Food for the Soul

Vienna works. It is nice when things work. The coffee machine in our airbnb apartment works, the elevator works, the sauna downstairs is always working. The Vienna Underground is efficient and easy to use. You buy your ticket from a machine that takes a card, everything is clearly signed, there are no awkward turnstiles or machines that check your ticket. They must rely on the honor system. And I never had to wait more than a minute for the train to arrive.
We decided to go our separate ways this afternoon, and I got out at the nearest station to Belvedere Palace. It was not immediately obvious in which direction I should walk. Vienna has a different breed of tourist. They don't expect little brown signs, neither do they expect to queue.  The Vienna tourist is the type that uses the metro,books on-line, and visits the gift shop on the way out. They know what they are doing. I didn't, but fortunately my iPad did. I was able to use Google Maps to provide me with a map and a little blue dot to tell me where I was and in what direction I was walking. It is nice when things work.

Efficiency is nice, but the soul needs feeding too. That is why I wanted to visit Belvedere Palace today. I had missed it last visit, and felt the need of some art and beauty. I visited the gardens first, and nearly didn't continue.  I could have lingered there longer with the mass of flowers, fountains and pathways. I walked through the first halls and found interesting exhibits of art and sculpture. The painting above by Klimt, entitled "Music",  was salvaged from above a doorway in an old home.
The Upper Belvedere palace houses a larger collection of Klimt's works of art, including "The Kiss". I enjoyed the Van Gogh, and Monet, before discovering a curious display of heads. They were sculpted by a well known artist, Franz Xaver Messerschmidt, who suffered in later life, and began to sculpt faces that showed his pain. At this point a guard approached me and told me to stop taking photos. How was I to know? There aren't any signs, but I did notice that not one other visitor was taking pictures.

Feeling uplifted, from the artwork and beautiful views, I headed back into town. Before leaving the center I stopped by St Stephens Cathedral. The choir began to sing inside, and the sound brought tears to my eyes. Everything about the cathedral lifts your spirits, its towering spires, its arched windows, its high ceilings, and the sound of music rising up to fill the space.

Without Borders

I was ready to explore the 3's today: Three countries and three capital cities, three traveling companions, parking on level -3, staying in apartment on level +3, looking in 3 directions: UP, OUT and DOWN. The blue sky and impressive skyline made it irresistible not to look up in Bratislava. The ornate facades and steeples carry your eye up. We also climbed up to the castle and were able to look out over the city. The guide later claimed that you can see three countries from up top: Slovakia, Hungary and Austria. The three countries have a history together, Slovakia was once part of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire, and the capital of Hungary. They are very close geographically, and part of the Schengen Area. These countries have done away with passport or any other type of border controls between them, and act as one country. There are no signs to tell you're leaving one country and entering another. And they all lie along the Danube River.

My day today became more about the fact that I could even entertain the idea of driving through three European capitals in one day. Using the GPS, I pulled out the garage where I had been parking the car in Budapest. I successfully navigated the maze of streets to get out on to the highway leading to Wien and Bratislava.  The road was good, and I just had to stay out of the way of fast cars while passing the slow stream of trucks. When I hit Bratislava, I followed signs to the zoo, because that was about the only sign I could read. I then followed the river down, looking for Parking signs. Leaving the car in a paid lot, we were able to explore the town.  So far, so good, I was beginning to feel more confident. 

The sun began to set as I drove out of Slovakia. I took a wrong turn and missed getting across the river on the UFO bridge, and that let to some stressful backtracking.  Finally on the right road, I followed signs for "Wien" and "Praha".  By now it was dark, and I vaguely remembered having to stop and pay a road tax for Austria. I didn't pass any gas stations, and after 60 short kilometers, I was entering Vienna. 

The place we booked for the night is in a newly developed hotel and office block complex with underground parking.  The road signs took me directly into the underground tunnels, and that was when I pulled over and decided that I had no idea where I was. Mo phoned our host, and she asked us where we were. ??? Then she asked, "What can you see?" Nothing, nothing at all, we are underground in a maze of tunnels. 

We did eventually find our way out, and up into our third floor apartment for the night. I will not be moving the car while we are staying in Vienna, because I have no confidence that I could ever find my way back to the right parking garage. 

So now we are safely in our third capital city of the day, enjoying some rest and Vienna strudel. Interestingly, this strudel was brought from Vienna to Budapest by my brother. He shared it with me and I brought it back to Vienna, by way of Bratislava, to share with DC and Mo. The strudel traveled three sides of a triangle.

Cobblestones and Chimney Cakes

I had a free day in Budapest. ...So much to do and so much to see. DC and Mo ambitiously chose two walking tours and a cruise.  I decided to set off without a map, plan or guide book and choose my own path.
In the past I have done cruises, bus tours, walking tours and drive-by's. I prefer to walk my own path because it is cheaper, goes at my own pace, and doesn't need planning. Also, I am without the pressure of having to see certain sights, or understand everything I see. This is my walk through the Buda part of Budapest.
I started up Gellert Hill from Bakator House, where we have been staying. Then down through the park I have been calling "The Garden of Philosophy", because of the statues on the highest level.  When I reached the Danube, I turned east along the bank and prepared to climb up to the Castle District. There are several ways to go up: cobblestone path, stairs, an escalator, a funicular railway, and even an elevator. I opted for the escalator, of course, for even though I enjoy climbing steps, there is a limit.
I already have plenty of beautiful pictures of the views of the city from on top in better weather, so I looked around for something new.  I noticed the new renovations to the old walls, using such a variety of brick and stone that they often appeared like patchwork.  The charming fountain of children playing with a fish wasn't spouting today. There was colorful embroidery and dried paprika for sale. And a couple were making and selling fresh chimney cakes.

Tourist Menu

I first came across the "Tourist Menu" in Rome. Some restaurants there offered a choice of starter, pasta, main course and desert for 15 Euros. That really suited my teenage sons, and they didn't understand the sign we walked past that said. "We are against war and tourist menu!" Who could be against large portions of cheap food served with atmosphere?  Since then I have come to realize that not everyone appreciates eating a bland selection of dishes prepared in a way so as to not offend the tourist's palate.

Today was another rainy day in Budapest, and we had arrived too late for the walking tour. Wet and cold, we headed inside to eat. We encountered the Hungarian "tourist menu", and decided immediately that it sounded like a good idea.

The first course was goulash, which we all recognized as being Hungarian, but international as well. This goulash turned out to be a red soup, heavily flavored with paprika, with potatoes and meat.  It was very tasty, and hit the spot on a cold, rainy day. Bring on the next course!

This was paprika chicken, of course, with pasta and cream.  It was both delicious and satisfied our expectations as to what Hungarian cuisine should be. Adventurous but safe at the same time. Now where is the desert? And don't forget the coffee!

These were suitably called pancakes, but were more like crepes, filled with chocolate. Now isn't that European? The coffee was espresso, which is the perfect ending to any meal in my opinion. So we paid our bill and left the restaurant like we had behaved as tourists do in Budapest. And why not, as DC stated, "I am a tourist!"  Which made me remember the guard at the border asking me why I was entering Hungary. "Tourist," I answered, and he waved me by.  There is nothing wrong with being a tourist at times, if it means you can appreciate what a place has to offer.

Bath Advice and Moustaches

The rain poured down today all the way from Zagreb to Budapest. I didn't notice the scenery passing, but concentrated on the road through the windshield wipers and flying spray.  We followed the GPS to the "hotel" we had booked on line the night before, and pulled up outside a grand old house. The gate was open, so I stepped inside the grounds to look for an entrance. The gate swung shut behind me, leaving me locked inside a walled garden in the rain. It occurred to me that my companions and I were going about this travel experience the wrong way. We are all three experienced travelers, well educated and practical people, but we had not bothered to do the pre-booking, pre-planning, or research for this part of the trip. Why didn't we have a taxi deliver us to a hotel with a doorman waiting for us with an umbrella and a cup of coffee? Why didn't we have that massage and bus tour planned for the next day? Why didn't we have any Forints, or local currency?
Fortunately, our "host" showed up, let me out, and let us into a very nice apartment with a chandelier in each room, even the bathroom. He, himself, was not your ordinary hotel owner, but sported a curled and waxed mustache that would have put Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot to shame. We are staying on Gellert Hill, named after St. Gerard, who was thrown to his death from the hill.
Walking down, we came to the Gellert Baths, which I had been to before and found to be a most confusing public place.

Together, we read other bathers' reviews of the place and compared them with my memories. Nothing is marked, and the employees only speak Hungarian. The place is a maze of tunnels, and visitors spend most of their time there wandering around looking for the baths. Towels and changing-rooms are handled in such a complicated manner that one visitor recorded that he was forced to dry himself off with his underwear. Even exiting is difficult.  Since I have now been there twice, I have some advice for the would-be Gellert bather:

1. Go past all the likely entrances, until you find an unmarked turn-style. That is where you enter.

2. Avoid the attendant who speaks English, he just wants to sell you stuff from his shop.

3. Do not think you need to follow the rules posted, no one else does.

4. Pay no attention to the arrows, they will only send you round in circles.

5. You will eventually be able to rent a towel if you are patient and check all the alcoves.

6. The hot baths are in the most unlikely places, through small passageways, round unmarked corners.

7. If you jump in the largest pool, someone will blow a whistle to get you out; unless you are wearing a bathing cap.

8. The steam rooms are way too hot, and the pools beside them are full of unmarked ice cold water.

9. The men's and women's changing-rooms are hardly marked, but that is because they are really just an open space at the top of the stairs.

10.Expect to see people stripping down and changing wherever the floor is dry.

As you can expect, my second visit was not nearly as interesting as my first experience. Less confusion, less to laugh about later. I think that is why we don't mind muddling through our first time experiences. The strange things we unexpectedly encounter build memories. 

Here is the view of Budapest as I happened upon the city last February evening.  I will never forget that first!

Slap: Croatian for Waterfall

Today was a near-perfect day for traveling. It shouldn't have been. The odds were stacked against it.  We woke up to pouring rain and thunder. The car was still in the shop and we were waiting for the verdict. Luka, who rented us a small apartment in Split was very accommodating, let us stay as long as needed, and called us a cab to get to the car. Mario, at the BMW dealership, said I must have a guardian angel. The car could have been damaged so much worse, and in the end, it cost me less than expected. I was just glad he took my credit card and gave me a working car.
I quickly programmed the GPS and we were on the road again. The gas station took our credit card, and even the toll booth accepted cards. Everything was working today!
We arrived at Plitvice Lakes National Park, at 3:30 pm, a little later than expected, and in the rain. We wound our way through the large tour groups preparing to leave, and almost expected to be told we were too late. But we found we still had an hour or two before the park closed. The mist rolled in, I pulled up my hood, and put away my iPad. I did not expect to be able to see much through the fog, and was sure my photos wouldn't look like anything.

Imagine my surprise and delight to walk down into the valley and find myself surrounded by water. Blue green water, clear water full of fish, dripping water from the trees, and waterfalls and more waterfalls. The mist and rainy weather made me feel like I had just discovered some hidden valley. It was quiet and calm, because most of the tours had left and the rain kept others away. I don't know how I was able to take pictures, but the low light caused a slow exposure which added to the fluid look of the rushing water. All unplanned and unexpected.

We did not have a hotel booked for the night, because we did not know when or if the car would be ready that day.  We asked about this at tourist information, and the lady, Kristina, just happened to have a room at her bed and breakfast down the road. We stopped on the way at a nice restaurant for pizza.  And the hot shower at the end of the day never felt so good. 

Split Split

Planes, trains and ferry boats... three reason to stay in Split, or not.  If, like me, you find yourself in Split for a week, at least there are many ways to get out.

 

Blood & Honey

We had another long bus ride today, giving me plenty of time to make sense of what happened in the Balkans. Our guide mentioned that the name comes from the words "Blood" and "Honey", referring to the many wars and natural beauty of the region. To me it seems ironic that WW I is traced back to a shot in Sarajevo, and later a direct hit on a market place in the same city was the beginning of the end of hostilities.

The most recent hostilities seems to have started when, in 1990, a new Croatian constitution gave less rights to minority groups living in the new country. The obvious purpose was to cause Serbs and Muslims to move elsewhere. This resulted in disgruntled people. Fighting broke out, churches were desecrated, and the famous medieval bridge in Mostar was blasted. Bosnian Muslims decided to set up their own government, and Serbia acted quickly by using their military might to keep the region of former Yugoslavia unified. You might even call them peacekeepers. A war that started as being "Nationalism" vs "Unification", quickly turned into being about "ethnic cleansing" and "revenge".  Innocent civilians became victims and refugees, and both sides committed atrocities. 

Surprisingly, Jon and I were living in Bulgaria at that time, 45 minutes from the Serb border.  We had no opinion on the conflict and, as much of the rest of the world, did not take sides. "Let them fight it out among themselves". Although I am more in favor of unification, diversity and tolerance, I could not side with the "murderous Serbs". 

The market massacre in Sarajevo finally led to NATO involvement and the Dayton Agreement, and the cease of hostilities. BiH is now made up of four self-governing bodies with 3 presidents. Progress is slowed by political groups and the lack of a strong central government. Not all is well yet.

The older people I talked to seem disillusioned and feel trapped. They have no pension, no respect for their role in the war, and do not feel welcome anywhere else in Europe. They wish for the good old days of Tito and his communism.

The younger people seem more hopeful, but then they are working in tourism.  They tell their war stories gladly. I heard of a mother who walked the streets to work everyday despite the bombing, of a child's life in the basement, of a cousin who escaped at night by running across the runway, and of plastic spoons that came with military rations left over from Vietnam. They know tourism is a way forward without forgetting. They have a beautiful country. (I invite you to take the drive from Sarajevo to Mostar for some mind-blowing scenery.) They also have a story to tell us. 

Our young guide said he wished there was more "Honey" and less "Blood" in their history. But sharing both the "Blood" and the "Honey" will bring people to Bosnia Herzegovina. 

Never Forget

I think I have found a country with a worst track record than Bulgaria in History. We are visiting Sarajevo, and I am learning from the young tour guides about the turbulent history of the country of Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Early on they were ruled by the Ottomans, not know for their tolerance. The Austrian-Hungarians liberated them, only to end up causing the start of WW1 through an unfortunate set of coincidences. For some unknown reason, Archduke Ferdinand decided to return to the site of an attempted attack on his life, pause his open car on a bridge, and give the killer a perfect shot from the road side cafe. That brought the Nazi's and Croatians who set up concentration camps that killed 90% of the Jewish population.

The one portion of their history that Bosnians look back on with nostalgia, is when President Tito united the region of Yugoslavia under communism. The area prospered, was well organized, and did not differentiate according to religion. In 1984, Sarajevo proudly hosted the Winter Olympics. Tito's death caused chaos, with the Serbs taking control of the army, and attacking Bosnian Muslims. At this time Sarajevo was over 80% Muslim, and in 1993, they found themselves under siege by the Serbs who took control of the surrounding mountains. For years the city residents lived in basements hiding from mortar attack and sniper fire, without food, water or fuel. The Bosnian Army only were able to hold off the Serbs by the use of a tunnel under the airport runway. This is how they got weapons, rations and fuel into the city. They also set up mine fields around the airfield, which are still active today.

There doesn't seem to be money or interest in cleaning up the mess now that the war is over. The city's buildings are still pock-marked by mortar damage, and the gravestones in the Jewish cemetery are riddled with bullet holes by the sniper fire.  Snipers found it quite easy to intimidate the population of Sarajevo by setting up above the city on the mountains once so proudly used for ski and bobsled competitions.  The tour guide suggested that the communists had built these  Olympic structures so well, there was no way of destroying them when they were used against them later.

The link below is how I think the Bosnians feel when they try to move ahead into their future.

Playing Soccer with Shock Collars.

Let's Eat

Why do we take pictures of our food? When we are served a great looking meal, we just have to share the look of it with friends. It is the same as wanting to share the taste of the dish with someone you are dining with. It is too good to keep to yourself. 

And people like to see pictures of food. I got a comment on my blog, and it was about how good the coffee looked.  We like to know what other people are eating when they visit a new place. What is the food like in Croatia?  If you like the food in a place, then you like the place. I didn't expect to like the food in Bosnia Herzegovina, but on a rainy day, the food suggested to us by our local tour guide was very comforting. Here is a sample:

Our first stop was for a meat dish, "cevapi", minced meat pellets served in fresh pita bread and cream cheese. We managed to eat the same portion size served to the workmen at the next table.

Our next stop was for desert, "tufahije", stewed apple with walnut-filling and whipped cream. I opted for the more western style espresso coffee instead of the Bosnian "Turkish" coffee.

The last treat was pomegranate juice fresh squeezed from a street vendor with a quite impressive machine.  I spent, in total, about 10 Euros for the lot.

A Bump in the Road

The energy on our road trip was waning, as is the number of reads of this blog. Things start to get samey, and need a change up. I got a shake up from a knocking sound coming from the engine on our drive towards Split. I stopped as soon as possible and a helpful mechanic could find nothing wrong. He suggested I go to the BMW dealership in Split. There I met Mario, who spoke fluent English with me, German with another couple, and quickly found the problem with our cars. When the car broke down before, I could laugh about it. Now I felt like someone was causing me harm as I heard that the car could not be driven further without replacing the drive shaft. The part needed to be ordered, and that meant five days and many dollars.

 Jon suggested I sell the car and fly home. Appealing advice, but not very practical. DC and Mo suggested we take a bus to Sarajevo while we wait for the car.
So we set out on an 8 hour bus ride. My family has a game for long rides where we look for words starting with each letter of the alphabet on signs. I had plenty of time, but the signs didn't mean much to me. Hear is my version of the game on the bus today:

A: Adriatic Coast

B: BMW dealership where we left the car

C: Croatian coast and climbing

D; Driving south towards Dubrovnik

E: EU and Euro friendly

F: Fishing boats

G: Guards at the border enter the bus

H: leaving Hrvatska, entering Herzegovina

I: Inland route

J:Jars of honey to buy

K: Kuna to Konvertible Mark currency change

L: Lakes

M: Mountains and Mostar

N: No picture of the famous bridge because buses don't stop for that

O: Olive trees and Olive Oil

P: Pomegranates and pumpkins

Q: mosQues appearing 

R: River running through Rocky valleys

S: on to Sarajevo

T: Tunnels to go through the mountains instead of around

U; Unspoiled

V: Vineyards in Valleys

W: a Water Wheel turning roasting spits of lamb

X; uneXpected supper stop at a restaurant

Y: Yellow leaves making it look like fall, but it feels like summer

Z; ZZZZ its been a long day

Color

My first visit to Dubrovnik was full of color. The sky and sea were a clear blue, and there were flowers everywhere. In the center lay the old town and harbor, with the contrasting light stone buildings with bright orange roofs. I wanted to spend my time gazing at the views from the balcony of our small apartment.

Now, less than 3 months later, I find there is less color. The heat haze has paled the sky and the bright light reflects white on the water. The flowers are spent and the landscape looks parched. I found myself looking past the wide open sea views to notice other details, and found that the light and shadow of the buildings in the Old Town do not depend on color for their beauty.

So this time I didn't feel the need to climb the walls or ride up the cable car for the views. I simply walked around and looked, really looked, at the smaller details. I found small churches and art galleries tucked away among the larger cathedrals and palaces. There are statues, fountains and stairways leading to nowhere. There are walled courtyards, shutters and arched passageways. I found plenty of quiet places to sit, and I found my color. Up away from the more touristy areas, I got lost in

some small streets and found myself at the entrance to a school. Children were arriving for class in their yellow uniforms and backpacks. Above them someone had hung their orange sheets out to dry. The shutters were blue and the small garden was green with plants. In another doorway, an artist was painting, and another artisan was making jewelry outside his house. There is always color, we just have to know where to look.

Old Town

Why do I love staying in Stari Grad, or Old Town? It isn't convenient. There is often no parking nearby, or the parking places take superhuman driving skills to get into. The rooms are up three flights of steps, with no one to help you with bags. The rooms have not been renovated recently, and the noise from the surrounding streets will continue way into the night. There probably isn't a balcony or even a scenic view.

I love it because it is old, old in a way that cannot be created by anything other than time. It is old, but beautiful at the same time. It is quaint, haphazard, and impractical. It transports me into another world.

No one who lives in Old Town seems bothered that the paint is peeling, the plaster cracked, or the cobble stones are uneven. It may be an inconvenience, but it all adds to the charm of the place. Tourists wander around and gape at the tight buildings all on top of and bumped up against each other. You have to look up to appreciate the place, but watch out for the cats underfoot. 

Time stands still for me. I sit and enjoy a coffee while people around me get on with their daily lives, hang out washing, take out garbage, wait tables. I love the Old Town because time has stood still here for hundreds of years.  Kotor, Kotor Bay, Montenegro.

Boris Style

The bay of Kotor is an amazing place. I have been here before, but somehow totally missed the old town of Kotor on the bay. I am so glad to be able to have chance to come back and explore. This time I wouldn't miss climbing up on the old fortified walls behind the town, despite the fact that my travelling companions were less than enthusiastic. We set off early and slowly. When I asked DC and Mo whether they were ready for this, the ticket taker replied, "Obviously not."

The steps led to stunning views, but were only wide enough for one abreast. I was curious as to what turned out to be stair-climbing etiquette. There were no hard and fast rules as to who gave way to who, but this is what I noticed, which seemed to be based on age, gender and shoe choice. Younger women never stepped aside, neither did younger men, but the men were often shamed into thanking me when I stepped aside for them. Older men always stepped aside for me to pass, but then expected me to step aside for their wives, causing an awkward figure "8" dance move. Older women traveling solo stepped aside if they had thought to wear appropriate footwear for climbing.

 We met Boris while on the Free Walking Tour of Plovdiv, and he had a curious style for a guide of delivering information about a place to interested tourists. It consisted of a continuous stream of open-ended questions, to which we had to guess the answer to. Often the guessing went on way too long, causing the group to lose interest, but the "Boris Style" will forever make us laugh. So in honor of Boris, here is a guide to... does anyone know where we are?
What do you think is sitting on the walls in the picture above?
How old do you think the town is?
How many steps do you think there are to reach the top of the fortifications?
Why do you think it is incorrect to call this the Mediterranean's only fjord?
How many churches do you think there are within the walls?
What do you think the strange stone pyramid in front of the clock tower was used for?
How often do you think the huge cruise ships come into port?
Can you find all three gates in the outer walls?

Transitions

On our road trip, we have just entered our fifth country, and it is not always easy to quickly attach each memory to the country where it happened. My mind wanders back to "Where were we two nights ago?" Some of the days blend together with similar experiences at border crossings, winding roads and hotel hunts. Macedonia, Greece and Bulgaria seemed to share more than just borders. There were lots of similarities in culture, food and religion. Then we hit Albania, with its own language, currency, religion and relaxed outlook on life.

Today we were making yet another transition to the country of Montenegro, and saw the contrast between the two countries immediately. Gone were the bicycles and motorcycle- contraptions. Gone were all the gas stations and car washes. Instead, the road wound down to scenic holiday seaside towns with beaches and views of the Adriatic.

Wanting to take in as much of this new view as possible, we headed to the town of Ulcinj, a town just near the Albanian border. This place is a top destination for Albanian holiday makers, and it's population is 61% Albanian. It had a reputation of being a pirate's lair and the center of a slave trade. This sounded like Montenegro gone over to the dark side, and we had to check it out.

The port and castle were damaged in an earthquake in the 70's, and since then the town has been modified to attract the hard-core beach goer. We felt slightly out of place and conservative in our clothes. 

On the road again, we were utterly captivated by views of the mountains and beautiful coastline. The old town of Kotor encapsulates the old world charm of this part of the world with its city walls, narrow streets and outdoor cafes. I'm glad we stopped in Ulcinj on the way, for it provided an appropriate transition from rugged Albania to the drama of the rest of the Adriatic coast.

Albanian Roads

I was not looking forward to driving today.  My memories of the roads in Albania were not good. However, there is no other easy way to get from Macedonia to Montenegro by car. The last time I passed through here, Jon was driving, I was sightseeing, and Sam was quoting his English teacher's comments on the book Broken April by Ismail Kadare, set in northern Albania. Initially there was some confusion as to whether this was the same place as Elbonia, in the Dilbert strips.

The road starts out with a steep descent from the border crossing, with hairpin bends and a view of the valley below. I was anticipating the barrage of car washes along the road, but was disappointed to find that their water supply must have dried up over the summer. There were a few guys spraying hoses around, and an inappropriate number of men soaping up the unusually high number of Mercedes vehicles on the side of the road. I'm not exaggerating when I say that 4 out of 5 cars here are Mercedes. If you want a possible explanation for this, and a good laugh, watch Top Gear's Driving in Albania .https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OyH-351Z_-0

I made sure I stopped to take a picture of one of the many bunkers dotted about Albania.

Tens of thousands were built years ago to repel an imagined invasion, and now stand abandoned. Since I was driving, I was able to stop the car on the side of the road for a photo op. 

There were many other things to stop for on the road: fallen rocks, pot holes and the men fixing the pot holes, stray dogs, cows, horse-drawn carts, bicycles, motorcycle-like contraptions, bus stops, and crossing pedestrians.  By the time we got to Tirana, I was ready for a break. We stopped at a local shopping mall out of curiosity for some lunch. The shoppers behaved in the mall like they do on the road, not bothered by rules. I was almost glad to be on the road again after an hour of that.

I was grateful to make it through Tirana without an accident, getting lost, or getting stopped by one of the many traffic cops. The GPS steered me true, and I had the benefit of having past experience.  Lanes seem unimportant, everyone is in a hurry, and there are no stop lights at an intersection.

Now, I think everyone who drives here should receive a certificate as they leave saying, "Congratulations, you successfully drove across Albania!" I certainly felt like celebrating when the car was safely parked outside our delightfully historic guesthouse which is part of a carefully restored 17th century house that once belonged to a famous Shkodran writer.

Last Time

As we were leaving Meteora in Greece, DC asked me if I was likely to return there. If we think we will never be back somewhere, that it is our last time, then we are more likely to try to make lasting memories and pack in the experiences. I really thought I would never be back in Bulgaria after living there in 1993, and I remember trying to make note of everything I wanted to remember.

I find myself unexpectedly revisiting the town of Ohrid, in Macedonia. I was here in June with my family, loved the place, and jumped at the chance of returning. Of course this visit was quite different from my last visit. This time I am with two practical ladies who hang their washing on the balcony, before I was with two surly teenagers who resisted my suggestions that we visit old churches and pose for pictures. The place is the same, but I find myself noticing different things this time round. I can look past the awe-inspiring views of the lake and mountains to the homes and gardens of the town. There are figs, grape vines, and kiwi growing in and around the streets and doorways. The windows are draped with strings of red peppers hung out to dry along with the washing. People are roasting peppers in their back yards, and parents are busy painting the school for the start of the year.

I was also able to visit a 5th century Basilica with intricate floor mosaics that I had missed last time due to my stubbornly taking a wrong turn. I got lost in the maze of cobbled stone streets and ascending stairs, and ended up back at our hotel. 

Our memories of a place are closely connected to the people we were with. I was last here with my family, and they will always help me make the best memories, because I enjoy being with them, surly teenagers and all.  I found myself looking forward to returning to live in Bulgaria 20 years later because of the memories of the people we met then. Our colleagues at the school, who we came to depend on for everything from transportation, childcare and daily survival, were a huge part of our memories and reason to return. The people you appreciate become the reason your last time might not be your last time.

Perfect Conditions

There is no perfect time for a trip, nor ever perfect weather conditions for travel. There is no such thing as a perfect holiday, because we simply can't decide what is perfect.  We love what is old, but insist on everything new. We are challenged by adventure, but want it to come easily.
The weather in Meteora was far from ideal, and the photos had a dark and gloomy look.  When the sun came out today we had to go up for another look, but I think I preferred the mysterious looking clouds and the cooler weather for climbing all those stairs.
We went to check out of the hotel, but they wouldn't take credit card, again. Typical! I look forward to going to a hidden place, away from the usual tourist crowd, but then want the same services. It is like wanting to visit a monastery on top of a 1200 ft rock by taking an elevator.

 In the largest monastery, Grand Meteoron, I became fascinated by the monks collection of skulls, and their depictions of the martyrs' deaths. The deaths were carefully documented: you can see the be-headings, dismemberment's, burnings and one built into a wall while still alive. And the point was: if something is worth living for, then it should be hard, and it is worth dying for as well.

I can't think of anyone today who would think it was a good idea to build on top of a rock that is only accessible by scaling a 1000 ft cliff, but someone did it 700 years ago for us to wonder at today. I felt extremely grateful to those people, and humbled that my biggest challenge was trying to pay with a credit card.

It was difficult to leave this place in Greece and head towards Macedonia. Slightly worried about the border crossing after hearing the recent news of riots and migrants camped out, we didn't tarry. The GPS sent us on a little known route that led us to a quiet border crossing with no problems and few cars. The road, however, was not anything near being a decent highway. Full of pot holes, turns, and small towns, it certainly slowed us down. You can't have it both ways. The superhighways would have meant more cars, endless lines at the border, and lots of tolls. 

Instead we asked Mo to slow down so we could snap pictures of the passing scenery. She only refused to stop for DC to take pictures of the hanging garlands of drying red peppers outside the whitewashed houses. Tomorrow we will have to decide if staying in the old town, with its steep cobbled streets and cheap price tag was a good idea.