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?