I See You Now

'Oboriste' is my favorite street.  Whenever I go out, whether shopping, to tutor a student, use the metro, or just walking, I always go that way. Turning up from our favorite Italian restaurant,  I pass the French embassy and walk on to Doctor's Garden. I enjoy the wide pavements, trees and old-world buildings along the way. I notice the cafes and shopfront displays. I notice the people and the colors.
Yesterday I fell in step with a woman herding a group of children. When she started speaking English I found myself listening in. She was taking her class to the "Hirsto" exhibit, and they better hurry! I was curious as to where this exhibit would be. Was it an art show? in our neighborhood? could I come too? Of course I didn't follow the children, that would have been creepy. But I was challenged to see what Art was available nearby.
So I headed back out, back up Oboriste Street, to take a look at some photographs I had walked past earlier.

I paused briefly at some black and white prints of Paris hanging outside the French Embassy. I didn't take any pictures because there were guards watching. Not much further up the street, hanging on the fence outside the Music School, was a collection of color photographs entitle "Marginal Man". The photographs were powerful in themselves, but then I noticed that each one had a story.

They told about individuals and groups of people that are not part of the mainstream society, they are outcasts, and isolated, victims of their circumstances. I read all the stories and then took pictures so that I could recall them later. Part of the exhibit was in Bulgarian only. When I got home, I looked up the exhibit on line and found the translation of the main message:

                    They are different.

We look at them with superiority, contempt, disdain. We even prefer not to see them. Because they strike us with shame, pity or guilt.  Among them are unemployed, or homeless people.  People without diplomas and titles,  people without education, without health, without relatives.  People without protection.  We leave them in the gray area of no-man's land, in the backyard of Europe, America, Asia and Africa.  We treat them as if they are invisible - conveniently inconspicuous in the smug reel of our times.    They aren't outlaws - the law is out of them.    See the marginal people.

Then I realized the irony.  I had walked past those pictures many times and took no notice. 

   Enjoy the rest of the photo selection on facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/AtJahnke/posts/1621027174824204?notif_t=like

As American As...

Jon and I bought a house in Minnesota that came with four apple trees in the back yard. I tried to add to the appeal by using the apples in fall in various pies. I am not a baker, and I usually cheated on the crust. However, the idea of baking a pie from your own apples seemed so American, and homey.
I have shied away from baking here in Bulgaria because it seemed too much of a challenge, but now I am motivated. It is fall, I can look up recipes tagged as "easy" on line, and I can buy most of the ingredients locally. Here is my finished apple pie, and how it happened.

After finding a recipe I visited the local market for apples, butter and spices. I couldn't find sour cream, which the crust recipe calls for, so I substituted Bulgarian yogurt. I was particularly pleased to be able to use this yogurt since learning of its remarkable health benefits and

 unique variety of bacteria starter.
A colleague introduced me to how this yogurt is made from local bacteria, and it aids the digestion in ways other yogurts cannot.
As I started the crust, I found I had a practical math problem on my hands. Butter comes in 250 gram packets here, and the recipe calls for 1 1/4 cups. And what temperature is 375 degrees in Celsius?
I had plenty of time to work out the oven temperature, as the pastry needed to be refrigerated for an hour. The recipe had not specified what variety of apples to use, so I had bought three different types that looked good at the outdoor market.

It was only after getting all the apples cut, that I realized that I didn't have a rolling pin. So, of course, I used what I had readily available, and that was a wine bottle. It was empty, being given to us by a former student who graduated last year. This pie was seeming more Bulgarian than American at this point.

I was pleased with the look of the pie, and I have to remind you, I have never once tried to make a pie from scratch before. After putting it in the oven, I reread the recipe instructions for baking the pie, and discovered that it could take up to 2 hours to bake properly, and it had to be watched so that it didn't burn. They suggested using foil to protect the top.  A good idea when using an oven which you are not sure of the temperature!

I had no foil. So I left the pie in the oven, locked up the apartment, and took the elevator down to the street. Surely the local market would have foil! Well, they did have something that looked remarkably like it. However, it was in a box labeled in Bulgarian which I could read, and didn't help me as I didn't know the word for "foil". Without that knowledge it would not have helped to even try asking someone.
I was tempted to secretly open the box and peek inside... but didn't want to get caught. So I bought the box, took it home, and found out I had baking or parchment paper.  I was desperate to save my pie, so I made a tent out of the paper and covered the crust.
It worked, nothing caught fire, and the pie came out golden, not burnt.
I think my son was impressed, as he immediately snap-chatted a picture of the pie when he got

home from school. It passed the taste test, too!

As I had decided that this was a Bulgarian apple pie, I set the pie down on Bulgarian linens and pottery for this final picture. Then I began to wonder how the Americans have been able to claim the apple pie as their cultural symbol.  They didn't invent the dessert, and apples are not native to America. One source suggested that the apple pie is typical of the American desire to take something from the old world, and make it new by improving it. They imported apple seeds, planted and grew them. Then added sugar and butter to the crust to create the tasty two crust pies loved today.
If struggling to make a better pie from local ingredients is a symbol of patriotism, then I think I must be living the American dream... or the Bulgarian one?

Living Local

There are different levels to overseas living, just as there are different contracts for employee at an overseas school. There are 'local hires', 'foreign hires', and visiting professionals.  Everything is provided for the visitor, from meals to transport to planned entertainment. The foreign hires are given the same service for their first days in the country. They are driven around, given help with documentation and everyday needs. Local hires are not expected to have the same needs. They should already know how to get around and live in their community.
I have been a visitor where I fly in for a conference, am put up in a luxury hotel and fed well, all at the expensive of the school.  Usually, I have been a 'foreign hire', with provided travel and accommodation for me and my family. My last job provided me with a telephone upon arrival and the assurance that anything I needed was only a phone call away.
Now I am, or am attempting, to live locally.

 Fortunately, I am down town, and have had a year to get to know my community. I am only now realizing that I don't really know my community as well as I should. As a visitor you learn very little of the place your are in. It is possible to spend a few days in a foreign country without hearing the language, using the money, or getting a feel for anything more than the streets on your way from 'a' to 'b'. As a 'foreign hire' in a country you can literally spend years in the same vein. There are grocery stores and restaurants with international food. There is a international, or expat, community to socialize with, and enticing neighboring countries to jet off to on a long weekend.
I've decided it is time start living locally. My past employer has taken away my phone, they no longer run to my assistance when something is wrong, and I should be spending less money.
My first move was to find a dry cleaners for my winter coats. Downstairs there is a lady who sits outside a garage with something that looks like an industrial sized washing machine behind her. I got up the courage to approach, carried out a limited conversation with her, and left my coat with the promise to return on Thursday. My first small success - or it may be - I will find out on Thursday.

There are so many small businesses around and about my community. It is about time I started making the most of my location. The local market is still a little daunting. I wouldn't know what to do with most of what I find piled outside, and the inside is even more crammed full of products with unreadable labels. I will have to start small, with apples and the ingredients for a pie crust.  Here are some other goals for living locally:
Buy meat from the butcher; start using the trams instead of taxis; have coffee at the coffee shop across the street; make an appointment with the local doctor; use cash and correct change; make a reservation for a local restaurant; order food in Bulgarian; visit the strange underground Chinese restaurant; have drinks on Friday evenings...
I am sure there will be much more to do in my community/city/country once I get out and start living locally.

Savoring the Season

It is fall, and I relish the season. I've never been one to dwell on the seasons before. I grew up in Brazil where there are barely two seasons, the dry season and the rainy season. Holidays passed by in a comfortable 80 degrees. We marked our calendars by the first rain and the appearance of the scissor-tailed flycatcher. The dishes we ate didn't vary, and holiday baking in the heat of December was a chore. We made our plans without even considering the weather. Our tennis match started at 5 pm, all year round.
Since then I have lived in the Marshall Islands, with weather just as beautiful. The seasons there are: the windy season and the season with no wind. It makes little difference to your plans to fish, snorkel, golf or any other outdoor pursuit. We learned to avoid the heat of the day, but even that wasn't a problem if you were in or on the water.

I have experienced fall before, but it has been a season of unsettling deflation. The end of summer, and warmth, is not exciting. This is a time to worry about winter coming, and whether you have warm enough clothes. This is a time to adjust to a new place, new job and duties. Change isn't always easy, and the newness can be scary. Then there is the stress of the approaching holidays: travel plans to be made, gifts to buy, parties to attend, and menus to plan. As much as I like Christmas, I don't really like "making" Christmas. There are too many expectations.
Sometimes the holidays distract us from the winter season. This can be a good thing if you are living in Minnesota. The winter is cold, bleak, dark and unending. No amount of fudge making and gingerbread will get you through that winter in high spirits. The amount of clothes to put on, and the amount of work needed to do anything outside is overwhelming. It is easier to stay in, and hibernate. And look forward to spring.

Waiting for snow can be just as disappointing. I found myself hoping for bad weather, a snow day, just to add excitement.
Similarly, my experience with English seasons lacked excitement. There is rain in summer, rarely snow in winter, and an early spring that comes without promise of warmer weather. You cannot base your plans on good weather, or you'll never plan anything. Just make sure you have an umbrella and find a tea shop.
I was surprised, last year, to find that I was enjoying the winter here in Sofia. The snow was so pretty and didn't disrupt travel. As long as I had on a coat and a good pair of boots, I was fine to go out. The city buildings, parks and mountains always lifted my spirits when blanketed in snow.

Snow can get old after a while, but Sofia's snow came and went in a timely fashion. Fresh snow for the skiers, melting snow on the streets, then more fresh snow for the children to play in the parks. It was not a reason to stay inside, rather an opportunity to go out and enjoy. It made me feel Christmassy, and I started planning how to make all those holiday treats I have heard about. Fortunately, IKEA sells gingerbread dough, and England isn't far away with mincemeat pies. And cold is a reason to have hot drinks like cider and mulled wine.

Spring came as if ordered on March 1st. The local traditions force everyone outside to notice the first signs of spring. The flowers and blossoms come despite the snow. Nothing can stop spring in Bulgaria. And I couldn't stay inside, not wanting to miss the colors unfolding around the city.And they didn't come all at once. The snowdrops, then the blossoms, lilacs, tulips, and roses, all came in their time. Spring lasted for months, and I enjoyed every day.
I can't remember summer starting. I was too busy keeping track of the strawberries, cherries and other seasonal delights arriving in the market. It was time to plant, travel and dig out the flip flops again. Summer is always about fun.

I also noticed the colors fade. My flowers suffered from the heat, and lack of rain. The sky seemed less blue and the green began to look tired. I started looking forward to fall for the first time. Bring on the warmer colors and cooler temperatures. I am ready this year. I have closed-toed shoes and  a scarf. I know what to expect, and am anticipating the joys of the season to come. I will go out looking for ingredients and start baking. I will go to the opera, travel to be with family and order gifts on line. I will savor the season!
Seasonal Greetings to you!

A Traveler's Home

I'm home! I want to be with my family, be surrounded by my things, and start cooking again. It is fall, so I decided pumpkin soup looked good. I've never made it before, but how hard can it be? I looked on line for a recipe and found many. Not having the exact ingredients for any of them has never stopped me before.

I grew up in Brasilia, Brazil, where supplies could never be found on a regular basis. We ate what was in season, and stuck to the regular staples. I still remember the Thanksgiving someone found celery, and the arrival of dried fruit in the mail from England for our Christmas pudding. We only had tortillas when my father traveled to Mexico and brought them back in his luggage.
Not finding pumpkin at the local market, I got butternut squash and carrots instead. I added some curry and cinnamon because I read it in a recipe somewhere, and whatever herbs that are growing on my balcony. It didn't turn out too bad, but I'm the only one eating it anyway. This is the way I cook. I rarely have the precise ingredients needed, so I hunt for what I can find, and make the best with that.

  Fortunately, I have friends who can point me towards where to find ingredients, and share recipes with me. A Brazilian friend gave me this mix for pao de queijo she had brought over from Brazil. I love this stuff, and will always remember another gift of this cheese bread from a friend on the other side of the world.
I didn't know Jane well, and she certainly had never been to Brazil. That is why I was so surprised to have her come round with a gift of pao de queijo one day to my home in the Marshall Islands. She shared her recipe with me that used tapioca starch, which could be bought on the neighboring island of Ebeye.

So now the hunt was on for tapioca starch in Sofia, Bulgaria, which is where I now call home.
Some research on line told me that it can also be called tapioca flour, and can be found in the gluten-free section of health food stores. I went to the only organic/health food store I know in Sofia, introduced to me by another expat colleague as a place to find vanilla. They had one bag! If I can now find Parmesan cheese, I will be baking pao de queijo again.
It is good to be home, but some would argue that I am still overseas, still dealing with a foreign culture and language. I am a TCK (third culture kid).You can google it, it is a thing. I can't immediately answer you when you ask me where I am from. So, in a way, I am eternally traveling, always away from home. But I am home!

Road Trip Revisited

I was on the road for 39 days and completed 35 posts of my blog. The road trip became a possibility when I found out unexpectedly in August I would be taking a year off from teaching. The blog began at Jon's suggestion the day before we left. Both the road trip and the blog became both enjoyable learning experiences.
Choosing the title, "Eat, Laugh and Learn", came easily, as three activities that come easily to my traveling companions, DC and Mo. Eating was featured more in the beginning of the blog than the end. This could be that eating out was a fresher experience in the beginning, the portions were bigger, and excellent value for money.

There were times when I didn't laugh. My car broke down twice on the road. Both times they were costly and time consuming fixes. I nearly gave up. I missed my family and wondered whether I was doing the right thing. However, there were plenty of times to see the funny side, and laugh despite our less than ideal accommodations. DC always laughed, and documented the tragedy with photographs. Even without pictures we will never forget our colorful mechanic in Blagoevgrad, Madame Mensura's flighty eye makeup, Herr Bruner's disco shower, and Mo's friendship with young Luca.
Learning happened throughout, not just because we were visiting new places, but because we were willing to try something new. I have over 1000 pictures to remind me of what I saw, but the blog will remind me of what I learned.
Without the blog, I would remember the best and the worst. I will remember, and try to avoid, the places I didn't like, the tourist traps. I have never liked visiting places where the only activity to do is spend money along with lots of other people.
I will also remember the places so beautiful they take your breath away. These places are even more special when they come as a surprise, like a pleasant discovery.

I will easily remember the places where the weather was beautiful, or very wet and rainy. But I need help remembering the in between times, the times when the weather didn't matter, when there was no beautiful view, when on the road to somewhere else, or a needed stop on the way. My blog will remind me of the smaller lessons I learned along the way, that seemed insignificant at the time, but with later reflection, helped me to put things in perspective and get the whole picture.
Two things I learned from my traveling companions: From DC, take pictures of the good and the bad, the strange and the ordinary, document and notice everything. From Mo, always travel with a phone, there is no substitute.

Venice Underwater

I have read about Venice, and have assumed that one day it will simply crumble and be washed away by the tide. I am shocked that more isn't being done to preserve what seems to be the next Atlantis. And I had better visit before it disappears for good.
Obviously many others thought the same. People will continue visiting Venice in droves, whatever the weather, for years to come. But none of the Venetians seemed to be disturbed by the fact that the water level was rising, and their establishments were now underwater.

We arrived in rain, parked the car in rain, and walked to our hotel in rain. We had umbrellas and raincoats, but no waterproof footwear.  Our feet were soon soaked. The hotel room was cold and damp... no chance of drying off in there. So we headed out into the crowds to see what we could see of Venice.
Walking around Venice is a challenge at the best of times, but under these rainy conditions, it becomes near impossible. Many of the "streets" are only one umbrella wide, which makes passing difficult. You either have to go over or under the oncoming umbrella. And there is no stopping midstream to window shop! That would cause a traffic jam of epic proportions.

The locals are quick to get their umbrellas and other rain gear out for sale wherever the streets widen. Jon was all for buying everyone rubber boots, but we settled for another umbrella.
The first day there, the downpour was such that no one was even considering a gondola ride. We were just wandering around trying to take pictures in the pouring rain. All the available cafes were full inside, and flooded outside.
It is hard to look up when it is raining, but I did become enchanted with the small winding streets that crossed canal after canal on small stone bridges. I knew I was in a unique place.

Getting cold, already wet, in St Mark's Square, we were looking for some hot refreshment. The smell of hot spiced wine and chocolate led us to a small cafe. There was not much space inside, specially for dripping umbrellas, so I waited outside while Jon and Ben went in for hot drinks. I noticed a old man pause at the door, put his cigar in a holder on the wall before entering to drink a coffee at the bar. It looked like he had been doing that everyday for years. It was in such contrast to the tourists I watched arrive off a boat with huge rolling suitcases and trying to figure out how to continue through the flooded streets.

Fortunately, the next morning, the rains stopped enough for us to venture out and see some more of the city. It is truly unique and a fitting end to my road trip. Everyone must experience Venice, crowds, rain, small hotels, and all. You feel like you are in a painting.
Oh, and bring dry socks!

Counting Steps

Visiting Florence can be overwhelming. There is so much to see. We started the first day with a walking tour which gave us an idea of what we shouldn't miss. I liked the guide because he pointed out some facts and stories that are not always in the guidebooks. His information on the visual illusions on the facade of the Santa Maria Novella Church were fascinating, and I never would have noticed them by myself. He then went on to point out other details, like the metal rings in the walls, flood water marks and a mischievous artist's traffic signs. Now that I was aware of these details, I started noticing them more often.

  I had noticed the statue of Perseus and Medusa the day before, even had a discussion with Ben as to the winged shoes. But now the guide told us the story of the artist and the problems he had making the statue. Apparently he decided to make it out of bronze, which was unusual and difficult. When casting the figure he ran out of metal, and went to his kitchen, melted down his cutlery and finished the arm and Medusa's head with that. As it turns out, this is a urban legend, and nobody knows if it is true. It doesn't matter to me, it captured my attention and made me interested in how the artist was able to accomplish these amazing works of art. Our guide had another story as to how Michelangelo created his famous "David" from a previously discarded block of marble.
Next we decided to climb the stairs that lead up to the top of the Duomo, or Cathedral dome. I have never really thought before why we love to do this.  The view of the Cathedral is more awe-inspiring from below, the steps are steep and dark, and often the view from the top is not quite as impressive. So why do we pay money to climb these structures time after time. This is a third this year for me, after St Peter's in Rome and St Paul's in London.

 It is a fun activity, but also, it draws my attention to the construction of these vast buildings. The domes in themselves are architectural wonders. When you climb to the top, the stairs take you inside the inner and outer dome covering. You pause at the lower gallery and marvel at the frescoes on the ceiling and how they were possibly painted in such detail and proportion so high above the church below. When you enter into the workings of the building, you gain a new perspective, a better appreciation for all the years of work that went into it.
Ben went a step, or two, further. He decided to count the stairs as we ascended, both the bell tower, then the dome. He counted 406 steps up the tower, and 456 to the top of the dome. While the rest of us were trying not to trip in the dark passageways, avoid people on their way down, and peek out the small windows on the way up, Ben was carefully keeping count. I can't think of a better way of gaining appreciation for a large-scale structure than that!

Destination Firenze

For those who think I am quite the traveler, I actually get quite worked up when I have to drive in a place I've never been before. Yesterday I had to get myself from La Spezia to Florence alone in order to meet up with my family. The thought of it scared me to death. And since I was driving practically through Pisa, I felt like I should stop by and see the famous tower as well. How could I justify driving through Pisa without stopping to at least take a picture?
Fortunately, I had Mo and DC to help me get the car out of the garage it was parked in La Spezia. There was about an inch space either side, and parked cars in the narrow road outside. This didn't leave much space for lengthy good-byes, and our travelling threesome was suddenly at an end as I navigated myself away through the Italian traffic.
I followed signs for Pisa, but suddenly there were no more. I stopped in a parking lot to program the GPS, which took me onto the "autoestrada". I never did see another sign for Pisa, but the GPS took me into the center where I found a parking lot. I took my token from the machine, and followed all the other people in the general direction of the tower. As I made my way through the street vendors selling tower paperweights, t-shirts, and leather goods, it began to rain. All the tourists posing with their hands held out so to look as if they were holding up the leaning tower didn't seem to mind the rain. Others were standing in line for their turn to go up. I was looking for somewhere to go inside without paying an arm and a leg. Nothing. Everything in Pisa costs money. I made way back to the car, paid for my parking and moved on.
Now I had my GPS programmed for the hotel in Florence, but it might have been good to know that Florence is called "Firenze" in Italy. So the road signs didn't help me, and I was concerned about parking. The hotel had emailed to say that they didn't have parking, as advertised, and I would need to find a paid parking lot. The parking lot turned out to be the easy part. Getting into the hotel was more difficult. It was all closed up with a phone number posted on the door. So no parking, and now I find it doesn't have a reception either! After putting all my coins in the parking meter, and sitting in the car for about half an hour, I decided I had better find a phone. I must be the only person in the world who is travelling alone without a phone.
I even tried using a payphone! Who still uses payphones? No one, because they don't work. I walked into a nearby business who said they couldn't help me. I finally found a hotel receptionist who was willing to make a call for me. And eventually the "hotel" owner arrived from a late lunch to let me into the room. I was in for another disappointment when I saw the room. It was small, with no view, and a bathroom the size of a closet (with no shower).
So I was happy to see my family again, but not so happy about the room we would be sharing.  I was happy that I had finally made it to Firenze on my own, but not so happy about my stop in Pisa. That is just how it is, you have to take the good with the bad.

Cinque Terre Butterflies

My travelling companions have other plans today, and my stay in La Spezia will end tomorrow. I couldn't leave without seeing the "Five Lands", five picturesque fishing villages on the coast. I wasn't sure what I would find, or how I would get there, and I was going by myself.
Buying the train ticket out was easy, and I only had one stop to go. Getting off at Riomaggiore was confusing, as there was no immediate view, or quaint fishing village. I followed others onto the "Lover's Walk" only to be disappointed. This walkway, hanging onto the side of the cliff used to be the way from one village to the other by foot, but since 2011 it has been closed. I had to be satisfied with a tunnel leading into the town. I was determined, however, to find a way to the next village if possible. I wandered around town, climbed as high as possible, and finally caught sight of some hikers climbing some stone steps in the vineyards on the opposite side of the valley.

The path was more than I expected and I was soon puffing and panting. I began to understand why people go by boat, train, or even the ill-advised car. As I stopped to catch my breath, a butterfly fluttered effortlessly in front of me. Oh, to be a butterfly and flit along. But I was reminded that a butterfly's life is short and easy. I am a human, and my life is a lot longer, more difficult, and a lot more meaningful. Butterflies exist, I live.
I finally reached the top and started the descent into the next village. I met a lady going down who asked me about the path above. She had given up and started down again. I told her she could take the train, to which she responded, "What would be the fun in that?" That is living!

 I did briefly consider taking the train back after my time exploring Manarola. It is a beautiful town, and full of steep steps. However, I did like the idea of taking a path that few others did. Not only is it steep and slippery, but it is also nearly impossible to find without help. You are climbing in and out of private gardens, vineyards and alley ways. It adds to the sense that you are exploring, finding something new. So I went back up the path, this time with a full water bottle. Word must of got out, because the path was now busy with families and picnickers.

And I arrived back in Riomaggiore with a sense of accomplishment. Of course, I rewarded myself with the local ice-cream. I chose melon and lemon flavor, because they sounded refreshing. Although I was tired from the climb, it seemed too early to go home, and I had time to walk around town. I visited the marina and marveled at the way the fishermen stack their boats when they are not in use. There is no boat lift, and I'm not sure how they get their boats up and out of the water on a daily basis. It can't be easy. Some boats were way up the hill on front doorsteps. Who would want to live here? Everything would be difficult, without a car, hauling everything up and down. These villagers do not envy the butterfly. They acknowledge that life is tough, but it is worth living.

Riposo: Italian Rest Time

Every time we pack up and move we go through an exhausting set of emotions. We decide what to pack, and how it should be packed. We make the trips to the car and pack the car. We make last minute checks to make sure we haven't forgotten anything. We gas up the car, get out the maps, program the GPS.
Almost every day for the last four weeks has been like this. Because, on this trip, we are now in our tenth country, there have been international decisions to make as well. Do I have enough cash? Will I need my passport? What currency is used here and what is the exchange rate? Where can I find a ATM?
On the roads there are signs in a different language, different speed limits, tunnels and roundabouts to navigate, and various tolls and road taxes to pay. Apart from the most important goal of arriving safely, I find these and other details draining, and am always relieved to arrive at the new destination and park the car.
Today we arrived at our 16th hotel/airb&b/apartment/guest house for the night. I felt tired and in need of some rest time. In Vicenza I was introduced to this Italian tradition of "riposo" at lunch time. Many businesses close from 12:30 till 3:00pm, school children go home for a long lunch, and the streets look nearly deserted. Sounds like a good idea, go home to your family, eat and rest a little.
Our current Bed&Breakfast in La Spieza has lovely floor to ceiling windows with shutters that open our onto balconies with a view of the streets below. I decided this was a good place to take a rest, eat, and reconnect with family and friends via email/SKYPE and Facebook.
While looking at train times for tomorrow, and familiarizing myself with my solo route on Saturday, I was interrupted by two Skype calls from Jon and my mother. I had to explain to them where I was on a map, but Jon assured me that he and the boys would be meeting me in Florence on Saturday. I chatted with my son, Ben, and a friend in Sofia, and reconnected with a friend from my high school in Brasilia. This, and the light refreshment of olives, cheese and focaccia bread, was enough to recharge my batteries.

Prego!

Driving from Slovenia to Italy we barely noticed the border crossing. We did notice the signs had changed from "Italija" and "Avstija", so we assumed we had left Slovenia and their way of writing everything using lots of "j"s.
I looked for other differences. In Slovenia we had seen so many gardens planted with greens, fruit and flowers, and pumpkins arranged artistically. The colors were fresh and new. and raw.
The colors changed in Italy. The buildings rose high on either side of narrow streets casting deep shadows. They were painted in subdued colors that seemed faded, weathered and aged. One building stood out a watermelon pink, but on closer inspection it had originally been bright red.

And each building had rows of windows with contrasting shutters. The color palate was so coordinated I assumed all the residents must have got together to plan their paint colors. But of course, the overall look comes with age and colors that people liked long ago and still like today.
I found myself getting hungry and realized that the colors reminded me of food, not the raw greens and fruit, but the cooked food on the menus and the 'gelato' ice cream flavors displayed in the store fronts.
We left the town center and went in search of food. After having pizza the night before, we opted for pasta tonight. The pasta place had their menu attractively displayed on posters. The choice of colors, flavors and sauces matched the buildings in town. I had pumpkin ravioli with creamy butter sauce, and parmigiana cheese. Earlier I had chosen grapefruit and cream gelato.

From the Sublime to the Ridiculous

Traveling from Slovenia to Italy, we had a chance to stop off in Slovenia's capital city, Ljubljana. I came upon the sculpture, "Faces in Locksmith Street", quite by accident. This street is really an alley way between some old Medieval houses where garbage used to be thrown out. The dirty water would run down the middle trough into the river. A Slovenian sculptor has created hundreds of different faces and placed them all along the whole street. There is also a poem posted that reflects the sentiment of the artist about how each person has many faces which change with age and experience. I had stepped on the faces before I noticed them, and when I exited the alley, I noticed no one else was entering. I was the only visitor who appreciated the art.

I left the alley and joined a throng of people in the main park and square. They were watching an event advertised as "Dining in the Sky".  About 20 people were being strapped into amusement ride style seats that were attached to a table suspended from a huge crane.  This apparently was a promotional gimmick for either a wine company or catering company. The "guests" were being served wine and a starter as the cameras rolled. The company seemed to be taking longer than expected to ready the meal, and there were a lot of awkward waves to onlookers. I did wait until the crane hoisted the table up into the air above the town, just in case someone dropped their wine glass and let it fall 100's of feet.  It occurred to me that this was one of the stupidest things I had ever seen, but it was not only being witness by a whole crowd, but would be broadcast as well. Yet the beautiful sculptured faces in the alley would probably go unnoticed.

Second Eden

Most times we find our way, explore and let our fancy lead when we are traveling. However, hindsight is 20/20, and it is fun to put together a perfect visit in a place we especially like. Bled has been described as" picture-postcard perfect", and "a second Eden". by visitors and poets. If you have one day to experience this place, here is what to do:
Wait for a sunny day in October, when the leaves are starting to turn and there is little wind to ruffle the surface of the lake. No need to hurry to start too early, the town and lake of Bled are relative small, and you can easily walk it.
Start off with a visit to Bled Castle that stands above the lake on a rocky outcrop. There is a foot path up from behind St Martin's Church. This will be the most strenuous part of your day, but there are beautiful views from the top of both the lake and Mt Triglav, Slovenia's highest peak covered in snow. It will cost 9 euros to get in, but the view is worth it. There is also free Wifi up there so you can, like me, bother family members with chats and photos of "wish you were here".

Now start your walk around the lake, clockwise. This will give you the best views of St Martin's, the Castle and the church on the island from across the lake. Try to avoid feeding the swans, you will find a poster a lot later telling you that it is forbidden. The swans can get quite aggressive.
There are various restaurants in town, but I cannot recommend the food. Instead you can find a market on your path round the lake to buy items for a picnic lunch. I bought bread, brie, lemonade and a Mars bar for 2.50 euros.
Keep walking to the far end of the lake where you can rent some swan-shaped row boats for 10 euros an hour. Row out to the island and visit the church.

One hour is plenty of time to visit the island unless you want to climb the bell tower and ring the bell for good luck (this good luck will cost you 6 euros). And the island shop is a good place to use the WC (beautiful view from there), and try a piece of Slovenian "wasteful cake". I almost splurged to taste this one, just to see what 'lavish more' tastes like.
You will have to return the boat and steer clear of an unsightly Rowing Club. However, this is a good place to see the native carp and other fish in the clear waters by the shore. And since the lake is spring fed, you can watch the bubbles surface.

By now it will be afternoon and you won't be tempted to take any more pictures of the beautiful church and island reflected in the lake waters because the sun will be in your eyes. Or it would be, if not for the trees with leaves of various colors giving you shade and that warm feeling of fall all around you.
As you walk back along the opposite shore, you will pass under the castle, but you won't see it high above. Wander up to the Church of St Martin and step inside to experience the "70 Years of Peace" exhibit. The 70 lace doves in a glass case are designed to give you inner peace.

Then walk back into town by way of Simn Cafe and Bakery, for a Slovenian cream pastry called "kremna rezina", with coffee. The portion looks big, but it is mainly light fluffy cream and goes down very easily after a walk.
Anything would go down easily after this walk. I headed back to the guesthouse with a bottle of wine, to sit on the balcony where I have a great view of the castle above. As night falls the lights of the castle will come on, so be sure to be somewhere where you can see the castle at night. And you will sleep well.

Peace

Peace...something you feel after the job is done, the activity over, and you settle back for some time of rest and quiet.
I often feel peace when I am looking at water, and no longer on the water. Lake Bled is a peaceful place. After driving through the Alps for 3 hours, we arrived in one piece, and felt the peace of the place. The drive was scenic, and the roads good, but driving in a foreign country is always a bit stressful. The roads are twisty, there are long tunnels, roadworks, and tolls to be paid. I am getting better at all this, but I still made at least one wrong turn today, and the car's on-board computer keeps telling me the tire pressure is low. It is unnerving not to know which country you are in, how their road tax works, what is wrong with the car, or if you will arrive at our destination for the day.
After all this, arriving at our rooms for the evening and being served a cup of tea with shortbread by our host, brought me peace. Not having to drive, leaving the car in a safe parking spot, and going out for a walk brought peace. The calm waters of the lake reflecting the clouds and the sky brought me peace this evening.

Our walk around the lake led us by the church of St. Martin. Inside I found a display of lace doves, suspended in a glass case. When you go inside the exhibit, the glass case around you gives the illusion of many more white doves flying, yet not moving. I found the display quite beautiful, and read that it was made by local tatters to celebrate peace after WWII.  Compared with neighboring countries, Slovenia avoided much of the conflict. They value their peace.
Have peace.

Salt and Secrets

When you visit Salzburg, Austria, you visit Mozart's house and do the Sound of Music tour. We, however, visited a salt mine, because this tour had been on DC's "to do" list for over 40 years. I had never really thought of the relationship between salt and Salzburg, neither had I been to a mine, so I was interested.
We suited up in white overalls, for the purpose of protecting our clothing, and rode a moving bench into the tunnels. Our guide gave us information about salt mining, but we were more interested in the slides. The slide was really a chute going down a tunnel, and was great fun! We also enjoyed walking across the border between Austria and Germany while hundreds of feet underground. There was a underground lake with a boat to carry us across, and brine to taste. The tour was starting to seem like an amusement park ride, especially with the short movies, and 7 euro photo to buy at the gift shop.

Our next destination was not too far away, across the border in Germany. This place is called "Eagle's Nest", as it was Hitler's secret residence during WWII. The whole area was a favorite playground of his, and the Party built and gave the hill-top house to Hitler as a present on his 50th Birthday. I expected a larger complex, but the entrance was impressive. A wide tunnel led straight into the mountain, then a brass-plated elevator took us up to the house at the top. Once up the top, there are great views of the Alps, Germany and Austria.
Now, I had heard the stories of how Hitler had wanted to make this into a top secret underground system of tunnels and rooms,from which to rule the world.  I had paid my 16 euros, rode the bus from the car park, then ascended the elevator, just to find a house that is now functions as a restaurant. Don't get me wrong, I did appreciate the views, just as Hitler must have, but I was curious as to the top-secret part. Was there anything underground? Is there something there that the public don't have access to? Or were the stories just propaganda, myth, or plans that never got finished?

I believe there is nothing hiding underground. If there was, then someone would have turned it into a money making venture similar to the salt mines we toured earlier. People will pay quite a bit to visit something that has both Historical significance, and reveals some secret previously hidden deep underground.  There would be a train ride taking you down... who doesn't like a train ride? Then passageways leading to rooms staged with life-sized dummies of Hitler and other SS bigwigs. There would have to be a slide somewhere that took you down into a bunker, so that photos could be sold in the gift shop on the way out... maybe a maze! Perhaps I have been visiting too many sites on the tourist path recently.