skeleton and people are camping in it. 4. You have more money in your wallet than most people do in their entirety. 5. You look out the bathroom window and a dog is chasing chickens about ten feet away.
BUT!

We made more friends in the last 24 hours than we made in the entire previous ten days. Let me tell you about Adriatik Ramanjaku. Adriatik is a 35 year old from a small town near Tirana called Luchnaye. He has been living in Athens for the last twenty years and working as a painter. His father's name is Bahir, and his mother's name is Lute. He has a girlfriend, or a wife, we couldn't quite tell, named Dona in Romania. He loves America, and thinks George W. Bush is a swell president. He also tried desperately to tell us that George W. Bush was coming to Tirana to speak on the tenth, the same day we were there (that's another fun story. What are the chances? They had the entire city center decked out in signs that said "Proud to be Partners." We saw Bush's motorcade glide passed, the second time I've seen it. Strangely, it seemed less heavily armed than it was in Indiana, but maybe that's because they had the entire Tiranan police force between Bush and the populace.) We didn't get it for a couple of hours though.

Adriatik knew maybe tens words of English: Good, bad, dollar, Madonna, George W. Bush. A few others, most pop related) We communicated by drawing pictures and words in the back pages of my accounting book. Thank God I had it, and a pen. The conversation became much better with that. We drew each other pictures and laughed that we did not understand. We tried again. One of the first problems was that we had no way to tell the person that we understood. "I understand." Such an important couple of words. Here are some of the pictures of our conversation.

Not all of them though. There are pages of stuff. We talked about restraunts and politics and girls and money and all sorts of crazy crap. And it was fun. If we'd both spoken the same language, I'm sure it would have been a very plain conversation. But, as it was, it was almost a game. It is suprising what complicated ideas you can get across with just pictures. Adriatik started the conversation off by trying to tell us that we would be crossing a huge bridge into Albania. We eventually got what he was talking about, but then had to discern that it was future tense, not present. We spent a long time trying to find a bridge that wasn't there. But you get things eventually, if you keep trying. When we got to a small restraunt where we stopped for a break in our 12 hour bus ride, everyone (they were almost all Albanian) chipped in to buy us some local dishes. We don't know what they were called. We tried everything to get names. We asked. We pointed to ourselves and said our names, and then to the people and said their's, and then to the dishes. That aroused a pointing motion and expression that I believe meant "eat it, stupid." We were everyone's pet Americans. Here are some pictures.

That's the local food on the left. They kept getting it for us. It was pretty good but very greasy. Adriatik is in the middle picture in the Puma shirt. That's Olti on the right. Olti spent some time studying in New Jersey, because he has an aunt who is a schoolteacher in the US. He was kind enough to show us around Tirana and act as a translator. He showed us to the hotel, where this picture was taken. He was the only one on the bus that spoke english, and he didn't get on until very late in the ride.

So anyway, Tirana was fun. Tirana was a good place to go, and I'm glad I came. Plus, I now no longer fear our chances of getting people to help us when we bike. People like helping, in general, although I'll admit that the city folk have so far not lived up to the hospitality that those on the bus have provided. The leading picture, by the way, reflects what I was suprised to learn. Albanians love the US. Love it. And Bush. Go ahead and look it up on MSN. Bush Gets Hero's Welcome in Albania. I got the impression, though, that it was because he was the US president. Any US president would be popular.

Must be off. We have a long day ahead of us. Spencer was out checking for busses to Croatia while I was writing this (these take a long time!). He couldn't find any. No buses heading north at all. All they had were cabs. Damn cabs. Gonna cost us about 160 euro. Yikes. Maybe we could try hitch-hiking? So, we're off to find a bus. Hope we aren't stuck here.

Last thing. There have been stray dogs all over Europe. In Greece, for example, there were at least two per city block. And they were fat fat animals. Very well fed. In Albania:

Not so much.

PS

This is one of the saddest things I have seen since landing in Europe. They had rows and rows of these cages in an outdoor market. Still... does anyone know if this is any worse than we treat our pet birds in the States?

The Plan. Also, Shop Vendors.

We've met a lot of tourists. A lot of locals too, and a lot of tourists that are local to a very exotic location, so, what the hell, they are local to us. But, in general, staying in hostels, you meet a lot of tourists.

When the time comes in the conversation to trade travel plans with our fellow travellers, I am always elated to discover that other travellers with more set plans are jealous of us. They would love to head out into the great blue yonder, they say, but ya'know, we have a hotel booked in Thessaloniki and we have to be there.

Today, Spence and I are discovering the other half of our style of travel. Lets call this half "Confusawildered."

We have literally dozens of options in front of us, all with pros and cons, risks and rewards, one adjective and its opposite. But within these dozens of options there are two main paths: West and North. In the western path, there is Italy and the Aidriatic. We could take a boat to Italy, but it is a long time traveling and expensive. We could take a plane, but it is expensive with x-ray/heat vision, flight, and immense strength. Er, super expensive. Also, we didn't come here to fly around! I want my bike, damnit. I want to ask some farming family if I might, please sleep on their land, and then be invited in for a delicious local meal and the game of charades that is conversation with little lingual common ground. You don't get that by flying.

The other path, that which we are favoring now, is North. Croatia is the prize here, with Dubrovnik's high walls, Split and a week of free rooming with Spencer's friend, and sweet sweet favorable-currency-exchange. Croatia is not yet on the euro, and their currency is worth less than the USD. We plan to purchase bikes in Croatia with these favorable rates, and then take a boat with them to Italy where we will bike up the calf of the boot and into Austria, where our new friends Thomas and Tobias have promised us a place to stay. Buuutt Albania. Allllbania. Al-fricking-bania.

Read about Albania. Read about travel in Albania. People say the same thing. They use the same descriptors. Descriptors like poor. Dirty. Hovel. Smell. Hole. When they talk about crime, they say "organized." When they talk about tap water, they follow it with "potentially lethal." This is a little discouraging. Whenever one of these so called negatives is said, one part of me, the part that likes video games, staying in bed until 11, shade, cake, kitties, laying down, calling in sick to work, being sleepy, watching other people do things, weddings, and closing my eyes; that part of me gets physically ill. He has to go to the bathroom and breath really hard and wish he could throw up but not quite manage it.

The OTHER part of me, that likes horizons, high skirts, long bike rides up big hills, discordant music, adventure novels, looking over the edges of cliffs, high skirts, fighting, getting drunk, spitting, high skirts, and doing things I know are stupid but I hope will be momentarily very fun; that part of me wants a brochure. You say "watch your pocketbook" and he says "which way to dodge." He wants to hear all about Albania and its people and the kind of food they eat and how they live and what idioms they use and how high their girls wears their skirts.

The catch is, you see, that while Greece and Croatia are fairly close, it is impossible to get directly from one place to another over land. There are no trains that go straight there. Buses only make layovers. The intervening countries, Albania, Montenegro, Bulgaria, Macedonia, Serbia. At least two of these countries must be crossed and interacted with, at least a little, to get from Athens to Croatia. Croatia, where are future lies.

So, after I get done with this entry, we are going across the street from our lovely hostel, have I mentioned how wonderful it is, to one of the many private bus companies promising cheap fares to Tirana, and we're probably going to get it. When we hand over our 25 euroes, you might feel a little breeze on your neck. That's the wind that we've decided to cast our fortunes too.

A note about the pictures, and about shop vendors. The first pic is posed next to the guard in front of the Grecian parliment. They change this guard in the same way the Brits do. And their guards also pretend to be statues. It is a perplexing ritual to me. Tourists flock around them, ogle them, bring their snotty little children to hang onto their decorative pants. I do not see the point at which the "dignity of the state" enters the picture. They also patrol, I think between the guards also patrol from the parliment to the royal palace, which sadly we did not but from afar see. The second picture is me below Hadrian's Arch, right outside the deliciously ruinous (I love all things crumbling) temple of Athenian Zeus. Spence says this pic is wallpaper worthy, which is the highest praise I know him to give of a picture. As for shop vendors; The waiters of restruants and tenders of shops in Athens will be invariably called one of two things by American tourists: Friendly or pushy. I find them friendly. I love talking to them, how they put their hand on your back and guide you to the menu, promising the lowest prices and best food even though you both know it will be much the same as the next place over. I love how sometimes they ask you where you are from, and introduce themselves, and then you tell them your name too and shake their hands. They love to talk and touch. They hover by you and hang on your every need. Until, at restruants at least, you sit. After they have you they promptly forget about you. They pause long enough to take your order and are gone. Some might consider this way of things to be insincere. I do not see it so.

Still though, as much as I like it, most of the tourists I meet hate the crap out of it. Spencer does, as does our new friend Sara from California. I can see how having someone hover next to you as you paw their things to be... unsettling.

C'est la vie. Er... I mean, french people hate freedom, and are cowards, and the US is great, and I love high skirts. I mean hate french people.

Ancient shit...

Well we made it to Greece. Got off the plane at around ten and took the bus into town. this morning we walked around to find a place to eat some breakfast and just wonder. I remember people telling me that Greece is really polluted and smoggy. It is but it has character at the same time. Due to the small cluttered shops, beautiful monuments and what not. On the walk we came across lots of abandoned houses, like old (once) nice buildings boarded up and full of shit i.e. torn apart cars, poo, bags upon bags of garbage etc in the middle of the city. Crossing the street is a risk with scooters and motorcycles speeding down the center line and in between lanes of traffic wasn't something i was thinking to see. after lunch we made are way meandering through the junk shop/streetfair kinda thing to the Accorpolis which was amazing. We saw lots of ancient shit. At the top they where doing lots of renovations due to bad renovations around 1920's-30. as you can probly tell from the pictures. On top they had a museum where they had salveged reliefs and statues. Some of the statues even had little traces of orignal paint on them, as you can see in the pictures. which blew my mind that art like that has survived. Other than that i have been taking it easy in the hostle, sweat glazed. its hot but not bad probly 75-80s but now Zeus just cracked the sky open and its like a torrental downpoor.

ps. here is my flicker account to check out the pictures:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/13807404@N00/


mama, i think you would like Ireland, the people have a good sence of humor.

papa, iam taking more pictures of wierd cars that will fit on the camera. i miss you guys.

ellie and russ, hows it going? i got you something.

the kappels, any baby yet?

i miss all you guys and will email people individually if i ever get back on this one computer in greece.
-Spencer

In Athens, we were attacked by a lion

A view of the city just below the acropolis. The lion was huge. I almost died. Also, I think this pic of Spence, below the Wellington monument in Pheonix Park, in Dublin, is cool.

More soon.

.

People

About five years ago, I used to really like Plot. Plot and setting. Those were the two big things that made up a story, and everything else was of secondary consideration. Its a philosophy that I think drives the Japanese RPG industry.
Lately, I've turned more towards characters. The people that make up the stories are what I'm interested in. This trend had been occuring for awhile, but really settled when I read the Game of Thrones series.
People. People people people. When this trip terrifies me, and it still sometimes does between expanses of giddy excitement and awed contentment, most of that terror comes from the worry that I will not meet anyone. That I will "pass through" Europe, eating, sleeping, seeing, and talking only when I need to find places to eat and sleep.
I had visions, before I left, of meeting a group of youngish people in a hostel, people from everywhere. People whose english was often not so good. We would meet at a table, perhaps because they asked me directions, or I them, and a conversation would spark. They, or I, would introduce some other new friends that we had made, and suddenly we would be a small party. After a night fantastic night upon, we would awake the next morning and passionately decide to travel together.
It would not need to happen so quickly or concretely as that to please me.
We met two Austrian teenagers last night who were in Dublin on a whim, looking for work. Then we met an Australian who was, like us, traveling for traveling's sake. He had already been to India and Cairo, and was headed for Germany for music festival's which, dissapointingly, have almost exclusively American musicians.
To my elation, I discovered that it is nearly impossible to be from wildly disparate nations and have nothing to talk about. There is ALWAYS something. Comparison alone is a topic which can stretch endlessly, an air-conditioned and fortified fort from which forays into other topics may be launched. There are so many tiny differences that are both interesting and suprising between EU and US countries that one, I think could talk forever about them. When you throw Australia into the mix, you are gazing into conversational infinity.
Take, for example, the seemingly inocuous culture of going into a male bathroom. One would assume (at least I did) that such a thing was rather the same the world over, as long as the facilities were similiar. I imagine the communal muddy hole in the ground has a different etiquette behind it than the classic American throne, for example. But overall, the same.
Our Austrlian friend Mark apparently gets into a lot of trouble abroad because, in Australia, it is not only accepted but expected to look over to your urinal neighbor (though apparently they have more troughs than urinals) and have a polite chat.
It was comforting to know that girls still go to the bathroom, in all cultures we collectively had experience with, in gaggles.
It is 9:00 in the morning here, and we are about to catch a bus to Dublin airport and then fly to Athens. I am a little worried about how different it will be, especially since English in not as common a language there. I dearly hope that I will be greeted by a phalanx of spearmen, one of whom will hand me a red cloak and V shield in much the same way they hand out leighs(sp? that looks to Gaelic) in Hawaii. Perhaps they will have to fight a cyclops, which I have heard are a big problem down there.
I don't know what our net situation will be in Athens. In Dublin it was hard not to be on the internet. It was literally advertised on the street. The irish would get into drunken fights about the superiority and inferiority of different email accounts (there was actually a lot of fighting when we were here. At least two occured outside our windows while we tried to sleep. The combatants were mostly girls). If Athens proves different, it may be a while before we post again.
I have included a picture of me doing something I commonly do. It was taken on one of the main commercial areas in Dublin. Is there no land on Earth where good spelling and grammar are on the forefront of people's minds? A Literariland? I hope that this picture arouses pleasant, or at least accurate, recollections of me. We will have more later, I promise.

-Rhys

I hope there is not really a thing called Blue-Thooth.

Logistics, Finances, and Pornography

As of the second of June, we are in Dublin, and approximately $72 over our $50 a day budget. We are learning a great deal. If the title hadn't suggested it to you, this entry will be focused more on the physical details of our trip.
Its been pointed out to me, and I have considered it before, though not enough I think now, that Spencer and I are doing something not commonly done. This may be why there was little "how to" information in the guidebooks we looked at that pertained to our style of travel, which I'm not sure has an official title. Wandering? Errancy(hood?)? Vagrancy? Itinerant. But then, so is most travel, isn't? Er, innit?
As there was little information to go with, we are employing an ancient, coverall lifestyle technique called Making It Up As We Go Along. I am pragmatically interested in the process that will by necesity arise from this practice, but I am also generally interested. It is my hope that you will be too.
This is how our errant method of travel theoretically works at this point in time. Spencer and I wish to stay in a particular city for a certain period of time. We go online at any of the many very reasonably priced internet cafes, which are generally hip/trendy places, look on any of the many hostel booking sites (hostelworld.com is our MVP so far), look for the cheapest and coolestly(3rd made up word in the blog so far?) situated, and then, if it is available, book it for the number of night we need it for.
HOWEVER! If we decide to stay longer, or shorter, in a city, then hostels need to be quickly booked, which neccesitates a hostel crawl. Hostels are generally, so far, located in the same area. A hostelville of sorts exists in at least Dublin, be we are hoping that hostels in most cities conglomerate in one area. We are overbudget mostly because we're doing a lot of automated travel in a short amount of time, and also because the pound £ was really confusing at first. The meal we bought looked so reasonable in pounds. In USD it is very unreasonable. The hostel was also a little more expensive than normal ones.
A note about hostels -
1. They cost anywhere from €10 to €30 euroes a night (Spencer and I just spent a minute finding how to use the euro key "€." It shares the number 4 with the dollar sign "$" and is accessed by pressing a button labled "Alt Gr." The Great Alternate?)
2. They vary widely in style, use, luxury, and... some other adjectives. I get the impression that there is a healthy competition between hostels. The first one we stayed at was very very nice. Like I mentioned, almost like a college dorm. The one we're staying at tonight is also very expensive, and also very nice. However, we are in "dorm rooms" not private suites, so we will be sleeping with strangers.
3. They fill up really fast when you aren't looking.

The hostel we have booked tommorow is costing us . The hostel we have booked in Athens is €12 a night. We're eating stuff we've bought at the grocery store, and not out, which drops our prices significantly, but I'm still worried about the budget. We're hoping that our expenses will drop significantly when we start biking/camping in about 1 week. Thats when the real test of this trip is going to start.
Anyway, this is a lot of the stuff about logistics and finances. Theoretically, shelter will cost us about $20-$30 a day, and food, via grocery shopping, will cost us hopefully about $10. Then travel will cost us more at some times and nothing others, if the bike thing works. Then, when we can camp, shelter will often, theoretically, cost us little to nothing. Keep in mind that I am pulling out the collar of my shirt humorously, like a cartoon character, when I say this.

That is logistics. I will write more about Dublin tommorow. I have a lot to say about it, and how everything is going.

- Rhys

PS Pornography is strange here. It is so easily accesible in shops that a small child could reach it. Yet, its cover's promise much less, in terms of adult situations, than America porn. So, to be analagous, the fruit is lower but a lot less... smutty. Smutty fruit. Yeah. There are more coverspace devoted to promising articles and literary content.

My first post

I don't know... at first I was pretty ambiguous about this whole thing. It was what I always wanted to do, yeah, not necesarilly Europe but a big... a big Thing. An It, and I would remeber It for years to come. It was about having a big memory.
But I was pretty ambiguous about it. Even after I got the ticket (four months ago? Five?) I got a small excited feeling but even then. Not a big deal. Then about two week before it was time to leave I got scared. Like, dead scared. Very nervous. So much to be done. So much could go wrong. Or, even worse, nothing could go very right. It could be ho-hum. When you embark on a trip like this ho-hum is even worse than thunderous disaster. At least with @I got mauled by a bear who pushed my bike off a cliff and then the bike was broken and this beautiful girl helped me out but she turned out to be a banshee, or bainsidhe or however the hell they spell it here and ate fucking ATE both my eyes and also Spencer and now I'm blind, oh and also somebody stole my debit card and emptied my account mom please send money so I can come home and also a guide dog because I'm blind now and deaf that's another story (ad nauseum)...@, at least with that, with THAT you've got a story to tell. But if you just bike around and nothing happens, and you get home and your friends and family and enemies come up to you and say @Well?!@ and you just sort of shrug.
Well that's much much worse.
Incidentally, all the keyboards in Europe seem to have the quotation mark key switched with the @ symbol, which is very annoying. I'm leaving the quotations as @ for this email because I find it funny. I now feel much sympathy for Sarah, whose keyboard in Morocco must be an indecipherable labyrinth of strange arcane symbols. Though it does make her emails funny to read (@How's Eurpoe@ indeed.)
So I was on the plane from Newark, slightly happy to be getting the annoying plane ride part done, but still scared that everything would be rather ho-hum. I had recently traveled to Newark, and have traveled elsewhere in the States, and was always dissapointed by how SAME everything is. I always expect to get off the plane in Newark or Pennsylvania or India and breath a different air and have strange blue or purple skinned people greet me with strange and ultimately very attractive accents to their flawless english, which hints at the bilinguality (its a real word now!) of another, mysterious tongue of which I have never heard.
But its always just a fat guy offering me another cheeseburger.
Well...
In all fairness, the dissapointing SAME of my last travelscapade probably lowered my standards. But getting off the plane in Dublin, which from the air I could already see was a different kettle of fish, as I have seen written here on no less than three occasions already and its only the 1st day, I must happily inform everyone that it is wonderfully DIFFERENT. At least insofar as human beings and the things they build around themselves can be different from one another. Everyone speaks with a lovely if very hard to understand accent. I am actually expecting it to be easier to understand people in Greece. We will simply talk for two moments, then realize that we don't understand one another at all, and that will be our understanding. Here, we both jabber at each other for awhile, fully aware we both speak the same language, and terribly unhappy that, despite that, very little shit is sticking to the opposing wall.
But then, understanding really (and I don't speak for Spence here) not the purpose of this whole thing. Rather the opposite, I think. I like to think of that Weezer song Holiday, the line that says @they don't speak a word of truth, but we don't understand anyway@. We may not get a damn thing anyone is saying to us the whole time, but that someone is attempting to communicate in an utterly foreign tongue, which has behind it a body that has been fed and raised on a different... place, is tantalizing and very worth every bit of trouble. This is a frontier. Maybe not for the world. People have been here before.
I've never been here before.

-Rhys

PS - Oh yeah! Basics. Its a @log@ after all. We are in Belfast today, as of the 1st of June. Our plan is to eschew our second night of reservation here in Belfast and head immediately to Dublin to spend until the fifth, when another plane will take us to Athens. The Belfast Hostel is small and cramped and we love it to death. It reminds me a lot of college.