Saturday, May 30
We got up at The Renaissance Hotel. It isn't the other side of the river, but high on the river bank just across from Old City and next to the Tsminda Sameba Cathedral. Not nearly as fancy as the Rooms Hotel, but actually more space in the room and a much more moderate price.
As we were eating breakfast with our Russian friend from the wedding, we discovered that we planned to go to the same place that morning, the ancient (that is almost redundant to say here) monastery at Davit Gareja. He had made arrangements with some Georgian "30-somethings" he had previously met at a drinking establishment to go there with them. They graciously agreed to let us follow them there. I had Google directions using the hotel's wifi, but since my carrier does not provide internet service in Georgia, I feared that I would not make it there on our own.
Thus began a wild ride. The "30-somethings," who were driving a nice silver Mercedes, got lost getting out of Tbilisi. A little part of me felt good about that since I now knew that I was not the only one getting lost in Tbilisi. However, after we got out of Tbilisi, we got really lost. They were following Google maps, which was giving them the shortest, but not fastest route to the monastery. We went through the very southern part of Georgia, passing what appeared to be Georgia's version of the rust belt. Lots of abandoned factories and other rusting industrial equipment.
After a while the road began to deteriorate. Periodically the "30-somethings" would stop the car to ask directions. One or two of them would jump out and come to our car to make sure that we were ok. After a lot of gesturing we would drive on. The road then deteriorated to a dirt road. As the ruts in the road got bigger, we were slowed to a crawl. Lots of animals began to appear on the road accompanied by shepherds. Then we encountered a large flock of sheep that brought us to a complete standstill. After slowly crawling past the sheep we came to a fork, and they stopped to ask directions. One of the "30-somethings" came running back to our car with bananas and a bottle of lemonade. One of them grabbed what appeared to be two large beer bottles from the trunk and took them into the car. Almost immediately thereafter the driver popped out of the car with the beer bottles and returned them to the trunk. I assumed she did not want any drunk passengers. We later learned that they were filled with water for cleaning the car, not for drinking.
We then backtracked, again having to crawl through the sheep and turned up another dirt road. On top of the hill was a large structure that appeared to us to be a military installation or a prison, but the "30-somethings" said it was the monastery. Turned out to be a military facility with warning signs that we were entering a free fire zone. Over the hills we could see a series of guard towers and we realized that we were at the Azerbaijani border. We drove for a long time on a dirt track that I thought roughly paralleled the border. Turned out that a post trip review of our route by Google maps indicated that we periodically crossed into Azerbaijan and without a passport stamp.
At one point along the road there was a sign with three flags on it, one of which was a US flag. I jumped out of the car to see if this held the secret to our journey, but was surprised and chastened to learn that the US was part of an ongoing program to clear mine fields in this area. We took some pictures and backtracked to the cars.
The road by this time was really better-suited for a 4-wheel drive vehicle. Ruts and potholes littered the roadway. Surprisingly, the little Twingo was in some respects better-suited for the road than the Mercedes, since it had a smaller wheelbase and could more easily avoid the potholes. We periodically encountered vehicles coming in the opposite direction and we invariably stopped for more directions, finger pointing and inquiries if we were ok. After what seemed to be an eternity, we encountered a sign indicating that the monastery was 3km away. And so it came about that after almost 4 hours of driving we came to our destination. The monastery was pretty impressive. It was built into the side of a mountain and incorporated many caves into its structure. Even though this is a semi arid area, at this time of year it was covered in green and punctuated with many wild flowers. Davit came here in the 6th century to spread Christianity. He constructed the first monastery which later grew into a complex of 16 monasteries that became a repository for learning and art. The complex was destroyed by the Mongols in the 12th century and rebuilt, destroyed by Tamerlane in the 15th century and rebuilt and finally utterly destroyed on Easter night in 1615 by the Persians, who massacred 6000 monks. After that it fell into disuse. The site was revived after independence from the Soviets and is again inhabited by monks, although the only monk we saw was in the gift shop.
We toured the complex for over an hour and then the "30-somethings" broke out a picnic. We through in our store of fruit, nuts and water. We learned that the Georgian "30-somethings" were a pair of brother and sisters, who were also cousins. They were all programmers, as is the Russian, and one had spent a few months studying at Washington State University. His sister is scheduled to attend a seminar in San Francisco later this year. We had a grand time.
On the return trip we took the longer route, with better road conditions. We parted company with the "30-somethings" when we approached the Tbilisi Sighnaghi road. We were going to Telavi and they directed us to the right. Wrong direction, but we eventually got there.
However, along the way to Telavi we got pulled over by the police. In Georgia they drive like madmen. Passing on curves, exceeding the speed limit, driving in the opposite lane, and generally seemingly obeying only their own rules. I could not understand what we had done wrong. The police spoke no English and seemed to be referencing a stop sign. I did not recall any stop sign. We were out of the range of Google translate. I handed over our passports, then the car registration and insurance paperwork, then my drivers license. Their eyes seemed to light up when they saw California on the license and waved us on.
When we arrived in Talavi, we did not know that we were there. A conference in a market confirmed our location and we got directions to our guesthouse. While those got us to the immediate vicinity of the guesthouse, we could not find it. So we parked the car near a park and carrying our tour book with the guesthouse's address we intended to ask for directions. The first person we approached asked if we were looking for our guesthouse, and then proceeded to lead us by car to it. We never found out who he was.
Tushishvili Guesthouse is hosted by a Ukrainian grandmother. It is in an older home that has seem better days, but we are the only guests and thus have an entire floor to ourselves. Dinner outside at the adjacent restaurant and then after using the Turkish toothpaste, early to bed.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Thursday, May 28, 2015
The Little Black Dress is Universal
May 24. The Big Day
This was the wedding day, the reason we had traveled to Georgia.
But first we did some touring. We got on the bus with the tour guide shortly after 10 (This group, like most, does not get started at the scheduled time. There are some who are always timely and others who are chronically late and even then, there is usually someone who has to make some last minute change. Just one of the things that one has to accept and put up with if you travel with a group.)
The bus took us to Mtskheta, a small town about 40 km north of Tbilisi. This area is the cradle of Georgian religion and culture, since it is the place where St. Nino converted the early Georgian kingdom to Christianity in the 4th century and it was the capital for about 2 centuries, until that was moved to Tbilisi. Plus it has several old and spiritually important religious buildings (some of which have been placed on UNESCO's Danger list). So our pre ceremony activities consisted of church viewings.
The first was Jvari Church. This sits high on a hill and is visible for miles. The road up to the church has lots of switchbacks. It is a small building that goes back to the 7th century. It marks the spot where in the 4th century King Mirian erected a cross to mark his conversion to Christianity by St. Nino. From the church you can see the town below, with its many churches and the convergence of the Aragvi and Mtkvari rivers, which were flowing pretty swiftly.
St. Nino was born in western Turkey, the daughter of a Roman general. At age 14 she experienced a vision telling her to convert the Iverians (predecessors to the present day Georgians) to Christianity. She went to Iveria, performed some good deeds and miracles, and when she saved Queen Nana with her prayers from a serious illness, she got the attention of King Mirian. When she restored his sight after blindness from a hunting accident, he made Christianity Iveria's official religion in 327. It became the second kingdom to officially convert to Christianity.
Next we went to Samtavro Church. It is a large church that was built in the 12th century and has some kings and queens buried on the grounds. It also has a small church on the grounds marking the spot where St. Nino prayed in the 4th century. It survived the Soviet period by serving as an orphanage.
Finally the wedding. It took place at the Svetitskhoveil Cathedral. This dates from the 11th century. It is a very large building surrounded by a large defensive wall. Tradition teaches that Christ's robe is buried beneath the Cathedral. The story goes that a Jew from Mtakheta was in Jerusalem at the time of the crucifixion and returned with the robe. He gave it to his sister who promptly died in a passion of faith. The robe was buried with her and when it was decided to build a church there, the large center column could not be raised. However, with St. Nino's prayers it was miraculously both raised and moved to the sister's burial site.
Enough about old buildings. The wedding in the Cathedral was something out of a Hollywood movie. The priest had a long gray beard, flowing robes and an ornate headpiece (which must have been very hot since when he took it off his hair was plastered to his head with sweat.) The groom wore a traditional Georgian military uniform with metal canisters across his chest that were either bullet canisters or cigar holders. The couple wore golden crowns during a portion of the ceremony and there was kissing of walls and frescoes. A central feature seemed to be three processions around the alter. A pretty grand and ritualized performance.
Then off to the wedding party. It was held at a beautifully landscaped facility. There were some preliminary drinks (brandy and chacha) and food, but when the seated dinner began I was overwhelmed. Throughout the evening the food and drink never stopped flowing. The table was loaded with a dozen dishes when we arrived and more kept coming. We had missed lunch and so I was hungry and began to eat too much. I slowed down to try to taste each dish, but gradually succumbed to at first sloth and then culinary paralysis. Periodic trips outside to the grounds for cigars and some more drinks were the only thing that kept me vertical. There was no dessert except the wedding cake, but I would have been too stuffed to eat it. A real culinary celebration. I was told by the groom that in the past such feasts were accompanied by a feather that guests would use to induce vomiting and then they would return to the food.
There was a local troupe of dancers in traditional costumes as entertainment, as well as singers who offered up a mixture of western (several Sinatra songs) and Georgian music. I think the guests were about 20% American, 65% Georgian and 15% other nations. I counted Russians, Ukrainians, Swedes among the attendees. Several of the younger women wore little black dresses, which cross borders very nicely.
It seems as if the Georgians largely did not mix with the others. They were probably extended family and I think that most did not speak English. Lots of dancing by the guests, some traditional Georgian, and even Conga lines and circles of dancers who took turns being in the middle "hot spot." I was particularly struck by two 20-something sisters, probably cousins of the groom, whom we noticed in the Cathedral, who did not wear head scarves and one wore a bare shouldered dress. We wondered how they got away with that.
By 10 we were exhausted. The bus took us back to our hotel where we promptly collapsed into bed.
This was the wedding day, the reason we had traveled to Georgia.
But first we did some touring. We got on the bus with the tour guide shortly after 10 (This group, like most, does not get started at the scheduled time. There are some who are always timely and others who are chronically late and even then, there is usually someone who has to make some last minute change. Just one of the things that one has to accept and put up with if you travel with a group.)
The bus took us to Mtskheta, a small town about 40 km north of Tbilisi. This area is the cradle of Georgian religion and culture, since it is the place where St. Nino converted the early Georgian kingdom to Christianity in the 4th century and it was the capital for about 2 centuries, until that was moved to Tbilisi. Plus it has several old and spiritually important religious buildings (some of which have been placed on UNESCO's Danger list). So our pre ceremony activities consisted of church viewings.
The first was Jvari Church. This sits high on a hill and is visible for miles. The road up to the church has lots of switchbacks. It is a small building that goes back to the 7th century. It marks the spot where in the 4th century King Mirian erected a cross to mark his conversion to Christianity by St. Nino. From the church you can see the town below, with its many churches and the convergence of the Aragvi and Mtkvari rivers, which were flowing pretty swiftly.
St. Nino was born in western Turkey, the daughter of a Roman general. At age 14 she experienced a vision telling her to convert the Iverians (predecessors to the present day Georgians) to Christianity. She went to Iveria, performed some good deeds and miracles, and when she saved Queen Nana with her prayers from a serious illness, she got the attention of King Mirian. When she restored his sight after blindness from a hunting accident, he made Christianity Iveria's official religion in 327. It became the second kingdom to officially convert to Christianity.
Next we went to Samtavro Church. It is a large church that was built in the 12th century and has some kings and queens buried on the grounds. It also has a small church on the grounds marking the spot where St. Nino prayed in the 4th century. It survived the Soviet period by serving as an orphanage.
Finally the wedding. It took place at the Svetitskhoveil Cathedral. This dates from the 11th century. It is a very large building surrounded by a large defensive wall. Tradition teaches that Christ's robe is buried beneath the Cathedral. The story goes that a Jew from Mtakheta was in Jerusalem at the time of the crucifixion and returned with the robe. He gave it to his sister who promptly died in a passion of faith. The robe was buried with her and when it was decided to build a church there, the large center column could not be raised. However, with St. Nino's prayers it was miraculously both raised and moved to the sister's burial site.
Enough about old buildings. The wedding in the Cathedral was something out of a Hollywood movie. The priest had a long gray beard, flowing robes and an ornate headpiece (which must have been very hot since when he took it off his hair was plastered to his head with sweat.) The groom wore a traditional Georgian military uniform with metal canisters across his chest that were either bullet canisters or cigar holders. The couple wore golden crowns during a portion of the ceremony and there was kissing of walls and frescoes. A central feature seemed to be three processions around the alter. A pretty grand and ritualized performance.
Then off to the wedding party. It was held at a beautifully landscaped facility. There were some preliminary drinks (brandy and chacha) and food, but when the seated dinner began I was overwhelmed. Throughout the evening the food and drink never stopped flowing. The table was loaded with a dozen dishes when we arrived and more kept coming. We had missed lunch and so I was hungry and began to eat too much. I slowed down to try to taste each dish, but gradually succumbed to at first sloth and then culinary paralysis. Periodic trips outside to the grounds for cigars and some more drinks were the only thing that kept me vertical. There was no dessert except the wedding cake, but I would have been too stuffed to eat it. A real culinary celebration. I was told by the groom that in the past such feasts were accompanied by a feather that guests would use to induce vomiting and then they would return to the food.
There was a local troupe of dancers in traditional costumes as entertainment, as well as singers who offered up a mixture of western (several Sinatra songs) and Georgian music. I think the guests were about 20% American, 65% Georgian and 15% other nations. I counted Russians, Ukrainians, Swedes among the attendees. Several of the younger women wore little black dresses, which cross borders very nicely.
It seems as if the Georgians largely did not mix with the others. They were probably extended family and I think that most did not speak English. Lots of dancing by the guests, some traditional Georgian, and even Conga lines and circles of dancers who took turns being in the middle "hot spot." I was particularly struck by two 20-something sisters, probably cousins of the groom, whom we noticed in the Cathedral, who did not wear head scarves and one wore a bare shouldered dress. We wondered how they got away with that.
By 10 we were exhausted. The bus took us back to our hotel where we promptly collapsed into bed.
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
My KIngdom for a Map, or Will I ever Get Out of this Country
May 14. This was a very trying day.
We awoke in Sarajevo, had breakfast in the apartment, gathered my clothes from the clothes line and pulled out of the parking lot on time, confident that we were securely on our way to Sofia, Bulgaria and our hotel there. We had no general Internet service in Bosnia, but we had plotted out the route in our apartment using the wifi.
We had a couple of missed turns leaving Old Town Sarajevo, (incredible maze of narrow streets), but we finally got on the correct road thinking that we were heading for the M5. We saw signs for the M5, but we did not meet the turnoff onto the M5. We went several km and then through a tunnel. Then we saw a big sign welcoming us to the Republika Srpska. That should have been a warning sign, especially since we had gone beyond the 8.4km that our directions said would lead us to the M5. Instead of turning around and retracing our steps, I asked a policeman for directions. He spoke a little English and I thought that he understood that we were looking for the M5 to take us to Bulgaria. He (as a representative of the Serb-dominated Republika Srpska was clearly contemptuous of the fact that we were coming from Sarajevo) directed us to a road on the left which he said would take us to the border.
I took that road for a bit, but it did not seem right so I turned back, found a gas station and again asked for directions. Two people there said to take the same road that the policeman had directed us to take to get right to the border. So we took the road to the border.
Turns out they were sending us to the border with Serbia, going north, away from Bulgaria. However I did not realize that until a few hours later when we saw road signs for towns that were near the Serbian border. Not that big an issue, a few hours out of the way since I thought that we could go south through Serbia into Bulgaria and use Internet GPS to guide us. We had taken with us travel books for all the countries that we planned to enter. However while in Croatia we decided to make a change to our plans to go east into Bosnia rather than going south into Montenegro, so we only had small maps of Bosnia from the Croatia book, and no map of Serbia.
We approached the border and the immigration post. No road or border signs in English and the Serbian and Bosnian languages bear no resemblance to English so I did not know if it was a Serbian or Bosnian post. Turns out it was a Bosnian post. No problem there. Crossed the bridge and approached the Serbian post. A small post looking very ramshackle. The Serbian officer spoke absolutely no English. We thought that he was asking for car information after he reviewed our passports, but even after we gave him those documents he still seemed to want us to do something. Finally after a few tense minutes, he just waved us through. I suspect he just got fed up with us.
We crossed into Serbia and made our second big mistake. The GPS Internet did not work ("no service") and we were confronted with a road sign. To the left, and what I thought was north was "Beograd". I thought that was Belgrade, the capital of Serbia, but I correctly thought that it was geographically out of the way. Turns out it would have been better to go there and catch the toll road south. Instead we went right, going south and what I thought would be a path to Bulgaria.
The roads we travelled turned out to be impossibly narrow, winding with no towns beyond small villages and after a while seemingly leading to nowhere. We passed through a medium sized town, but we could not find anyone who spoke English or or a place to buy a map. We continued further on with the same results in another town, even going into a bus station seeking directions. I think that lady was sending us back into Bosnia, but we at least found a map posted outside a public building. That seemed to offer a route to Serbia's southern border. So we continued for a few more fruitless hours until I really had no idea where we were, other than we were generally going south according to our navigation by compass. By this time I had an emotional belief that I would never be able to get out of Serbia.
Finally we stopped in a gas station. No maps, but we found an English speaker, He sighed when I described our situation. He said we would never be able to navigate our way south on these small, rural roads and suggested that we follow the signs to Beograd, which would take us to the toll road which would securely lead us south to Bulgaria. So we turned around and headed north with my hopes now completely dashed that we would get to our Bulgaria hotel that night, since we had to get there by midnight when it closed down and I had no way to contact them.
Along the way we saw a series of large stones that seems to be a monument. Looked like a Serbian Stonehenge. The office was closed so I could only assume that it was a monument to the WWII partisans.
We reached the outskirts of Belgrade by about 8. We had now been driving for 10 hours. Got on the toll road and headed for NIS. We stopped for gas on the toll road. About 400 Serbian dinars to one dollar. My gas bill was 3250 dinars. But we also were able to purchase a map. We were then slowly driving to the adjacent bathroom when police lights began flashing in my rear view mirror. Turns out they only wanted me to get out of the way. I parked near them. While Karen went to the bathroom, I stayed with the car and watched several uniformed security offices jump out of the vans and unlock the rear doors from which emerged scores of men. I asked who they were and was told that they were prisoners being transported to where or why I could not understand. Several of the prisoners approached me and started to talk. They assured me that they were "good criminals." I think they were not pulling my leg. The Serbia toll road was the cheap.
We finally got to the Bulgarian border about 10:00 pm. I was now hopeful that we could get to the hotel before it closed at midnight. Crossing into Bulgaria, we had to purchase a vignette for 5 euro. That and another 5 euro got us a sticker which we affixed to our car and permitted us to drive in Bulgaria for a week.
The road to Sofia was very dark, narrow, winding, and truck-laden. Passing was a white-knuckled affair until I started following a car that was going my desired speed. We got to Sofia almost on time for the hotel, but it did not matter because we entered a new time zone when we entered Bulgaria so we lost an hour. Sofia was pretty much shut down when we arrived. We found one other hotel but it was full. So we parked our car outside our hotel, L'Opera, next to the Opera House, locked the doors and windows, pulled out the blankest and pillows and prepared to sleep in the car. I was tired so I was able to get some sleep. Watching the city in between naps was a bit surreal, an occasional car or pedestrian, the street cleaners walking by and finally at 4:00 am the first trolleys rumbled by. They appeared with increasing frequency as the dawn approached so I got less sleep. The hotel opened at 7:30, we got some breakfast there, checked in and went up to our room (no elevator so we lugged our bags up to the 4th floor, but a nice big room) and slept until 11.
We awoke in Sarajevo, had breakfast in the apartment, gathered my clothes from the clothes line and pulled out of the parking lot on time, confident that we were securely on our way to Sofia, Bulgaria and our hotel there. We had no general Internet service in Bosnia, but we had plotted out the route in our apartment using the wifi.
We had a couple of missed turns leaving Old Town Sarajevo, (incredible maze of narrow streets), but we finally got on the correct road thinking that we were heading for the M5. We saw signs for the M5, but we did not meet the turnoff onto the M5. We went several km and then through a tunnel. Then we saw a big sign welcoming us to the Republika Srpska. That should have been a warning sign, especially since we had gone beyond the 8.4km that our directions said would lead us to the M5. Instead of turning around and retracing our steps, I asked a policeman for directions. He spoke a little English and I thought that he understood that we were looking for the M5 to take us to Bulgaria. He (as a representative of the Serb-dominated Republika Srpska was clearly contemptuous of the fact that we were coming from Sarajevo) directed us to a road on the left which he said would take us to the border.
I took that road for a bit, but it did not seem right so I turned back, found a gas station and again asked for directions. Two people there said to take the same road that the policeman had directed us to take to get right to the border. So we took the road to the border.
Turns out they were sending us to the border with Serbia, going north, away from Bulgaria. However I did not realize that until a few hours later when we saw road signs for towns that were near the Serbian border. Not that big an issue, a few hours out of the way since I thought that we could go south through Serbia into Bulgaria and use Internet GPS to guide us. We had taken with us travel books for all the countries that we planned to enter. However while in Croatia we decided to make a change to our plans to go east into Bosnia rather than going south into Montenegro, so we only had small maps of Bosnia from the Croatia book, and no map of Serbia.
We approached the border and the immigration post. No road or border signs in English and the Serbian and Bosnian languages bear no resemblance to English so I did not know if it was a Serbian or Bosnian post. Turns out it was a Bosnian post. No problem there. Crossed the bridge and approached the Serbian post. A small post looking very ramshackle. The Serbian officer spoke absolutely no English. We thought that he was asking for car information after he reviewed our passports, but even after we gave him those documents he still seemed to want us to do something. Finally after a few tense minutes, he just waved us through. I suspect he just got fed up with us.
We crossed into Serbia and made our second big mistake. The GPS Internet did not work ("no service") and we were confronted with a road sign. To the left, and what I thought was north was "Beograd". I thought that was Belgrade, the capital of Serbia, but I correctly thought that it was geographically out of the way. Turns out it would have been better to go there and catch the toll road south. Instead we went right, going south and what I thought would be a path to Bulgaria.
The roads we travelled turned out to be impossibly narrow, winding with no towns beyond small villages and after a while seemingly leading to nowhere. We passed through a medium sized town, but we could not find anyone who spoke English or or a place to buy a map. We continued further on with the same results in another town, even going into a bus station seeking directions. I think that lady was sending us back into Bosnia, but we at least found a map posted outside a public building. That seemed to offer a route to Serbia's southern border. So we continued for a few more fruitless hours until I really had no idea where we were, other than we were generally going south according to our navigation by compass. By this time I had an emotional belief that I would never be able to get out of Serbia.
Finally we stopped in a gas station. No maps, but we found an English speaker, He sighed when I described our situation. He said we would never be able to navigate our way south on these small, rural roads and suggested that we follow the signs to Beograd, which would take us to the toll road which would securely lead us south to Bulgaria. So we turned around and headed north with my hopes now completely dashed that we would get to our Bulgaria hotel that night, since we had to get there by midnight when it closed down and I had no way to contact them.
Along the way we saw a series of large stones that seems to be a monument. Looked like a Serbian Stonehenge. The office was closed so I could only assume that it was a monument to the WWII partisans.
We reached the outskirts of Belgrade by about 8. We had now been driving for 10 hours. Got on the toll road and headed for NIS. We stopped for gas on the toll road. About 400 Serbian dinars to one dollar. My gas bill was 3250 dinars. But we also were able to purchase a map. We were then slowly driving to the adjacent bathroom when police lights began flashing in my rear view mirror. Turns out they only wanted me to get out of the way. I parked near them. While Karen went to the bathroom, I stayed with the car and watched several uniformed security offices jump out of the vans and unlock the rear doors from which emerged scores of men. I asked who they were and was told that they were prisoners being transported to where or why I could not understand. Several of the prisoners approached me and started to talk. They assured me that they were "good criminals." I think they were not pulling my leg. The Serbia toll road was the cheap.
We finally got to the Bulgarian border about 10:00 pm. I was now hopeful that we could get to the hotel before it closed at midnight. Crossing into Bulgaria, we had to purchase a vignette for 5 euro. That and another 5 euro got us a sticker which we affixed to our car and permitted us to drive in Bulgaria for a week.
The road to Sofia was very dark, narrow, winding, and truck-laden. Passing was a white-knuckled affair until I started following a car that was going my desired speed. We got to Sofia almost on time for the hotel, but it did not matter because we entered a new time zone when we entered Bulgaria so we lost an hour. Sofia was pretty much shut down when we arrived. We found one other hotel but it was full. So we parked our car outside our hotel, L'Opera, next to the Opera House, locked the doors and windows, pulled out the blankest and pillows and prepared to sleep in the car. I was tired so I was able to get some sleep. Watching the city in between naps was a bit surreal, an occasional car or pedestrian, the street cleaners walking by and finally at 4:00 am the first trolleys rumbled by. They appeared with increasing frequency as the dawn approached so I got less sleep. The hotel opened at 7:30, we got some breakfast there, checked in and went up to our room (no elevator so we lugged our bags up to the 4th floor, but a nice big room) and slept until 11.
Bare Bodies Bathing
May 22.
Awoke in Tbilisi in the Rooms Hotel. This is a new experience for us on this trip, an upscale hotel. A large spacious lobby, 24-hour desk manned by staff that speak English and a nice bar and restaurant. The breakfast offered cooked-to-order eggs and lots of other choices. Very good.
Others from the group that are here to attend the wedding began to stagger into the lobby area, in some cases looking a bit bedraggled since they had a very long trip from the US on multiple flights and had arrived in Tbilisi in the early morning hours.
Karen went off with some locals to a hair appointment, so I and one of the earlier arrivals took a walk into Tbilisi. A short time on Kostavas St (that must be like Washington Street because it showed up in virtually every Georgian town we visited) and then through Rustavelis Square and onto Rustavelis. All named in honor of Georgia's preeminent poet. It seems to be Tbilisi's main thoroughfare and is lined with important buildings and upscale shops. Many of the buildings appear to have been built in the late 19th and early 20th century and need some maintenance. They were residential but have largely been converted to commercial use. It also has a lot of traffic, which would be difficult for a pedestrian to cross and no traffic lights. Cars turn using roundabout lanes while pedestrians use one of several underpasses, which themselves are little commercial centers. We walked almost to Tavisuplebis Square (Freedom), but instead took the Metro back to Rustavelis. It was confusing at first, since the automated machine was not for the purchase of new Metro cards. Instead, it is an all-purpose payment center to pay a variety of bills or add to a Metro card. We purchased a single card for 2 lari and fares were .5 lari each. Got on the right train and road one stop. The system was constructed in 1950 (during the "Soviet era"). It seems old but well maintained.
After Karen returned, we did a similar walking tour, slower, understanding more of what we were seeing and taking more pictures. The large Parliament Building is undergoing renovation. It seems the last regime wanted to move the capital to another city, but that decision has been reversed. A country's growing pains. Built during the Soviet era, it was the site of the killings of the 19 hunger strikers in 1989 that ultimately lead to Georgian independence and the Rose Revolution demonstrations in 2003. Lots of history here. We thought that we were being sent to the post office. That was a mistake. We did not have time to find the real post office, so we returned to the hotel to get back in time for the scheduled trip to The Baths.
The Baths are part of the legend that leads to the founding of Tbilisi. In the 5th century, Kind Vakhtang Gorgasli was hunting and wounded a deer, which fell into hot sulphur springs and was miraculously healed. He started the town there and its name is based on the springs -- tbili, means warm in Georgian. The current bathhouses date back to the 17th century. They are subterranean with beehive domes rising above ground level so approaching them presents a weird sight.
Alex Dumas and Pushkin both bathed here. Our visit started out with a bit of a snafu. One contingent was coming from the mother-in-law's lunch which was held up, others arrived late, and I think that one group ended up in a different bathhouse. We were the first ones there, by cab, which are inexpensive, but require a negotiated price. Once all arrived, we really did not know what to do. Ended up that the old folks disrobed (no changing rooms) and wrapped ourselves in sheets, which when we entered the hot bath turned out to leave little to the imagination. The young folks wore bathing suits. The baths were warm and relaxing, but then we took the next step, the massage and scrape. That entailed a complete disrobing in an adjacent area. One by one we lay on a marble slab and were massaged, rubbed, scaled and washed with a giant application of soap suds. In between, we got doused with buckets of hot water. An invigorating and revealing experience.
After that, a group of us had dinner at a restaurant in Old Town very near the baths. We ordered communally and had a variety of Georgian dishes. Wine, beer and a Georgian clear liquor made from the remainders of the wine-making process called chacha. Very potent stuff.
After we returned to the hotel, we went out on the patio for more drinking (that turned out to be a recurring theme throughout the Georgia experience) and awaited the arrival of more wedding attendees. Flights from Europe seem to come into Georgia late or early in the morning, so I lasted only until the first arrival at 1:30.
Awoke in Tbilisi in the Rooms Hotel. This is a new experience for us on this trip, an upscale hotel. A large spacious lobby, 24-hour desk manned by staff that speak English and a nice bar and restaurant. The breakfast offered cooked-to-order eggs and lots of other choices. Very good.
Others from the group that are here to attend the wedding began to stagger into the lobby area, in some cases looking a bit bedraggled since they had a very long trip from the US on multiple flights and had arrived in Tbilisi in the early morning hours.
Karen went off with some locals to a hair appointment, so I and one of the earlier arrivals took a walk into Tbilisi. A short time on Kostavas St (that must be like Washington Street because it showed up in virtually every Georgian town we visited) and then through Rustavelis Square and onto Rustavelis. All named in honor of Georgia's preeminent poet. It seems to be Tbilisi's main thoroughfare and is lined with important buildings and upscale shops. Many of the buildings appear to have been built in the late 19th and early 20th century and need some maintenance. They were residential but have largely been converted to commercial use. It also has a lot of traffic, which would be difficult for a pedestrian to cross and no traffic lights. Cars turn using roundabout lanes while pedestrians use one of several underpasses, which themselves are little commercial centers. We walked almost to Tavisuplebis Square (Freedom), but instead took the Metro back to Rustavelis. It was confusing at first, since the automated machine was not for the purchase of new Metro cards. Instead, it is an all-purpose payment center to pay a variety of bills or add to a Metro card. We purchased a single card for 2 lari and fares were .5 lari each. Got on the right train and road one stop. The system was constructed in 1950 (during the "Soviet era"). It seems old but well maintained.
After Karen returned, we did a similar walking tour, slower, understanding more of what we were seeing and taking more pictures. The large Parliament Building is undergoing renovation. It seems the last regime wanted to move the capital to another city, but that decision has been reversed. A country's growing pains. Built during the Soviet era, it was the site of the killings of the 19 hunger strikers in 1989 that ultimately lead to Georgian independence and the Rose Revolution demonstrations in 2003. Lots of history here. We thought that we were being sent to the post office. That was a mistake. We did not have time to find the real post office, so we returned to the hotel to get back in time for the scheduled trip to The Baths.
The Baths are part of the legend that leads to the founding of Tbilisi. In the 5th century, Kind Vakhtang Gorgasli was hunting and wounded a deer, which fell into hot sulphur springs and was miraculously healed. He started the town there and its name is based on the springs -- tbili, means warm in Georgian. The current bathhouses date back to the 17th century. They are subterranean with beehive domes rising above ground level so approaching them presents a weird sight.
Alex Dumas and Pushkin both bathed here. Our visit started out with a bit of a snafu. One contingent was coming from the mother-in-law's lunch which was held up, others arrived late, and I think that one group ended up in a different bathhouse. We were the first ones there, by cab, which are inexpensive, but require a negotiated price. Once all arrived, we really did not know what to do. Ended up that the old folks disrobed (no changing rooms) and wrapped ourselves in sheets, which when we entered the hot bath turned out to leave little to the imagination. The young folks wore bathing suits. The baths were warm and relaxing, but then we took the next step, the massage and scrape. That entailed a complete disrobing in an adjacent area. One by one we lay on a marble slab and were massaged, rubbed, scaled and washed with a giant application of soap suds. In between, we got doused with buckets of hot water. An invigorating and revealing experience.
After that, a group of us had dinner at a restaurant in Old Town very near the baths. We ordered communally and had a variety of Georgian dishes. Wine, beer and a Georgian clear liquor made from the remainders of the wine-making process called chacha. Very potent stuff.
After we returned to the hotel, we went out on the patio for more drinking (that turned out to be a recurring theme throughout the Georgia experience) and awaited the arrival of more wedding attendees. Flights from Europe seem to come into Georgia late or early in the morning, so I lasted only until the first arrival at 1:30.
Monday, May 25, 2015
Independence Day
May 18
We arrived in Samsun about 8:30 Sunday night after a long
drive. The GPS was working, but it had a strange way of counting the exits on
the roundabouts so we had a few wrong turns and the final approach to the hotel
was a confusing maze; but on balance it was 100% better than the prior evening.
We stayed at the Neba Royal Hotel.
Contrary to advertisement, no English was spoken here, but the desk
clerk spoke French, so we muddled by.
The US credit cards did not work so we agreed that we would pay Turkish
cash the next day. The hotel was bland and fine. It was a business hotel and it
had a very nice breakfast. No character and no opportunity to speak with
anyone.
The hotel was close to the waterfront. After entering our
room, checking out the view of the harbor and the Black Sea and opening the
window, we heard lots of noise and music, as if a parade were occurring. We
went downstairs and found ourselves in the middle of a pre Independence Day
celebration. May 19 is Turkish Independence Day and it carries special weight
here since it was from Samsun’s harbor that Ataturk launched the
revolution.
There were lots of dancers, whirling dervishes, drummers and
musicians, but the most striking was arial luminairals that were being lit and
lunched by many attendees, They were orange paper cones with a light metal
frame at the bottom which contained a reservoir of fuel. When that was lit, it
created hot air that lifted the structure. Scores of these were being lit and
were floating upward, in some instances hundreds of feet, creating a strange
image of these orange objects languidly floating above us.
The drummers were very loud and active. After they broke up
we spoke with one. He told us about the history and advised that this was just
a rehearsal for the main event in two days. However, he also informed us that a
Turkish national election was imminent and that the Turkish President, Erdogan
would be speaking in town the next day. He added a very colorful epithet after
referencing the President.
In Samsun I could not change money at a bank and had to find
a money changer. That was hard to do since the main square and surrounding
streets were largely blocked off due to the President’s imminent arrival.
Finally got some lira, took a walk in the harbor area (lots of orange debris)
and unsuccessfully sought a Tourist office to help us with our tolls issue. We
followed the signs but no success. I think all the tourist offices have been
closed.
As we entered the main square to get back to our car, we
were caught up in the preparations for the President’s visit. We ended up with
Turkish flags and a hat, which I think celebrates Turkish youth sports day, but
fearing gridlock we left before the President arrived.
Samsun is a big city and port. The road on the way out of
town was lined with heavily armed soldiers. And was well-decorated. When we
passed the airport turnoff, though, that all disappeared. We drove east along
the Black Sea. A great bike path, but very few beaches and those that existed
were very rocky. I did not see one person in the water. We had lunch in Unye at
a restaurant along the shoreline. I found a free parking space. As we left the
closed tourist office, two young men approached us in the square and tried to
help. First time that has happened since Ireland visit.
We resumed the drive along the coast and missed the one
sandy beach on the coast. We arrived at our hotel in Giresun before dark. The
Giresun hotel was a disappointment. Our first real dud of the trip, but the
price was ok as was the breakfast. Our window was partially obscured by a
gigantic Turkish flag. It was on the waterfront, but that was all industrial.
It was across a footbridge crossing the main highway from Atapark ,which had
the obligatory statute of Ataturk. We walked up (steep) the pedestrian main
street, which was very alive well into the evening. Ice cream for dinner.
Thursday, May 21, 2015
We checked into our Hotel and a concert broke out outside our window
Thursday, May 21, 2015
We awoke late after our post midnight wanderings through
Batumi.
Before I move on to my daily observations, I want to give a
big SHOUTDOWN to the travel book publisher, Lonely Planet, whose books I have
been using. I have used them in the past and have been very pleased to the
point that I purchased several hundreds of dollars of books for this trip.
However, they really did me a disservice with their failure to address the
issue of how to use the Turkish toll roads. The book had a section on bringing
your car into Turkey and it addressed the need for proof of ownership and
insurance, etc. However, it made no mention of the fact that you need to go to
a PTT office ASAP after entering Turkey to get a transponder or sticker to
lawfully use the toll roads and avoid a major fine. The absence of that
information caused us lots of grief, although we managed to talk our way out of
the fine. I know that these books cannot cover everything and there will be
mistakes about addresses, opinions about facilities, etc,, but this omission in
my mind is travel malpractice.
No guesthouse breakfast. I miss that. It is convenient and
usually good and filling, plus you oftentimes get a chance to interact with the
local host. Instead I went out to get some lari, the Georgian currency. Shopped
around as I found that while the currency traders give a better rate, they
charge a commission, so I ended up in a bank that had the best rate I could
find.
Upon trying to return to the hotel, I again was lost. I later
realized that the street our guesthouse was on did not extend through. However,
I did find an insurance agency. After packing we went back there to purchase
local auto insurance. Apparently road and driving conditions are so bad in
Georgia that western insurance companies will not issue primary auto insurance
for that country. The agent spoke good English and we were able to get two
months of expensive liability insurance. So now we have primary and secondary
insurance on the car.
Managed to drive out of Batumi without getting lost even
without GPS, but it is not very big. Took off for Tbilisi along the Black Sea
and then into the mountains. Most of the roads are pretty well maintained, but
they are virtually all winding, not flat, and single lane each way. There is
lots of truck traffic and much of it moves slowly, particularly uphill. Passing
is a wild ride, particularly around the many small business vans that are so
top heavy they go very slow around the curves, but speed up on the short and
infrequent straightaways. The Twingo’s limited power does not help. The
Georgians are far more advanced at the process that I am, with my training in
that art limited to trips on the 395 up to Mammouth Mt. before it was widened. They
are particularly adept at passing you when you are behind a truck, even when
you leave no room by just cutting you off and essentially daring you to hit
them. As a result, you are left one spot back in the passing game. I learned to
hug and even cross over the middle lane to cut them off before they jump ahead.
Lots of white knuckle passing near curves.
A world class four lane highway greeted us about 50 miles
outside Tbilisi, so we got in before I planned and when it was still light. GPS
magically reappeared and we got to where the hotel was supposed to be. Traffic
was a madhouse, so I pulled into a parking lot to get my bearings. Two
attendants came over and were giving us directions. Either I did not understand
or they were wrong, so that led us on a wild goose chase. Turned out we were
across the street from the hotel.
Drove into underground parking. The attendant smiled and
said, “a small space for a small car.” He was not kidding.
The hotel is very nice. We requested the cheaper interior
courtyard room. Turned out there was a wonderful concert with a 9-piece band in
the courtyard, so we simply flung open the window and enjoyed virtually front
row seats while we ate chocolates, bread and jam, and drank wine.
The Last Land Frontier
We awoke on May 20, Wednesday, in Trabzon, northeastern Turkey on the Black Sea.
We stayed in the Otel Horon. It was a good hotel. A very central location and a very helpful staff (they copied several documents that we urgently needed to comply with Turkish regulations), but with mostly limited English. (I am getting more proficient with Google Translate.) The room was a nice size with a good breeze and came with several water bottles. It also had a very well stocked mimi bar (among others chocolates and beer) that unbeknown to me were free. The breakfast was very good (endless selection of cheeses) in the roof top restaurant with great views and breezes.
A digression here. This area does not attract a lot of tourists, at least at this time of year, but there seemed to be a fair number of Arab tourists. Many of their women were dressed completely in black (it gets hot here) and were wearing the full niqab. That is one gradation short of the complete burqa. All that is exposed are the eyes. I have not seen them talk. At the restaurant we observed that they would take food under their garments and eat it under the veil. Very different. I suspect that some devoutly believe that this is religiously mandated, but it certainly burdens women and probably subjugates many.
The first order of the day was addressing the payment for the Turkish toll roads. We had concerns that we would not be permitted to leave or reenter Turkey and/or that we would be subjected to a big fine. Turned out to be all unfounded, as are many travel concerns.
We had been receiving lots of advice from Turks, the guy at the Shell gas station, hotel staff and taxi driver (but not from the tourist office, which we could not find in any of the cities (we did not look in Istanbul) we stayed in) -- not all of which was consistent, about how and where to pay tolls for the major highways. We received very helpful information from a reader of the blog, who shall remain Anonymous, and thus set out to find the PTT office. Finally found it with the help of a silent pedestrian who accompanied us there. When we got there it looked very much like a DMV office in the US. Lots of plastic chairs. Many people standing around with vacant stares clinching papers and little numbers patiently and endlessly waiting their call to numbered windows. Fortunately, when we asked for an English speaker, we were jumped to a special window on the second floor without a line. The two staffers who assisted us were very helpful and with the assistance of Google Translate (and the paperwork we had copied and printed at the hotel), we paid our back tolls, got a sticker (still not sure if we are to affix it to the car or just hold it up when we pass through a toll gate) for future rides and deposited some money in our account. All without the much feared large fine.
Then we walked around the city. Saw a very old Christian structure that seemed by its architecture to date back to Greek days (there were faded remnants of frescoes); while guarded, it was completely unmarked or commented on in the tour book. We also wandered through the bazaar district. Could not find the city museum, but ended up in a local playground that had Popeye and Charlie Brown play structures. Do you think they paid royalties? Of course, we also checked out the ever present Ataturk statue.
Then drove along the coast to Rize. We have driven along many miles of coast and have seen virtually no beaches. Lots of people strolling along miles of seaside promenades, but no one in the water. It would be a nice bike trip.
Rize is a tea place. Like many of the towns along the Black Sea coast, it has about 100,000 people and is squeezed in between the sea and the mountains with high rise apartment buildings marching up the mountain slopes. In LA these would be million-dollar views. Walked around town. In this area of the country we are very different. So we attract lots of attention, not in a bad way. People want to take pictures of or with us. We received free pastries in the bakery and candy in the pharmacy. We were purchasing toothpaste and we got treated as if we were buying expensive jewelry. Also saw the ever-present Ataturk statue, but more interesting was a large number of nooses hanging in a tree in a major square with attached messages and a few pictures. With the assistance of Google Translate we concluded that this was a protest in support of the deposed Muslim Brotherhood ex-President of Egypt, Morsi. This area has a very high percentage of women wearing the head scarves. and a majority wear Muslim dress. It makes many look like Eastern Orthodox priests.
The roads were impossibly steep walking up the mountains so we opted to drive up to Caykur Tea and Botany Garden. What an oasis! Superb views, lush vegetation and mature trees and cooling breezes. All they serve is locally grown tea, in very large (we ordered small) tea pots that remain hot over boiling water. Spent a few hours up there drinking seemingly gallons of tea with sugar cubes. We spoke with a group of late teenage high school girls. Vibrant and outgoing, they had career plans and their eyes went wide when they heard we were from LA. I have to wonder if they will get to experience their dreams or be overwhelmed by the local culture. I wanted to take a few of them back to LA to let them experience the world outside of this corner of Turkey.
Also spoke with an equally outgoing 12-year-old who was watching younger children as their mothers, in Muslin dress and head scarves looked on with some concern. The moms would not consent to pictures, but permitted pictures of the girls and seemed relieved when we showed them a picture of the Statute of Liberty (the 12-year-old was wearing a "Gap New York" tee-shirt).
Then on to the border. We got through 3 Turkish gates without incident. No problem at Georgian immigration, but at Customs I got into the wrong line which caused great consternation. The truck line was again endless and there was a lot of jockeying in the car line. I tried to make a joke with one customs official and another came running over to ask what I had been saying. After about 30 minutes we got into Georgia.
There is an immediate visible difference when you cross the border. It is not as prosperous or well maintained as Turkey. There was a casino 50 meters beyond the border (maybe that says more about the Turks than the Georgians). We lost our GPS (and an hour in the new time zone) and drove on to Batumi, fearing that we would never find the guesthouse in which we had booked a room. However, using some Booking.com directions, a Lonely Planet map and pointing toward the water, we parked in an area we thought was close and then with the assistance of some locals found our destination.
The Old World Guesthouse. Not much to look at on the outside, but very nicely maintained in the interior. A nice room and a nice host, with very limited English.
We walked around the harbor area. There is lots of activity and many restored old buildings. Batumi was a boom town in the early part of the 20th century when it was the Black Sea terminus for the Baku region oil pipeline. It seems to be undergoing a rejuvenation. However the language and alphabet here are incomprehensible to Western ears and eyes. We managed to find the Shemoikhede Genatsvale restaurant. It provided us with a multi course meal of Georgian food and drink for a very reasonable price. The khinkali (dumplings with different fillings) and cognac were very good.
After the meal, and by now after midnight, we got lost returning to our guesthouse. Several people offered assistance. One young lady spoke excellent English and with her assistance we got back.
Next hurdle, getting Georgia primary auto insurance.
We stayed in the Otel Horon. It was a good hotel. A very central location and a very helpful staff (they copied several documents that we urgently needed to comply with Turkish regulations), but with mostly limited English. (I am getting more proficient with Google Translate.) The room was a nice size with a good breeze and came with several water bottles. It also had a very well stocked mimi bar (among others chocolates and beer) that unbeknown to me were free. The breakfast was very good (endless selection of cheeses) in the roof top restaurant with great views and breezes.
A digression here. This area does not attract a lot of tourists, at least at this time of year, but there seemed to be a fair number of Arab tourists. Many of their women were dressed completely in black (it gets hot here) and were wearing the full niqab. That is one gradation short of the complete burqa. All that is exposed are the eyes. I have not seen them talk. At the restaurant we observed that they would take food under their garments and eat it under the veil. Very different. I suspect that some devoutly believe that this is religiously mandated, but it certainly burdens women and probably subjugates many.
The first order of the day was addressing the payment for the Turkish toll roads. We had concerns that we would not be permitted to leave or reenter Turkey and/or that we would be subjected to a big fine. Turned out to be all unfounded, as are many travel concerns.
We had been receiving lots of advice from Turks, the guy at the Shell gas station, hotel staff and taxi driver (but not from the tourist office, which we could not find in any of the cities (we did not look in Istanbul) we stayed in) -- not all of which was consistent, about how and where to pay tolls for the major highways. We received very helpful information from a reader of the blog, who shall remain Anonymous, and thus set out to find the PTT office. Finally found it with the help of a silent pedestrian who accompanied us there. When we got there it looked very much like a DMV office in the US. Lots of plastic chairs. Many people standing around with vacant stares clinching papers and little numbers patiently and endlessly waiting their call to numbered windows. Fortunately, when we asked for an English speaker, we were jumped to a special window on the second floor without a line. The two staffers who assisted us were very helpful and with the assistance of Google Translate (and the paperwork we had copied and printed at the hotel), we paid our back tolls, got a sticker (still not sure if we are to affix it to the car or just hold it up when we pass through a toll gate) for future rides and deposited some money in our account. All without the much feared large fine.
Then we walked around the city. Saw a very old Christian structure that seemed by its architecture to date back to Greek days (there were faded remnants of frescoes); while guarded, it was completely unmarked or commented on in the tour book. We also wandered through the bazaar district. Could not find the city museum, but ended up in a local playground that had Popeye and Charlie Brown play structures. Do you think they paid royalties? Of course, we also checked out the ever present Ataturk statue.
Then drove along the coast to Rize. We have driven along many miles of coast and have seen virtually no beaches. Lots of people strolling along miles of seaside promenades, but no one in the water. It would be a nice bike trip.
Rize is a tea place. Like many of the towns along the Black Sea coast, it has about 100,000 people and is squeezed in between the sea and the mountains with high rise apartment buildings marching up the mountain slopes. In LA these would be million-dollar views. Walked around town. In this area of the country we are very different. So we attract lots of attention, not in a bad way. People want to take pictures of or with us. We received free pastries in the bakery and candy in the pharmacy. We were purchasing toothpaste and we got treated as if we were buying expensive jewelry. Also saw the ever-present Ataturk statue, but more interesting was a large number of nooses hanging in a tree in a major square with attached messages and a few pictures. With the assistance of Google Translate we concluded that this was a protest in support of the deposed Muslim Brotherhood ex-President of Egypt, Morsi. This area has a very high percentage of women wearing the head scarves. and a majority wear Muslim dress. It makes many look like Eastern Orthodox priests.
The roads were impossibly steep walking up the mountains so we opted to drive up to Caykur Tea and Botany Garden. What an oasis! Superb views, lush vegetation and mature trees and cooling breezes. All they serve is locally grown tea, in very large (we ordered small) tea pots that remain hot over boiling water. Spent a few hours up there drinking seemingly gallons of tea with sugar cubes. We spoke with a group of late teenage high school girls. Vibrant and outgoing, they had career plans and their eyes went wide when they heard we were from LA. I have to wonder if they will get to experience their dreams or be overwhelmed by the local culture. I wanted to take a few of them back to LA to let them experience the world outside of this corner of Turkey.
Also spoke with an equally outgoing 12-year-old who was watching younger children as their mothers, in Muslin dress and head scarves looked on with some concern. The moms would not consent to pictures, but permitted pictures of the girls and seemed relieved when we showed them a picture of the Statute of Liberty (the 12-year-old was wearing a "Gap New York" tee-shirt).
Then on to the border. We got through 3 Turkish gates without incident. No problem at Georgian immigration, but at Customs I got into the wrong line which caused great consternation. The truck line was again endless and there was a lot of jockeying in the car line. I tried to make a joke with one customs official and another came running over to ask what I had been saying. After about 30 minutes we got into Georgia.
There is an immediate visible difference when you cross the border. It is not as prosperous or well maintained as Turkey. There was a casino 50 meters beyond the border (maybe that says more about the Turks than the Georgians). We lost our GPS (and an hour in the new time zone) and drove on to Batumi, fearing that we would never find the guesthouse in which we had booked a room. However, using some Booking.com directions, a Lonely Planet map and pointing toward the water, we parked in an area we thought was close and then with the assistance of some locals found our destination.
The Old World Guesthouse. Not much to look at on the outside, but very nicely maintained in the interior. A nice room and a nice host, with very limited English.
We walked around the harbor area. There is lots of activity and many restored old buildings. Batumi was a boom town in the early part of the 20th century when it was the Black Sea terminus for the Baku region oil pipeline. It seems to be undergoing a rejuvenation. However the language and alphabet here are incomprehensible to Western ears and eyes. We managed to find the Shemoikhede Genatsvale restaurant. It provided us with a multi course meal of Georgian food and drink for a very reasonable price. The khinkali (dumplings with different fillings) and cognac were very good.
After the meal, and by now after midnight, we got lost returning to our guesthouse. Several people offered assistance. One young lady spoke excellent English and with her assistance we got back.
Next hurdle, getting Georgia primary auto insurance.
Monday, May 18, 2015
Weekend Drives
Saturday and Sunday, May 16 and17
We woke up on Saturday in Sofia, Bulgaria (that was not a surprise as we had also gone to sleep there the prior night). After breakfast in the L'Opera Hotel, we set out to attend services in the Sofia Synagogue. It is the oldest and biggest in the Balkans, one of two functioning in Bulgaria and the third largest in Europe. This building dates back to 1909, but the congregation dates back to the early 16th century when the Ottomans were very tolerant in receiving Jews who were expelled from Spain and Portugal by the Inquisition.
It was locked when we arrived several minutes prior to the scheduled start of services. A policewoman came and opened the door, but a policeman angrily shouted "no, no" at us and pointed to the sign indicating that visitors were permitted only Mon-Fri. He ignored our protestations that we were there for services, not to visit. We finally were admitted only when an English-speaking congregant let us in.
The services were all in Hebrew. I recognized some passages and usually was able to follow along. No rabbi, the congregants took turns reading. The men and woman were separated by a barrier and curtain. When a woman talked, one of the congregants loudly shushed her to be quiet or banged the table. Karen thinks that was the talker's husband.
There were 6 male congregants present at the beginning, but like in the US, people trickled in throughout the service, and there were about a dozen men and 8 woman at the end. One was a visiting Israeli couple. The ages ranged fairly evenly from about 30 to old. The services lasted about 2 hours.
After the services we were invited to participate in lunch. Most of the people were very friendly and the 4 or 5 who spoke English conversed with us. I was told that since it was summer attendance was reduced and that normally they had twice as many attendees. A rabbi visited periodically and they occasionally had a bar mitzvah. Lots of intermarriages and no hassles from the current government. A Russian woman warned us not to buy stones in India, "they are all pretty, but fake," but recommended spices, silk and cotton goods. She warned that the mosquitoes are terrible and Indians cheat.
We then went out to view the Russian Army War memorial. It is dedicated to the Russian soldiers who helped to liberate Bulgaria during the late 19th century Russo Turkish war. However, it was not built until 1954, allegedly in an effort by the Bulgarian leadership to show solidarity with the Soviet Union after a quashed revolt against the communist rulers. In any event, it is huge!
In the same park, a health fair was being held. There was live music (Billy Joel's "I'm in a New York State of Mind" was sung) and dancing, as well as lots of booths with handouts. One young lady pressed a condom into my hands. I took it as a compliment.
We then took to the road for the anticipated 6 hour drive to the Turkish border. Our travails with Turkish customs were detailed in a prior post, as well as our struggles to get to our hotel in Istanbul and the great hotel reception when we finally got there.
The following day, when we finally got on the right road to get out of Istanbul, we encountered a lot of traffic crossing the bridge, but then, commenced a nondescript 8-hour drive to Samsun on the Black Sea coast.
We woke up on Saturday in Sofia, Bulgaria (that was not a surprise as we had also gone to sleep there the prior night). After breakfast in the L'Opera Hotel, we set out to attend services in the Sofia Synagogue. It is the oldest and biggest in the Balkans, one of two functioning in Bulgaria and the third largest in Europe. This building dates back to 1909, but the congregation dates back to the early 16th century when the Ottomans were very tolerant in receiving Jews who were expelled from Spain and Portugal by the Inquisition.
It was locked when we arrived several minutes prior to the scheduled start of services. A policewoman came and opened the door, but a policeman angrily shouted "no, no" at us and pointed to the sign indicating that visitors were permitted only Mon-Fri. He ignored our protestations that we were there for services, not to visit. We finally were admitted only when an English-speaking congregant let us in.
The services were all in Hebrew. I recognized some passages and usually was able to follow along. No rabbi, the congregants took turns reading. The men and woman were separated by a barrier and curtain. When a woman talked, one of the congregants loudly shushed her to be quiet or banged the table. Karen thinks that was the talker's husband.
There were 6 male congregants present at the beginning, but like in the US, people trickled in throughout the service, and there were about a dozen men and 8 woman at the end. One was a visiting Israeli couple. The ages ranged fairly evenly from about 30 to old. The services lasted about 2 hours.
After the services we were invited to participate in lunch. Most of the people were very friendly and the 4 or 5 who spoke English conversed with us. I was told that since it was summer attendance was reduced and that normally they had twice as many attendees. A rabbi visited periodically and they occasionally had a bar mitzvah. Lots of intermarriages and no hassles from the current government. A Russian woman warned us not to buy stones in India, "they are all pretty, but fake," but recommended spices, silk and cotton goods. She warned that the mosquitoes are terrible and Indians cheat.
We then went out to view the Russian Army War memorial. It is dedicated to the Russian soldiers who helped to liberate Bulgaria during the late 19th century Russo Turkish war. However, it was not built until 1954, allegedly in an effort by the Bulgarian leadership to show solidarity with the Soviet Union after a quashed revolt against the communist rulers. In any event, it is huge!
In the same park, a health fair was being held. There was live music (Billy Joel's "I'm in a New York State of Mind" was sung) and dancing, as well as lots of booths with handouts. One young lady pressed a condom into my hands. I took it as a compliment.
We then took to the road for the anticipated 6 hour drive to the Turkish border. Our travails with Turkish customs were detailed in a prior post, as well as our struggles to get to our hotel in Istanbul and the great hotel reception when we finally got there.
The following day, when we finally got on the right road to get out of Istanbul, we encountered a lot of traffic crossing the bridge, but then, commenced a nondescript 8-hour drive to Samsun on the Black Sea coast.
Tunnels and Tolls
During our three weeks on the road, I have passed through more tunnels than during the rest of my life, and I grew up regularly going through the trans Hudson Lincoln and Holland tunnels. Their presence was fortuitous, since the car really labors during ascents. Each countries' tunnels have their own character, style and hazards. When we entered the Alps we passed through a series of French tunnels that were well marked and lighted. However, many were one lane in each direction so you got headlights in your eyes.
The granddaddy of all tunnels is the tunnel under Mt. Blanc. You enter in France and after 12km you exit in Italy. Very well-lighted, two lanes in each direction with two tubes so no lights in your face. Lots of signage warning drivers to maintain safe distances, but I was surprised that changing lanes in the tunnel was permitted. It used to be administered jointly by separate French and Italian authorities. However, there was a fatal fire in the tunnel in 1999 that was exacerbated by the Italians pumping oxygen into the tunnel during the fire, so now it is administered by a single independent agency. The only drawback is the toll -- one could eat for a month on that fee.
We travelled through lots of Italian tunnels, a few as long as 6km. They were very good, well-lighted, multiple lanes and had great reflectors around the curves. As a group, the best of the bunch.
Then it slowly began to go downhill. A few tunnels in Slovenia where the lighting was not strong.
Croatia had lots of tunnels most of which were in good shape and not too long, but very curvy with good reflectors embedded in the curb.
Bosnia was different. Not a reflector in sight and very weak lighting. The tunnel walls were jagged rock.
Serbia hit rock bottom. The tunnels were not lit. Absolute darkness! When you first entered you could not see anything. The walls are jagged rock and had lots of water dripping. I am surprised that there is not carnage in those tunnels.
Bulgaria had few tunnels on our route, but the ones we passed through were seemingly very old and poorly maintained. Many lights were not working and they had narrow lanes going in two directions.
Things rebounded in Turkey where the tunnels are up to western standards.
Toll roads in France and Italy were very good and uncrowded, probably due to their very high tolls.
We did not drive on any toll roads during our short passage through Slovenia.
Croatia has a growing network of toll roads that are very good, very empty and even more expensive than their western European counterparts
Bosnia had no toll roads and for most or our wanderings in Serbia we could not find a toll road. I longed for one to get me out of there. When we finally found the Belgrade Sofia road, it was not only very good, but incredibly cheap.
Bulgaria did not have toll roads, but had one partially completed, excellent. road to Turkey.
Turkey has some very good toll roads. However I am afraid they are going to land me in jail here. There are no tickets at the entrances. Only unmanned gates, some showing signals (no English in the signage) for what I think is a transponder, which I do not have, and others with a quarter radio frequency signal which I have gone through without setting off any alarms or police chases. The same situation is present when we exit the road. I suspect that a picture of the license plate is being taken and we will be billed at the car owner's home. But that is in France and we won't be there for awhile. So we will see what happens when we try to re-enter Turkey in July.
We have repeatedly sought information on how to pay the Turkish tolls, but have not gotten any information. If anyone knows the answer please let us know.
The granddaddy of all tunnels is the tunnel under Mt. Blanc. You enter in France and after 12km you exit in Italy. Very well-lighted, two lanes in each direction with two tubes so no lights in your face. Lots of signage warning drivers to maintain safe distances, but I was surprised that changing lanes in the tunnel was permitted. It used to be administered jointly by separate French and Italian authorities. However, there was a fatal fire in the tunnel in 1999 that was exacerbated by the Italians pumping oxygen into the tunnel during the fire, so now it is administered by a single independent agency. The only drawback is the toll -- one could eat for a month on that fee.
We travelled through lots of Italian tunnels, a few as long as 6km. They were very good, well-lighted, multiple lanes and had great reflectors around the curves. As a group, the best of the bunch.
Then it slowly began to go downhill. A few tunnels in Slovenia where the lighting was not strong.
Croatia had lots of tunnels most of which were in good shape and not too long, but very curvy with good reflectors embedded in the curb.
Bosnia was different. Not a reflector in sight and very weak lighting. The tunnel walls were jagged rock.
Serbia hit rock bottom. The tunnels were not lit. Absolute darkness! When you first entered you could not see anything. The walls are jagged rock and had lots of water dripping. I am surprised that there is not carnage in those tunnels.
Bulgaria had few tunnels on our route, but the ones we passed through were seemingly very old and poorly maintained. Many lights were not working and they had narrow lanes going in two directions.
Things rebounded in Turkey where the tunnels are up to western standards.
Toll roads in France and Italy were very good and uncrowded, probably due to their very high tolls.
We did not drive on any toll roads during our short passage through Slovenia.
Croatia has a growing network of toll roads that are very good, very empty and even more expensive than their western European counterparts
Bosnia had no toll roads and for most or our wanderings in Serbia we could not find a toll road. I longed for one to get me out of there. When we finally found the Belgrade Sofia road, it was not only very good, but incredibly cheap.
Bulgaria did not have toll roads, but had one partially completed, excellent. road to Turkey.
Turkey has some very good toll roads. However I am afraid they are going to land me in jail here. There are no tickets at the entrances. Only unmanned gates, some showing signals (no English in the signage) for what I think is a transponder, which I do not have, and others with a quarter radio frequency signal which I have gone through without setting off any alarms or police chases. The same situation is present when we exit the road. I suspect that a picture of the license plate is being taken and we will be billed at the car owner's home. But that is in France and we won't be there for awhile. So we will see what happens when we try to re-enter Turkey in July.
We have repeatedly sought information on how to pay the Turkish tolls, but have not gotten any information. If anyone knows the answer please let us know.
Istanbul
Saturday May 16
Following our adventures with Turkish Customs, it was about 7:30, so we decided to proceed on to Istanbul rather than stay in the border town of Edrine, since I wanted to get closer to the ultimate destination and I figured that Istanbul would be more interesting than Edrine. So we booked a hotel in Istanbul on the European side from the car using the Booking.com mobile app. Sometimes you can get a good price on that at the last minute. My only concern was finding the hotel and driving in a strange city in the dark, but I grew up in NYC and drove a cab there, so I thought, how hard could it be.
We made very good time getting to Istanbul. One of the little games I play while long distance driving is whether I can beat the estimated time of arrival of the GPS, and in this case we were 30 minutes ahead of the machine. So when we got to the outskirts of Istanbul I was feeling pretty good, two hours ahead of the master travel plan and looking forward to eating a good dinner.
Istanbul is huge. 50% bigger than NYC and a road system that seemingly dates back to Byzantine times, pedestrians who think that jaywalking laws (are there any here?) do not apply to them, commerce being conducted on the lane deviders, (even I do not want to stop driving to buy ice cream, but apparently others disagree) lots of buses and drivers who are very aggressive about filling any space on the road regardless of size or lane markings. The map was useless and even with two GPS systems going we could not stay on the blue line. (The arrow kept maddeningly going askew.) The street names were indecipherable and unrecognizable to us and too many were one way. Four times I drove over the Bosphorus (fortunately no tolls) and even as we were near the hotel, tantalizingly close at times, we could not locate it. Finally I parked on the sidewalk (very common practice there) and set out on foot to find the Blisstanbil Hotel. The police did not speak English and the directions I received at the first hotel I found were wrong. A second hotel staff was more helpful and as the GPS says, "I found my destination."
The hotel staff was marvelous. They had my reservation and asked where I had been. They gave me directions on how to drive to the hotel, but I pleaded exhaustion and despair, so one staffer accompanied me back to the car and drove it to the hotel while I walked there. When Karen and the car arrived they drove the car off to some lot, took our luggage upstairs and gave us some Turkish beers. We then had about an hour-long discussion about the NBA and its playoffs, one staffer had just watched the Golden State--Memphis game, Turkish players in the NBA, NYC and its skyscrapers ("you never see the sun there") and the hotel jobs that the head clerk had held in the US. He then pulled out an expired Virginia drivers license and that initiated a Virginia discussion. That went on for about an hour until about midnight.
Then they set us up for dinner at the Shishily Cafe and Bistro. Lamb and steak were probably not the best choices for a post midnight meal, but it was good.
The next morning we did not get down until about 11. The new staff crew had heard about us from the prior crew. They wanted to know why we had not come down earlier for breakfast (we did not think it was part of our package since the price was so low). One asked if we had spoken with the desk clerk for an hour, why he hadn't told us about breakfast. The breakfast buffet was a very nice spread.
When we finished breakfast the car reappeared and we were off with directions that I promptly could not follow. The bridge I had crossed so often the night before was now elusive. After a couple of illegal u-turns and 30 minutes (that was half of my wanderings the prior night) we made it across the Straits and into Asia.
We will return to Istanbul and that hotel in July.
Following our adventures with Turkish Customs, it was about 7:30, so we decided to proceed on to Istanbul rather than stay in the border town of Edrine, since I wanted to get closer to the ultimate destination and I figured that Istanbul would be more interesting than Edrine. So we booked a hotel in Istanbul on the European side from the car using the Booking.com mobile app. Sometimes you can get a good price on that at the last minute. My only concern was finding the hotel and driving in a strange city in the dark, but I grew up in NYC and drove a cab there, so I thought, how hard could it be.
We made very good time getting to Istanbul. One of the little games I play while long distance driving is whether I can beat the estimated time of arrival of the GPS, and in this case we were 30 minutes ahead of the machine. So when we got to the outskirts of Istanbul I was feeling pretty good, two hours ahead of the master travel plan and looking forward to eating a good dinner.
Istanbul is huge. 50% bigger than NYC and a road system that seemingly dates back to Byzantine times, pedestrians who think that jaywalking laws (are there any here?) do not apply to them, commerce being conducted on the lane deviders, (even I do not want to stop driving to buy ice cream, but apparently others disagree) lots of buses and drivers who are very aggressive about filling any space on the road regardless of size or lane markings. The map was useless and even with two GPS systems going we could not stay on the blue line. (The arrow kept maddeningly going askew.) The street names were indecipherable and unrecognizable to us and too many were one way. Four times I drove over the Bosphorus (fortunately no tolls) and even as we were near the hotel, tantalizingly close at times, we could not locate it. Finally I parked on the sidewalk (very common practice there) and set out on foot to find the Blisstanbil Hotel. The police did not speak English and the directions I received at the first hotel I found were wrong. A second hotel staff was more helpful and as the GPS says, "I found my destination."
The hotel staff was marvelous. They had my reservation and asked where I had been. They gave me directions on how to drive to the hotel, but I pleaded exhaustion and despair, so one staffer accompanied me back to the car and drove it to the hotel while I walked there. When Karen and the car arrived they drove the car off to some lot, took our luggage upstairs and gave us some Turkish beers. We then had about an hour-long discussion about the NBA and its playoffs, one staffer had just watched the Golden State--Memphis game, Turkish players in the NBA, NYC and its skyscrapers ("you never see the sun there") and the hotel jobs that the head clerk had held in the US. He then pulled out an expired Virginia drivers license and that initiated a Virginia discussion. That went on for about an hour until about midnight.
Then they set us up for dinner at the Shishily Cafe and Bistro. Lamb and steak were probably not the best choices for a post midnight meal, but it was good.
The next morning we did not get down until about 11. The new staff crew had heard about us from the prior crew. They wanted to know why we had not come down earlier for breakfast (we did not think it was part of our package since the price was so low). One asked if we had spoken with the desk clerk for an hour, why he hadn't told us about breakfast. The breakfast buffet was a very nice spread.
When we finished breakfast the car reappeared and we were off with directions that I promptly could not follow. The bridge I had crossed so often the night before was now elusive. After a couple of illegal u-turns and 30 minutes (that was half of my wanderings the prior night) we made it across the Straits and into Asia.
We will return to Istanbul and that hotel in July.
Sunday, May 17, 2015
Borders
Sunday May 17
We have been traveling for 3 weeks.
As we have traveled east, the border crossings have become increasingly lengthy, difficult and intrusive.
1. France to Italy - we entered a 12km tunnel in France and emerged into Italy. The only change was the language. No immigration and not even a welcome sign
2. Italy to Slovenia - No immigration, and thus no stamp, but there was a welcome sign.
3. Slovenia to Croatia - Cursory passage through Slovenia customs (and a stamp on the way out) and a review and stamp by Croatian immigration.
4. Croatia into a small Bosnian land bridge to the sea - Croatian immigration looked at our passports. The Bosnian official waved us through while looking at his phone. This happened twice so it was not a fluke.
5. Croatia into the main body of Bosnia - Easily passed through immigration but then directed in Bosnian to Customs, which I drove past causing some consternation. Reviewed the car information without further incident.
6. Croatia into Serbia - This was a comedy. There was a ramshackle immigration shack. The immigration official spoke absolutely no English. After he reviewed our passports and stamped them, he wanted us to do something else. I tried to use hand signals, but to no avail. Finally in apparent disgust, he just waved us through.
7. Serbia into Bulgaria - This occurred at midnight. The Serbian official just stamped us through. A little wait for cars at Bulgarian immigration, but the truck line stretched into the horizon and did not seem to be moving. The official reviewed and stamped our passports and asked about our intended stay and travels. Pleasant, but then we had to pay for a vignette and something else. Hard to find the shack to do that and it took some time, but ultimately the cost was 10 euro.
8. Bulgaria to Turkey - So far the mother of all crossings. The truck line going out of Bulgaria stretched over 3km. The car line was a 30 minute wait, to get OUT. When we arrived at the immigration station, the Bulgarian official was very pleasant, stamped our passports and asked where we were going. When we told him Georgia, he asked incredulously, "in that car?" Then we arrived at Turkish immigration. About a 20 minute wait. The Turkish official was very serious, asked about our prior and intended travels and passed us through. I thought that we were home free. However we had to go to Customs. I noticed that Customs made all bus passengers disembark and remove their luggage which they proceeded to go through bag by bag. In the car line, it was a madhouse with people getting out of their cars and jumping the line (what line?). The customs official was troubled by the fact that the owner of the car, Karen's daughter, was not entering and kept asking for authentication. Sort of simultaneously another customs official opened our trunk and asked about the contents. i told him it was all clothes and he affixed a bar code to the car. Finally the first customs official after repeatedly saying nada and pointing to his eyes, referred us to D-3. That turned out to be the Narcotics and Smuggling unit. Halting English spoken there. The focus was on the fact that the daughter owned the car. They wanted a form, notarized statement from the owner that we were authorized to drive the car. After much calling, texting and e-mailing with the daughter, the official granted approval. Total border time almost 2 hours.
P.S. Throughtout this process, we repeatedly encountered a woman hitchhiker who seemingly just walked through customs.
P.S.S.: after leaving the immigration area we got on a toll road. However, there was no place to take a ticket. I went into the roadside building and tried to explain that I did not have a transponder. The official just waved me on with a whistle and a pointed thumb. I was worried about how i would get off the toll road, but there was no barrier at the exit, so I just drove through the toll station. Maybe they will send Summer (the car owner) a bill. Hopefully, I will still be able to leave Turkey.
We have been traveling for 3 weeks.
As we have traveled east, the border crossings have become increasingly lengthy, difficult and intrusive.
1. France to Italy - we entered a 12km tunnel in France and emerged into Italy. The only change was the language. No immigration and not even a welcome sign
2. Italy to Slovenia - No immigration, and thus no stamp, but there was a welcome sign.
3. Slovenia to Croatia - Cursory passage through Slovenia customs (and a stamp on the way out) and a review and stamp by Croatian immigration.
4. Croatia into a small Bosnian land bridge to the sea - Croatian immigration looked at our passports. The Bosnian official waved us through while looking at his phone. This happened twice so it was not a fluke.
5. Croatia into the main body of Bosnia - Easily passed through immigration but then directed in Bosnian to Customs, which I drove past causing some consternation. Reviewed the car information without further incident.
6. Croatia into Serbia - This was a comedy. There was a ramshackle immigration shack. The immigration official spoke absolutely no English. After he reviewed our passports and stamped them, he wanted us to do something else. I tried to use hand signals, but to no avail. Finally in apparent disgust, he just waved us through.
7. Serbia into Bulgaria - This occurred at midnight. The Serbian official just stamped us through. A little wait for cars at Bulgarian immigration, but the truck line stretched into the horizon and did not seem to be moving. The official reviewed and stamped our passports and asked about our intended stay and travels. Pleasant, but then we had to pay for a vignette and something else. Hard to find the shack to do that and it took some time, but ultimately the cost was 10 euro.
8. Bulgaria to Turkey - So far the mother of all crossings. The truck line going out of Bulgaria stretched over 3km. The car line was a 30 minute wait, to get OUT. When we arrived at the immigration station, the Bulgarian official was very pleasant, stamped our passports and asked where we were going. When we told him Georgia, he asked incredulously, "in that car?" Then we arrived at Turkish immigration. About a 20 minute wait. The Turkish official was very serious, asked about our prior and intended travels and passed us through. I thought that we were home free. However we had to go to Customs. I noticed that Customs made all bus passengers disembark and remove their luggage which they proceeded to go through bag by bag. In the car line, it was a madhouse with people getting out of their cars and jumping the line (what line?). The customs official was troubled by the fact that the owner of the car, Karen's daughter, was not entering and kept asking for authentication. Sort of simultaneously another customs official opened our trunk and asked about the contents. i told him it was all clothes and he affixed a bar code to the car. Finally the first customs official after repeatedly saying nada and pointing to his eyes, referred us to D-3. That turned out to be the Narcotics and Smuggling unit. Halting English spoken there. The focus was on the fact that the daughter owned the car. They wanted a form, notarized statement from the owner that we were authorized to drive the car. After much calling, texting and e-mailing with the daughter, the official granted approval. Total border time almost 2 hours.
P.S. Throughtout this process, we repeatedly encountered a woman hitchhiker who seemingly just walked through customs.
P.S.S.: after leaving the immigration area we got on a toll road. However, there was no place to take a ticket. I went into the roadside building and tried to explain that I did not have a transponder. The official just waved me on with a whistle and a pointed thumb. I was worried about how i would get off the toll road, but there was no barrier at the exit, so I just drove through the toll station. Maybe they will send Summer (the car owner) a bill. Hopefully, I will still be able to leave Turkey.
Friday, May 15, 2015
A Wonderful Day
This occurred on Wednesday, May 13 in Sarajevo, Bosnia.
The day began as a usual touring, non-driving day. Made breakfast in our terrific apartment in Old Town and actually did some laundry. Rescued those socks from multiple use. Then I did something that I had not done in a very long time, hung wet clothes on a clothesline in the courtyard. Not too hard.
We began following the tour book self walk, with deviations as we saw something interesting. One of those was to go into the newly renovated City Hall, a building that had originally been constructed by the Austrians in the late 19th century, but as had much of Sarajevo, been destroyed in the siege. It was finally rebuilt with money from Qatar (see the Serbs are saying, radical muslims) and opened only last year. There were lots of photographs and historical accounts and artifacts from the rich Sarajevo history and then we went upstairs to look at the building.
There I saw a sort of bohemian looking guy with a younger and older woman. He was taking a picture of the women and I went over to ask if he wanted me to take a picture of all of them. I did and then asked him to take a picture of us. After that we began to talk. He is originally from Sarajevo, but has lived overseas for a long time. It was around lunch time and he asked if we liked lamb. We replied that we did and he asked us to follow him to what he characterized as the best lamb restaurant in Sarajevo.
But first we went for a beer. During the drinking he disappeared abruptly. His daughter, who lived in the US for a time said that her father regularly did that. The older woman is his cousin. She previously was the Chief Justice in the Bosnian Constitutional Court, now retired.
He came back and said that he had to get money, but said that he had been very lucky with money all his life. After some of us finished our beers, we got into two cabs. We were in the first one going to an address designated by our new friend. We went way up into the Sarajevo hills to where the Serbian artillery probably had been stationed during the siege. When we arrived there were police and several Secret Service like persons guarding the place. Our new friend's cab did not arrive for a while and I wondered if this was a joke. However, he arrived shortly thereafter with the women and explained that he needed to get money.
The restaurant was Kibe Mahala. It was beautifully laid out on the hillside, and the meal was spectacular. A 6-course meal with some of the best lamb I have ever eaten. Topped off by an orange-flavored chocolate tort with vanilla ice cream and Bosnian style Turkish coffee which I was instructed to consume by dipping a sugar cube into the coffee, biting off the soaked portion and then sipping the coffee to dissolve the sugar. This from a man who dumped huge quantities of sugar into his fresh fruit drink.
However the most interesting part of the meal was conversing with him. He is a self-made man who rejected the use of his family's influence in Sarajevo to make his fortune in chess and art. About my age, he is very opinionated and charismatic. Very interesting discussions with him about his perceptions of the US and his view that Europe is dying due to its heavy reliance of family and connections rather than merit, and its resistance/inability to assimilate immigrants. To my relief he declined my offer to pay for the meal and he picked up the entire check. I think that his daughter and cousin were annoyed at him due to the attention he paid to us throughout the meal.
It was a three-hour meal and we departed taking separate cabs down the hillside.
After that we resumed our tour of Sarajevo. We went to a synagogue whose congregation went back to 1581 and whose building is almost 300 years old. Refugees from the inquisition and another example of Sarajevo's remarkable level of tolerance, no mater who was in charge.
That of course was ripped apart by the Bosnian war in general and the siege of Sarajevo in particular. Many buildings still remain destroyed and lots show the effects of bullets and mortar shells; some look as if they have the measles with their patched repairs. One major, and wide thoroughfare was referred to as Snipers Alley and, despite lots of reconstruction, still shows the effects of the siege. It was within the sights of the Serbian snipers who (of all places) stationed themselevs in the old Jewish cemetery in the hillside and shot at anything that moved. To cross that area during daylight the only protection was crouching in the shadow of a UN armored vehicle. Apparently the European UN troops were studiously neutral. They did not stop either side from shooting. It was only after 3.8 years when a couple of Serbian shells landed in the market [we wandered through there and purchased some tomatoes and cucumber for dinner] and killed a few hundred people that Clinton/Albright got NATO approval to bomb the Serbians, who then agreed to negotiations within two days. Many of the Sarajevoians are still bitter about that. Our new friend, who was not there during the siege, described it as strikingly extreme and Machiavellian on the part of the Serbs.
Theer is a very moving memorial to the 1100 children who were killed during the siege and we saw the first McDonald's in Bosnia. It apparently has not dented sales of the grilled meats that seem to be very popular here.
Patronized the post office whose rates are less than half of those in Italy.
Walked on the Latin Bridge that crossed the river (the same one the flows under the Mostar Bridge) where Archduke Ferdinand and his wife (a commoner who had a two-year affair with the Archduke before they were married, who had to get the Pope's approval for their marriage had to renounce their children's rights to the throne -- probably better for them) were assassinated in 1914, thus triggering WWI. The assassin was too young to be executed, but he died in prison in 1918. Yugoslavia erected a statue of the assassin, which Hitler had chopped up and sent to him for his birthday. The Austrians erected a statue honoring the Archduke, which the Yugoslaves chopped up. We saw that a plaque recognizing that statue had been pulverized. Memories do not die in the Balkans, and I will always recall this wonderful day.
The day began as a usual touring, non-driving day. Made breakfast in our terrific apartment in Old Town and actually did some laundry. Rescued those socks from multiple use. Then I did something that I had not done in a very long time, hung wet clothes on a clothesline in the courtyard. Not too hard.
We began following the tour book self walk, with deviations as we saw something interesting. One of those was to go into the newly renovated City Hall, a building that had originally been constructed by the Austrians in the late 19th century, but as had much of Sarajevo, been destroyed in the siege. It was finally rebuilt with money from Qatar (see the Serbs are saying, radical muslims) and opened only last year. There were lots of photographs and historical accounts and artifacts from the rich Sarajevo history and then we went upstairs to look at the building.
There I saw a sort of bohemian looking guy with a younger and older woman. He was taking a picture of the women and I went over to ask if he wanted me to take a picture of all of them. I did and then asked him to take a picture of us. After that we began to talk. He is originally from Sarajevo, but has lived overseas for a long time. It was around lunch time and he asked if we liked lamb. We replied that we did and he asked us to follow him to what he characterized as the best lamb restaurant in Sarajevo.
But first we went for a beer. During the drinking he disappeared abruptly. His daughter, who lived in the US for a time said that her father regularly did that. The older woman is his cousin. She previously was the Chief Justice in the Bosnian Constitutional Court, now retired.
He came back and said that he had to get money, but said that he had been very lucky with money all his life. After some of us finished our beers, we got into two cabs. We were in the first one going to an address designated by our new friend. We went way up into the Sarajevo hills to where the Serbian artillery probably had been stationed during the siege. When we arrived there were police and several Secret Service like persons guarding the place. Our new friend's cab did not arrive for a while and I wondered if this was a joke. However, he arrived shortly thereafter with the women and explained that he needed to get money.
The restaurant was Kibe Mahala. It was beautifully laid out on the hillside, and the meal was spectacular. A 6-course meal with some of the best lamb I have ever eaten. Topped off by an orange-flavored chocolate tort with vanilla ice cream and Bosnian style Turkish coffee which I was instructed to consume by dipping a sugar cube into the coffee, biting off the soaked portion and then sipping the coffee to dissolve the sugar. This from a man who dumped huge quantities of sugar into his fresh fruit drink.
However the most interesting part of the meal was conversing with him. He is a self-made man who rejected the use of his family's influence in Sarajevo to make his fortune in chess and art. About my age, he is very opinionated and charismatic. Very interesting discussions with him about his perceptions of the US and his view that Europe is dying due to its heavy reliance of family and connections rather than merit, and its resistance/inability to assimilate immigrants. To my relief he declined my offer to pay for the meal and he picked up the entire check. I think that his daughter and cousin were annoyed at him due to the attention he paid to us throughout the meal.
It was a three-hour meal and we departed taking separate cabs down the hillside.
After that we resumed our tour of Sarajevo. We went to a synagogue whose congregation went back to 1581 and whose building is almost 300 years old. Refugees from the inquisition and another example of Sarajevo's remarkable level of tolerance, no mater who was in charge.
That of course was ripped apart by the Bosnian war in general and the siege of Sarajevo in particular. Many buildings still remain destroyed and lots show the effects of bullets and mortar shells; some look as if they have the measles with their patched repairs. One major, and wide thoroughfare was referred to as Snipers Alley and, despite lots of reconstruction, still shows the effects of the siege. It was within the sights of the Serbian snipers who (of all places) stationed themselevs in the old Jewish cemetery in the hillside and shot at anything that moved. To cross that area during daylight the only protection was crouching in the shadow of a UN armored vehicle. Apparently the European UN troops were studiously neutral. They did not stop either side from shooting. It was only after 3.8 years when a couple of Serbian shells landed in the market [we wandered through there and purchased some tomatoes and cucumber for dinner] and killed a few hundred people that Clinton/Albright got NATO approval to bomb the Serbians, who then agreed to negotiations within two days. Many of the Sarajevoians are still bitter about that. Our new friend, who was not there during the siege, described it as strikingly extreme and Machiavellian on the part of the Serbs.
Theer is a very moving memorial to the 1100 children who were killed during the siege and we saw the first McDonald's in Bosnia. It apparently has not dented sales of the grilled meats that seem to be very popular here.
Patronized the post office whose rates are less than half of those in Italy.
Walked on the Latin Bridge that crossed the river (the same one the flows under the Mostar Bridge) where Archduke Ferdinand and his wife (a commoner who had a two-year affair with the Archduke before they were married, who had to get the Pope's approval for their marriage had to renounce their children's rights to the throne -- probably better for them) were assassinated in 1914, thus triggering WWI. The assassin was too young to be executed, but he died in prison in 1918. Yugoslavia erected a statue of the assassin, which Hitler had chopped up and sent to him for his birthday. The Austrians erected a statue honoring the Archduke, which the Yugoslaves chopped up. We saw that a plaque recognizing that statue had been pulverized. Memories do not die in the Balkans, and I will always recall this wonderful day.
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
"I just want to be a Citizen of Bosnia"
Tuesday May 12
It was very poignant and I felt helpless. Let me explain. After an interesting and "blind" ride through Bosnia to Mostar we arrived at and stayed at a wonderful B&B, the Shangri La. It is a gorgeously restored Austrian Hungarian (that empire ruled Bosnia for about 40 years until the end of WWI and they did a lot of building of both structures and infrastructure, and much of what we have seen in Bosnia dates from that period) building on a hill (driving up to it required ascending a steep and narrow passage way. We saw a delivery truck decline to do it, but the Twingo managed it without difficulty, albeit in first gear.) Above the Old Town (very quiet because of the distance) and squeezed between war ruins. (In this city, it was the Croats doing the besieging of the Bosnians). It is run by a wonderful young couple, both of whom spoke English very well.
During our visit we had several long discussions with the husband, and he described with evident pain how the ethnic and religious divisions of the residents have been exploited by the leaders of the various communities to the detriment of the people. He described how prior to the war, the various communities lived together and intermarried in peace. Yet, once Yugoslavia began to break up, the leaders stirred up hatred against "others" and most importantly fostered a commitment and identification only to their own community through propaganda. He said that the Serb leaders told their people that the Bosniaks were intent on setting up a fundamentalist Muslim state and the Croats told their people that the Serbs were out to subjugate them, and incredibly gruesome violence (rape camps, mass and indiscriminate slaughter and ethnic cleansing).
No longer did people identify as a Yugoslav, or Bosnian, but as a Croat, Serb, Bosniak or other. He said that in Italy you could be a Catholic, Jew or Secilian, but you still identified as Italian. Starting in 1992, that was not the case in Bosnia. He cited the Bosnian constitutional provision that the rotating presidency could only be held by a Croat, Serb, or Bosniak (a Muslin Bosnian) and thus, he cannot be President since he cannot or will not identify as such in the census. (I never did find out what he is.) He wondered why Europe had permitted the war in Bosnia to go on for over 3 years before intervening, and said that he just wanted to be a citizen of Bosnia.
Leaving Debrovnik earlier in the day we tried to take a back route to Mostar by going through the Serb dominated Republika Srpska (one of the three units in Bosnia). However, after climbing several switchbacks into the cliffs above Dubrovnik, we lost our GPS and I feared that we were hopelessly lost on narrow one-lane roads with trucks periodically coming at us. At the advice of a local Croat who asked where we were going ("Mostar, that's another country!" and implying why would anyone what to go there), we followed him back down the cliffs and took the coastal road north before turning inland into Bosnia. Very cursory immigration inspection going into Bosnia. There were scores of fruit and vegetable stands lining the road in that area because of the abundant agriculture on the coastal delta. We stopped at one of the stands, but had a wild time trying to communicate with the stand's operators. We managed to sample several unknown fruits, dates and some candied items (I was no longer hungry), and then safely settled on a bag of tangerines. very fresh and juicy.
We lost our GPS direction lady soon after leaving Dubrovnik, so we had to use very small maps and road signs. It was an adventure. When we got to Mostar we sailed right past the B&B sign on a one way street. The wife (who looked as if you could drop her into Springfield IL and she would easily pass for an American until she opened her mouth) gave us very detailed directions that required us to drive around town and cross over the river twice, but they worked.
We walked around town and had dinner in a local eatery. A couple of young men were in there and they were passing around a young son with obvious pride. Grilled meat is the favored dish in Bosnia so we sampled two of them. Usual futile effort to get tap water. I ended up with bottled water that tasted no different than the tap water I obtained from the restroom. The baklava was very tasty.
Then we walked to see THE BRIDGE. It was a 400-year old structure that was very striking and a symbol of the Bosniak culture. The Croats bombed it during their seige, claiming that the Bosniaks were using it for military purposes. Of course, there were lots of other bridges that they did not bomb. It was rebuilt with international aid and using the same materials and techniques as when it was originally built.
Returned to a great view of Mostar from the roof of our B&B.
It was very poignant and I felt helpless. Let me explain. After an interesting and "blind" ride through Bosnia to Mostar we arrived at and stayed at a wonderful B&B, the Shangri La. It is a gorgeously restored Austrian Hungarian (that empire ruled Bosnia for about 40 years until the end of WWI and they did a lot of building of both structures and infrastructure, and much of what we have seen in Bosnia dates from that period) building on a hill (driving up to it required ascending a steep and narrow passage way. We saw a delivery truck decline to do it, but the Twingo managed it without difficulty, albeit in first gear.) Above the Old Town (very quiet because of the distance) and squeezed between war ruins. (In this city, it was the Croats doing the besieging of the Bosnians). It is run by a wonderful young couple, both of whom spoke English very well.
During our visit we had several long discussions with the husband, and he described with evident pain how the ethnic and religious divisions of the residents have been exploited by the leaders of the various communities to the detriment of the people. He described how prior to the war, the various communities lived together and intermarried in peace. Yet, once Yugoslavia began to break up, the leaders stirred up hatred against "others" and most importantly fostered a commitment and identification only to their own community through propaganda. He said that the Serb leaders told their people that the Bosniaks were intent on setting up a fundamentalist Muslim state and the Croats told their people that the Serbs were out to subjugate them, and incredibly gruesome violence (rape camps, mass and indiscriminate slaughter and ethnic cleansing).
No longer did people identify as a Yugoslav, or Bosnian, but as a Croat, Serb, Bosniak or other. He said that in Italy you could be a Catholic, Jew or Secilian, but you still identified as Italian. Starting in 1992, that was not the case in Bosnia. He cited the Bosnian constitutional provision that the rotating presidency could only be held by a Croat, Serb, or Bosniak (a Muslin Bosnian) and thus, he cannot be President since he cannot or will not identify as such in the census. (I never did find out what he is.) He wondered why Europe had permitted the war in Bosnia to go on for over 3 years before intervening, and said that he just wanted to be a citizen of Bosnia.
Leaving Debrovnik earlier in the day we tried to take a back route to Mostar by going through the Serb dominated Republika Srpska (one of the three units in Bosnia). However, after climbing several switchbacks into the cliffs above Dubrovnik, we lost our GPS and I feared that we were hopelessly lost on narrow one-lane roads with trucks periodically coming at us. At the advice of a local Croat who asked where we were going ("Mostar, that's another country!" and implying why would anyone what to go there), we followed him back down the cliffs and took the coastal road north before turning inland into Bosnia. Very cursory immigration inspection going into Bosnia. There were scores of fruit and vegetable stands lining the road in that area because of the abundant agriculture on the coastal delta. We stopped at one of the stands, but had a wild time trying to communicate with the stand's operators. We managed to sample several unknown fruits, dates and some candied items (I was no longer hungry), and then safely settled on a bag of tangerines. very fresh and juicy.
We lost our GPS direction lady soon after leaving Dubrovnik, so we had to use very small maps and road signs. It was an adventure. When we got to Mostar we sailed right past the B&B sign on a one way street. The wife (who looked as if you could drop her into Springfield IL and she would easily pass for an American until she opened her mouth) gave us very detailed directions that required us to drive around town and cross over the river twice, but they worked.
We walked around town and had dinner in a local eatery. A couple of young men were in there and they were passing around a young son with obvious pride. Grilled meat is the favored dish in Bosnia so we sampled two of them. Usual futile effort to get tap water. I ended up with bottled water that tasted no different than the tap water I obtained from the restroom. The baklava was very tasty.
Then we walked to see THE BRIDGE. It was a 400-year old structure that was very striking and a symbol of the Bosniak culture. The Croats bombed it during their seige, claiming that the Bosniaks were using it for military purposes. Of course, there were lots of other bridges that they did not bomb. It was rebuilt with international aid and using the same materials and techniques as when it was originally built.
Returned to a great view of Mostar from the roof of our B&B.
Missing Free Weefee…………Risking Columbus-like Blunders
No matter how many times I hear "weefee," it takes a moment to translate it to wifi. For international travel, you can't beat T-Mobile's plans. But, alas, Bosnia Herzegovina is outside of coverage. Well, at least, the free, don't-have-to-take-out-a-second-mortgage kind of coverage. So we were sorely missing that GPS lady and her directions to turn left on "unintelligible road name, slash, unintelligible road name, slash, unintelligible number, slash, unintelligible number." So we were on our own in getting to the Shangri La in Mostar -- Jonathan's eagle eyes saved the day when he spotted the road sign. And it was even trickier in Sarajevo. We snagged a tourist map with pictures of the noteworthy buildings with a key to their location on the map, which helped us get acclimated to the city layout. It only took about 3 or 4 circles around the very long block in rush hour traffic to find our lovely apartment nestled in a tiny street that leads to a pedestrian way into Old Town.
But getting to Bosnia didn't go as planned. The GPS lady took an early exit as we tried to leave Croatia by a scenic back road into Bosnia. We wound up near Mount Srd, which is the hilltop where Napoleon built a fort and the cable car transports tourists. It is also where Dubrovnik was defended and the site of unexploded land mines and God knows what else……which have been cleaned out since the war. Or have they? We decided not to risk more misdirections, especially since the road was single-laned and very popular with trucks coming from the opposite direction. When we were approached by a friendly Croatian who noticed us pondering the map……"you want to go to Bosnia? That is another country; this is Croatia;" we took his advice and followed him back down into Dubrovnik and the coastal route through Neum and its redundant border crossings and ultimately into Bosnia. GPS lady, we're missing you, but at least we haven't made a mistake as big as the one made by Columbus.
But getting to Bosnia didn't go as planned. The GPS lady took an early exit as we tried to leave Croatia by a scenic back road into Bosnia. We wound up near Mount Srd, which is the hilltop where Napoleon built a fort and the cable car transports tourists. It is also where Dubrovnik was defended and the site of unexploded land mines and God knows what else……which have been cleaned out since the war. Or have they? We decided not to risk more misdirections, especially since the road was single-laned and very popular with trucks coming from the opposite direction. When we were approached by a friendly Croatian who noticed us pondering the map……"you want to go to Bosnia? That is another country; this is Croatia;" we took his advice and followed him back down into Dubrovnik and the coastal route through Neum and its redundant border crossings and ultimately into Bosnia. GPS lady, we're missing you, but at least we haven't made a mistake as big as the one made by Columbus.
Monday, May 11, 2015
Besieged and Besieger, From Dubrovnik to Mostar
Monday, May 11, hey we have been wandering around for over 2 weeks now and I still have not done any laundry.
Spent most of the day in Dubrovnik, walking the walls and then visiting some of the town's few other attractions.
Look, I know that Dubrovnik is a 5-star attraction, that busloads of tourists come in each day by the scores, and thousands of tourists are regularly dumped into the town when the cruise ships arrive and disgorge their eager shutterbugs. If it needed further attractions, it is the site (along with other Croatian sites) of many scenes from HBO's Games of Thrones (if you are not aware of or familiar with that show, congratulations to you for having a life outside of television) -- thus spawning Game of Thrones' tours. (I am not kidding. I even overheard one tour guide describing the history of the city in part based on the rivalry between the Lannisters and the Starks.) While it is definitely worth a visit, I think it is a one-trick town, a great looking historical museum piece, with few if any attractions other than the town itself. Unlike Split or Rovinj, which have both history and great looking old towns, albeit much smaller than Dubrovnik's, those towns are living organisms with real people living there. Dubrovnik has about 1000 residents, all the rest have fled to the suburbs and rented out their apartments to the tourists.
While Dubrovnik is chock full of restaurants, virtually all of them seem to be the same and I am told by a few that they are mostly mediocre. We chose to eat lunch in a vegan restaurant, Nishta with an Asian flair (we met an Irish couple, mother, daughter and son) there from Doolan where we had just been 3 months ago) to get out of the pasta, seafood, pizza, ice cream rut. Plus Dubrovnik is very expensive. Most expensive ice cream and accommodations in Croatia and we were not there in high season.
Walking the ramparts of the city walls is the prime activity. It is about a mile and a half of ups and downs with lots of stairs (better exercise than climbing the stairs in Sand Dune Park) and views of the city, ocean and mountains. You also see some of the residents' drying laundry and sitting on their balconies. Two soccer/basketball courts on roofs. if you race around it you can do it in an hour. I suspect that in the summer behind tour groups it could take 3 hours. It all looks great, but after that, not much. We went to a few galleries, a Croatian folk museum -- they are big on festivals and dressing up in animal masks, and the Rector's Palace. The rector was elected by the nobility, a bit of democracy way before the English or US, but due to their fear of one person accumulating too much power, the rector's term was limited to one month. However during that month he got to sleep in a great building. Some other attractions were closed on Monday, but it all seemed to be filler, stuff for the tourists to do after they had finished the wall and before it was time to eat.
If I had the chance I would have done sea kayaking. I think it would have been memorable to paddle around the walls and out to the islands. Maybe even to Italy.
There were also exhibits, including a lot of photographs, about the 1991-92 siege of Dubrovnik by the Serbs. The narratives spoke of the blood-thirsty Serbs and Montenegarians. I suspect that being besieged is not a lot of fun (no electricity, foul-smelling water and limited food) and the Serbs did some terrible stuff, targeting religious buildings and monuments and residential neighborhoods; but the Croats' exhibit was one-sided, narcissitic and overblown. 300 hundred people were killed, 100 of whom were civilians. Not good, but compare that to the Battle of Britain or what was soon to go on in Sarajevo. Moreover, just as Dubrovnik was being besieged, their Croat cousins up north were besieging the Bosnians in Mostar. In that action the Croats blew up the 400-year old Mostar Bridge for no reason other than it was a cultural symbol for the Bosnians.
That gets to my last topic, the Balkan wars of the 1990s. That period was not kind to the Balkans and to Bosnia in particular. There seems to be no logic to what happened and it was obvious from talking to several of the residents that it was a very painful period, when many suffered, lost relatives and some were even today reluctant to talk about it. From my memory of events [I was single during some of that period so I had a lot of free time to read about it in the NY Times after I put the kids to sleep], it seems that Tito had managed to make the many nationalities, ethnic groups and religious groups live together peacefully. There was even a fair amount of intermarriage among the groups. Sarajevo was described as a multi-cultural exemplar during the 1984 winder Olympics. Some of the people we spoke to still spoke of Tito in reverential terms. However, with his death the long simmering hatreds among these groups began bubbling up. As far back as the 12th century when the Croatian kings died out, the Croats threw themselves upon the mercies of the Hungarians as a counterweight against the Serbs (that was a mistake sine it took the Croats 600 years to get their independence back.) In the 20s a Croat parliamentarian leader was assassinated by a Serb. In the 30s a Croat nationalist movement developed with the goal of creating a Greater Croatia. In the 40s after the Germans overran the Balkans, they set up an Independent State of Croatia, which promptly murdered hundreds of thousands of Serbs, as well as a few tens of thousands of Jews and gypsies that were around.
Then the Soviet Union imploded with 15 new countries created and the other eastern block nations threw off their communist regimes (I recall the killing of the hated Romanian ruler and his wife). The Slovenes (don't get them confused with the Slovakians up north or the Slavonians further south) pressed for more freedom within the Yugoslavian federation, and ultimately voted for independence. They were getting increasingly concerned about the antics of the new Yugoslavian leader who was running around Kosovo telling the minority Serbs there that he would use the militray to defend their rights. That was too much for the Slovenes and the Croats, who declared independence. The Serbs, who were the big shots in Yugoslavia, resisted and sent in the Yugoslavian army. (That army had lots of Slovenes and Croats in it, so it must have been a problem to expect them to kill their ethnic cousins).
The war against Slovenia was over in 10 days. However the was against Croatia was ugly and lasted 3 years. It led to the siege of Dubrovnik and its destruction (it was rebuilt) and a spillover into Bosnia, which became a three-way war, Croats, Serbs and Bosnians. That war was really ugly with the long sieges of Mostar and Sarajevo and the mass killings of civilians. It was so bad that at one point the leaders of Croatia and Serbia got together in an attempt to parcel up Bosnia. The Europeans were too pacific to do anything other than to send in peacekeepers, who stood by and watched massacres take place. The whole thing was not finally stopped until Clinton unleashed some bombing runs and Holbrooke forced all to make nice in 1995, resulting the Dayton peace accords.
This is too long. Now I am going to bed so you will have to wait to hear about Mostar until next time.
Spent most of the day in Dubrovnik, walking the walls and then visiting some of the town's few other attractions.
Look, I know that Dubrovnik is a 5-star attraction, that busloads of tourists come in each day by the scores, and thousands of tourists are regularly dumped into the town when the cruise ships arrive and disgorge their eager shutterbugs. If it needed further attractions, it is the site (along with other Croatian sites) of many scenes from HBO's Games of Thrones (if you are not aware of or familiar with that show, congratulations to you for having a life outside of television) -- thus spawning Game of Thrones' tours. (I am not kidding. I even overheard one tour guide describing the history of the city in part based on the rivalry between the Lannisters and the Starks.) While it is definitely worth a visit, I think it is a one-trick town, a great looking historical museum piece, with few if any attractions other than the town itself. Unlike Split or Rovinj, which have both history and great looking old towns, albeit much smaller than Dubrovnik's, those towns are living organisms with real people living there. Dubrovnik has about 1000 residents, all the rest have fled to the suburbs and rented out their apartments to the tourists.
While Dubrovnik is chock full of restaurants, virtually all of them seem to be the same and I am told by a few that they are mostly mediocre. We chose to eat lunch in a vegan restaurant, Nishta with an Asian flair (we met an Irish couple, mother, daughter and son) there from Doolan where we had just been 3 months ago) to get out of the pasta, seafood, pizza, ice cream rut. Plus Dubrovnik is very expensive. Most expensive ice cream and accommodations in Croatia and we were not there in high season.
Walking the ramparts of the city walls is the prime activity. It is about a mile and a half of ups and downs with lots of stairs (better exercise than climbing the stairs in Sand Dune Park) and views of the city, ocean and mountains. You also see some of the residents' drying laundry and sitting on their balconies. Two soccer/basketball courts on roofs. if you race around it you can do it in an hour. I suspect that in the summer behind tour groups it could take 3 hours. It all looks great, but after that, not much. We went to a few galleries, a Croatian folk museum -- they are big on festivals and dressing up in animal masks, and the Rector's Palace. The rector was elected by the nobility, a bit of democracy way before the English or US, but due to their fear of one person accumulating too much power, the rector's term was limited to one month. However during that month he got to sleep in a great building. Some other attractions were closed on Monday, but it all seemed to be filler, stuff for the tourists to do after they had finished the wall and before it was time to eat.
If I had the chance I would have done sea kayaking. I think it would have been memorable to paddle around the walls and out to the islands. Maybe even to Italy.
There were also exhibits, including a lot of photographs, about the 1991-92 siege of Dubrovnik by the Serbs. The narratives spoke of the blood-thirsty Serbs and Montenegarians. I suspect that being besieged is not a lot of fun (no electricity, foul-smelling water and limited food) and the Serbs did some terrible stuff, targeting religious buildings and monuments and residential neighborhoods; but the Croats' exhibit was one-sided, narcissitic and overblown. 300 hundred people were killed, 100 of whom were civilians. Not good, but compare that to the Battle of Britain or what was soon to go on in Sarajevo. Moreover, just as Dubrovnik was being besieged, their Croat cousins up north were besieging the Bosnians in Mostar. In that action the Croats blew up the 400-year old Mostar Bridge for no reason other than it was a cultural symbol for the Bosnians.
That gets to my last topic, the Balkan wars of the 1990s. That period was not kind to the Balkans and to Bosnia in particular. There seems to be no logic to what happened and it was obvious from talking to several of the residents that it was a very painful period, when many suffered, lost relatives and some were even today reluctant to talk about it. From my memory of events [I was single during some of that period so I had a lot of free time to read about it in the NY Times after I put the kids to sleep], it seems that Tito had managed to make the many nationalities, ethnic groups and religious groups live together peacefully. There was even a fair amount of intermarriage among the groups. Sarajevo was described as a multi-cultural exemplar during the 1984 winder Olympics. Some of the people we spoke to still spoke of Tito in reverential terms. However, with his death the long simmering hatreds among these groups began bubbling up. As far back as the 12th century when the Croatian kings died out, the Croats threw themselves upon the mercies of the Hungarians as a counterweight against the Serbs (that was a mistake sine it took the Croats 600 years to get their independence back.) In the 20s a Croat parliamentarian leader was assassinated by a Serb. In the 30s a Croat nationalist movement developed with the goal of creating a Greater Croatia. In the 40s after the Germans overran the Balkans, they set up an Independent State of Croatia, which promptly murdered hundreds of thousands of Serbs, as well as a few tens of thousands of Jews and gypsies that were around.
Then the Soviet Union imploded with 15 new countries created and the other eastern block nations threw off their communist regimes (I recall the killing of the hated Romanian ruler and his wife). The Slovenes (don't get them confused with the Slovakians up north or the Slavonians further south) pressed for more freedom within the Yugoslavian federation, and ultimately voted for independence. They were getting increasingly concerned about the antics of the new Yugoslavian leader who was running around Kosovo telling the minority Serbs there that he would use the militray to defend their rights. That was too much for the Slovenes and the Croats, who declared independence. The Serbs, who were the big shots in Yugoslavia, resisted and sent in the Yugoslavian army. (That army had lots of Slovenes and Croats in it, so it must have been a problem to expect them to kill their ethnic cousins).
The war against Slovenia was over in 10 days. However the was against Croatia was ugly and lasted 3 years. It led to the siege of Dubrovnik and its destruction (it was rebuilt) and a spillover into Bosnia, which became a three-way war, Croats, Serbs and Bosnians. That war was really ugly with the long sieges of Mostar and Sarajevo and the mass killings of civilians. It was so bad that at one point the leaders of Croatia and Serbia got together in an attempt to parcel up Bosnia. The Europeans were too pacific to do anything other than to send in peacekeepers, who stood by and watched massacres take place. The whole thing was not finally stopped until Clinton unleashed some bombing runs and Holbrooke forced all to make nice in 1995, resulting the Dayton peace accords.
This is too long. Now I am going to bed so you will have to wait to hear about Mostar until next time.
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Tortured Language and Borders
Sunday May 10
Left Split. Before we left our host provided us with a warm cheese danish type food. He was very excited about it and it was obviously one of his favorites. He described it as cheese with something extra. It was best described as a giant blintz on steroids. Very heavy and filling.
He was an extremely attentive and helpful host. Checked out the car's fluids, assisted in backing the car out of a very narrow space and alley and gave us detailed directions for taking a driving tour of Split. We followed the directions and had a nice tour of Split outside the old city. Lots of people going to church, but the city was not shut down. Commerce even on Sunday.
I then followed the street signs for Dubrovnik expecting them to put us on the tollway; instead we were put on the coast road. Except for time, that turned out to be a good mistake. The road and the drive were spectacular. More dramatic and greener that the drive on PCH along the California coast. It had mountains jutting up to the sky, cliffs dropping off to the ocean, villages hugging the cliffs, sparkling, clear blue green water and islands off the coast. The drive was lots of curves and shifting -- almost, but not as challenging as the Amaifi Coast.
Then the borders. Apparently about 600 years ago the Dubrovnik Republic, which at the time was very prosperous (salt trade which was then worth its weight in gold), powerful with the third largest navy in the Mediterranean, and semi democratic, was fearful of big bad Venice which was then moving down the Adriatic coast. So it gave 5 miles of coastline north of its territory to the even bigger and badder Ottoman Turks on the valid assumption that even the Venetians would not take on the Turks. So 600 years later Bosnia still rules that strip of land. So on the drive to Dubrovnik you first go through Bosnian immigration. They gave a cursory look at our passports, but did not give us a stamp (I thought about demanding a stamp, but stifled that thought.) So then we drove into Bosnia. Different language, architecture, money, even a feel for the place. The Croatian coast is very green and undeveloped. In this small slice of Bosnia there is massive development with buildings clinging to every inch of the cliffs. I suspect they have lower prices and taxes. Some Croatian hot heads have proposed and gotten started a project to build a 1.5 mile bridge to the adjacent Croatian island to circumvent Bosnia. In Bosnia the road signs are in both Bosnian and Croatian. However, on many signs one or the other group has blackened out the language of the other group on the road sign. Maybe they can adopt english as a neutral language.
We ate lunch in Milo Ston, at the base of the Peljesac Peninsula, a long finger into the Adriatic. Wonderful outdoor eating next to a peaceful harbor. They provide oyster pinics. The seafood was terrific, but the waiter seriously advised us against drinking the tap water, cautioning that he could not be responsible for the results. So we bought the water, but I pilfered another unopened bottle from an adjoining table whose party (old car enthusiasts) had departed.
We drove into Dubrovnik by later afternoon, but Google could not get us to our guest house, Villa Dorma. Finally called and got directions. We are on a steep hill overlooking the Old Town. Walked over there and had to descend a very long and steep stairway into the city. Emerged into the bright sunlight onto the main street and saw a banner for the upcoming Dubrovnik half marathon.
Dubrovnik is a very old and walled city. Most of it was destroyed by an earthquake and fire in 1667. There are a few buildings that remain from the pre fire period, but most post date that event and many seem to be of identical style. No big glorious palaces like in Venice. Lots of scenes from Game of Thrones have been shot here and the actual "Iron Throne" is on display along with lots of GoT's items for sale. Danced under the stars to a two-piece band accompanied by an expat US singer.
Left Split. Before we left our host provided us with a warm cheese danish type food. He was very excited about it and it was obviously one of his favorites. He described it as cheese with something extra. It was best described as a giant blintz on steroids. Very heavy and filling.
He was an extremely attentive and helpful host. Checked out the car's fluids, assisted in backing the car out of a very narrow space and alley and gave us detailed directions for taking a driving tour of Split. We followed the directions and had a nice tour of Split outside the old city. Lots of people going to church, but the city was not shut down. Commerce even on Sunday.
I then followed the street signs for Dubrovnik expecting them to put us on the tollway; instead we were put on the coast road. Except for time, that turned out to be a good mistake. The road and the drive were spectacular. More dramatic and greener that the drive on PCH along the California coast. It had mountains jutting up to the sky, cliffs dropping off to the ocean, villages hugging the cliffs, sparkling, clear blue green water and islands off the coast. The drive was lots of curves and shifting -- almost, but not as challenging as the Amaifi Coast.
Then the borders. Apparently about 600 years ago the Dubrovnik Republic, which at the time was very prosperous (salt trade which was then worth its weight in gold), powerful with the third largest navy in the Mediterranean, and semi democratic, was fearful of big bad Venice which was then moving down the Adriatic coast. So it gave 5 miles of coastline north of its territory to the even bigger and badder Ottoman Turks on the valid assumption that even the Venetians would not take on the Turks. So 600 years later Bosnia still rules that strip of land. So on the drive to Dubrovnik you first go through Bosnian immigration. They gave a cursory look at our passports, but did not give us a stamp (I thought about demanding a stamp, but stifled that thought.) So then we drove into Bosnia. Different language, architecture, money, even a feel for the place. The Croatian coast is very green and undeveloped. In this small slice of Bosnia there is massive development with buildings clinging to every inch of the cliffs. I suspect they have lower prices and taxes. Some Croatian hot heads have proposed and gotten started a project to build a 1.5 mile bridge to the adjacent Croatian island to circumvent Bosnia. In Bosnia the road signs are in both Bosnian and Croatian. However, on many signs one or the other group has blackened out the language of the other group on the road sign. Maybe they can adopt english as a neutral language.
We ate lunch in Milo Ston, at the base of the Peljesac Peninsula, a long finger into the Adriatic. Wonderful outdoor eating next to a peaceful harbor. They provide oyster pinics. The seafood was terrific, but the waiter seriously advised us against drinking the tap water, cautioning that he could not be responsible for the results. So we bought the water, but I pilfered another unopened bottle from an adjoining table whose party (old car enthusiasts) had departed.
We drove into Dubrovnik by later afternoon, but Google could not get us to our guest house, Villa Dorma. Finally called and got directions. We are on a steep hill overlooking the Old Town. Walked over there and had to descend a very long and steep stairway into the city. Emerged into the bright sunlight onto the main street and saw a banner for the upcoming Dubrovnik half marathon.
Dubrovnik is a very old and walled city. Most of it was destroyed by an earthquake and fire in 1667. There are a few buildings that remain from the pre fire period, but most post date that event and many seem to be of identical style. No big glorious palaces like in Venice. Lots of scenes from Game of Thrones have been shot here and the actual "Iron Throne" is on display along with lots of GoT's items for sale. Danced under the stars to a two-piece band accompanied by an expat US singer.
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