TURKISH DELIGHT
Istanbul. Expectations blazing. Middle east meets Europe. Literally, east meets west, Europe meets Asia. In Istanbul. Yet, disappointment, not what was hoped. Everything's a hassle, everyone hassles. The other impact of tourism is very evident. Kids chatting ya up for money, adults trying to exploit you. Sucker you in. Madness, a bit a chaos. Not much of a chance to relax. No longer new and exciting, now just a stop on the way to bigger and better. Despite, history abounds. A great Christian church built in 500AD now a prized mosque. The conquerors conquered and then got conquered. Prayer calls wailing from the mosques, loads of mosques. No one flinches, cant be bothered. A muslim country, yes, but its not as one might imagine. The west moves east, constantly creeping. Sun sets on the Golden horn, a treasured sight for ages. Standing on a bridge, local men fishing over the sides, below the bridge a lower deck full of bars and restaraunts. Cruise out the Boshorus Straight, Europe on the left, Asia on the right. Finally, a little peace and quiet, a bit of relaxation. To the Black Sea, hike up to a castle nestled above, keeping a watch on the sea, the straight, and Istanbul. Now cows graze the inner castle area. Nice view for the cows. Out in Istanbul. Chance encounter with a 25ish hustler who tried to pull on over on Chris a few days back. Had a little encounter. He ran off, scared, tail between his legs. Turned around, four cops four feet away, inquiring. Uh, time to bolt.
Gotta get moving. Overnight bus to Selcuk, arrived bleary eyed yet keeping on. Head out to Ephesus. A great city, fought over for hundreds of year, BC and AD. Now in ruins, yet remarkably intact. A little credit due to the archeologists and their restorative techniques. Tourists by the busloads. Gotta luv em. Impressive city by any standards, made all of rocks and stones. The main theater seats 25,000 people and took some 75 years to build. Some patience they had, or maybe time just moved a bit slower. But it was built to last, and last it did. Back to Selcuk, the current down nearby. A castle sits watch over it all, occupying the hilltop. Sun sets over the Meditteranean, lighting up the sky and providing a nice backdrop to the hills and castle.
Moving on. Bus to Pammukale. But it goes to Denizli. Funny, they didnt mention that when we bought the ticket. Nor that it would leave at 1300 instead of 1200. Such is the life. Fortunately, a reservation at a hostel served us well, and their man pointed us in the right direction. Minibus now, and their other man waves it down in the road and gets us off, a short walk to the hostel. They keep tight control over their assets. Wise enough. The attraction here? Calcium deposits formed over way to many years by water coming out of the hills. Just barren hills miles to each side, yet a few hundred yards of what looks like a colorado ski mountian sitting right in the middle. Too bad the tourist boom of a few years back ruined the water flow, crippling natures development. Could have used a little long term thinking about profit maximization before doing that. Now the hotels have been torn down, but the damage remains. Any attempts I make to describe it fall short, so will let the photos do the talking. Arriving near sunset, we walked against the tour bus crowd getting to the top to see the sun setting behind the hills beyond the valley. Quite impressive. Again, reference the photos. Walked on up to the Roman ruins behind it after picking up a few beers. Sat at the top of a 15,000 seat Roman theater, all to ourselves, catching the last bit of colorful sky out over the valley, pondering what it would have been like to sit there a few thousand years ago.
Next day bus to Fethiye. Joined in on a four day boat cruise around the Med sea. No time for writing bout that now though.
Wednesday, September 08, 2004
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
TO THE SEA
Set off for Brasov for a nıght wıth the ıntent of checkıng out Dracula's castle and a nearby fortress. Arrvıng at 8pm, we hung around waıtıng for offers for prıvate rooms. Only one joker was pıtchıng hıs goods, so after a bıt of hagglıng and such, we had an apartment for €25 that turned out to be quıte nıce and not dodgy at all. The next day my stomach was ın a bıt of turmoıl, not the most pleasent of sıtuatıons to fınd yourself ın when messıng about Romanıa. Regardless, set off for the castle. A errant bus, ımpendıng storm, and too much waıtıng destroyed the motıvıatıon and, after havıng a walk thru a small town, we ended up catchıng a bus back to Brasov.
After kıllıng a few hours, caught the traın at 00:01 for the coastal town Mangalıa. Once aboard, we found our compartment only to fınd an extended Romanıa famıly occupyıng every seat and then some. So hopıng for the best, we camped out ın a nearby empty car and closed the curtaıns. All went well and we were undıstburbed, outsıde of constant tıcket checks, only the last of whıch revealed that our tıckets were actually for the next day. Whıle a bıt upset at the development, I quıckly chılled out upon dıscoverıng they wanted an extra $.40 each. No bother.
Immediately upon leaving the train we were pestered with numerous locals offering their house or rooms for accomodations. A bit of a mind wrecker after a quiet 10hr train ride. Checked out one, but a 3rd floor apartment in a concrete building in the center of town didnt really fit the bill for getting away from madness. So hit up a minibus for a 15 minute ride to Vama Veche, the last town in Romania and only 3km from the border with Bulgaria. Basically a budget beach party location, free camping in the litter heavy field next to the beach, dance tunes bumping from a handfull of clubs that consisted of not much more than bamboo-like walls with wooden tables and benches inside. Again, not much for peaceful tranquility. Regardless, given my unsettled stomach and all, found a place and crashed for a bit. An uneventful evening followed, crusing thru the town for some eats and hanging near the beach for a bit.
Not giving up in the search, the following day we headed north to the "Solar System" - a stretch of 6 towns in a row bearing names like Saturn, Jupiter, Venus, Neptune, etc. Very creative. But much more creative than the communist-style resort atmosphere the towns contained. Concrete hotels between 5-20 stories littered the beach for the stretch of resort planet. About as unsightly as one could imagine for an otherwise nice beach stretch. Vowing not to "vacation like a commie", we messed about looking for something better, we no luck. Eventually, it was back to Mangalia for the sure thing - a private room. However, after finding a lady offering a room, she proceeded to take us on a 20 minute walk to nowhere, knocking on doors to see if someone could take us in. No thanks. We bolted. Eventually ended up in a cookie cutter hotel on the beach, so at least we had a nice view of the sunrise over the Black Sea in the morn.
Off the next day to Constanta, the big port city on the coast. Not wishing to go on any useless treasure hunts with locals for private rooms, we found a hotel with an apartment room to crash in. Made a trek to the old quarter of the city, climbed the tower of a mosque, and checked out the massive casino on the water. Uneventful for the most part. Did walk a good hour trying to find a Chinese restaurant, only to find nothing when we eventually got to #148. To be continued. Next day after a good sleep hit up the beach nearby. Quickly found out how (maybe) the Black Sea got its name: shredded seaweed so thick the water looked black as the waves came into shore. And the smell. About as bad as the toilet on the Romanian train. Well, not quite. Up the coast a bit was more respectable beach, clean enough for a foreigner to go in. Back at the hotel, inquired about the Chinese restaurant. The receptionist assured me it was there, so we gave it a try. Taxi dropped us off about 25m from where we ended the night before, and there it was, right in front of us. In our amazement and joy we didnt notice the work crew inside remodeling away. So we found it, but other than the sign, it wasnt there. The workers said it was now down the beach way, so another cab ride and a bit of walking later finally found it. And no complaints, it was good.
Back to Bucarest the next morning in a brilliant rainstorm. Chilled at the train station and stocked up on eats before catching the 18hr ride to Istanbul. Fearing the worst, I was calmed a bit upon realizing the train was nearly empty and I would have a 6 person compartment to myself. Before leaving the station, meet an Englishman who lives in Istanbul in the next compartment. Turns out he was about 60hrs in to a journey that was supposed to take 42hrs. Missed the connection in Budapest and threw the whole plan to the wind. Anyway, shared a bit of food with the unfortunate penniless soul and he gave me a complete plan for conquering Turkey. A mixture of conversation, reading DiVinci Code, and sleeping passed the time quicker than I thought possible and soon enough arrived in Istanbul.
Set off for Brasov for a nıght wıth the ıntent of checkıng out Dracula's castle and a nearby fortress. Arrvıng at 8pm, we hung around waıtıng for offers for prıvate rooms. Only one joker was pıtchıng hıs goods, so after a bıt of hagglıng and such, we had an apartment for €25 that turned out to be quıte nıce and not dodgy at all. The next day my stomach was ın a bıt of turmoıl, not the most pleasent of sıtuatıons to fınd yourself ın when messıng about Romanıa. Regardless, set off for the castle. A errant bus, ımpendıng storm, and too much waıtıng destroyed the motıvıatıon and, after havıng a walk thru a small town, we ended up catchıng a bus back to Brasov.
After kıllıng a few hours, caught the traın at 00:01 for the coastal town Mangalıa. Once aboard, we found our compartment only to fınd an extended Romanıa famıly occupyıng every seat and then some. So hopıng for the best, we camped out ın a nearby empty car and closed the curtaıns. All went well and we were undıstburbed, outsıde of constant tıcket checks, only the last of whıch revealed that our tıckets were actually for the next day. Whıle a bıt upset at the development, I quıckly chılled out upon dıscoverıng they wanted an extra $.40 each. No bother.
Immediately upon leaving the train we were pestered with numerous locals offering their house or rooms for accomodations. A bit of a mind wrecker after a quiet 10hr train ride. Checked out one, but a 3rd floor apartment in a concrete building in the center of town didnt really fit the bill for getting away from madness. So hit up a minibus for a 15 minute ride to Vama Veche, the last town in Romania and only 3km from the border with Bulgaria. Basically a budget beach party location, free camping in the litter heavy field next to the beach, dance tunes bumping from a handfull of clubs that consisted of not much more than bamboo-like walls with wooden tables and benches inside. Again, not much for peaceful tranquility. Regardless, given my unsettled stomach and all, found a place and crashed for a bit. An uneventful evening followed, crusing thru the town for some eats and hanging near the beach for a bit.
Not giving up in the search, the following day we headed north to the "Solar System" - a stretch of 6 towns in a row bearing names like Saturn, Jupiter, Venus, Neptune, etc. Very creative. But much more creative than the communist-style resort atmosphere the towns contained. Concrete hotels between 5-20 stories littered the beach for the stretch of resort planet. About as unsightly as one could imagine for an otherwise nice beach stretch. Vowing not to "vacation like a commie", we messed about looking for something better, we no luck. Eventually, it was back to Mangalia for the sure thing - a private room. However, after finding a lady offering a room, she proceeded to take us on a 20 minute walk to nowhere, knocking on doors to see if someone could take us in. No thanks. We bolted. Eventually ended up in a cookie cutter hotel on the beach, so at least we had a nice view of the sunrise over the Black Sea in the morn.
Off the next day to Constanta, the big port city on the coast. Not wishing to go on any useless treasure hunts with locals for private rooms, we found a hotel with an apartment room to crash in. Made a trek to the old quarter of the city, climbed the tower of a mosque, and checked out the massive casino on the water. Uneventful for the most part. Did walk a good hour trying to find a Chinese restaurant, only to find nothing when we eventually got to #148. To be continued. Next day after a good sleep hit up the beach nearby. Quickly found out how (maybe) the Black Sea got its name: shredded seaweed so thick the water looked black as the waves came into shore. And the smell. About as bad as the toilet on the Romanian train. Well, not quite. Up the coast a bit was more respectable beach, clean enough for a foreigner to go in. Back at the hotel, inquired about the Chinese restaurant. The receptionist assured me it was there, so we gave it a try. Taxi dropped us off about 25m from where we ended the night before, and there it was, right in front of us. In our amazement and joy we didnt notice the work crew inside remodeling away. So we found it, but other than the sign, it wasnt there. The workers said it was now down the beach way, so another cab ride and a bit of walking later finally found it. And no complaints, it was good.
Back to Bucarest the next morning in a brilliant rainstorm. Chilled at the train station and stocked up on eats before catching the 18hr ride to Istanbul. Fearing the worst, I was calmed a bit upon realizing the train was nearly empty and I would have a 6 person compartment to myself. Before leaving the station, meet an Englishman who lives in Istanbul in the next compartment. Turns out he was about 60hrs in to a journey that was supposed to take 42hrs. Missed the connection in Budapest and threw the whole plan to the wind. Anyway, shared a bit of food with the unfortunate penniless soul and he gave me a complete plan for conquering Turkey. A mixture of conversation, reading DiVinci Code, and sleeping passed the time quicker than I thought possible and soon enough arrived in Istanbul.
Sunday, August 29, 2004
ROMANIA - A FEW STEPS BEHIND
As does happen on occasion, the 14hr train from Budapest to Bucharest was a stunning surprise. Stocked up on food, drink, and reading material, we made our way on to the train to discover we had a two-person compartment with (relatively at least) loads of space, two beds, power, lights, AC, and storage space. Ah, a welcome improvement from the dodgy trains on the way to Budapest. Time flew by -unlike the train - as we kicked back in our luxurious quarters. Scenery didnt prove to stunning outside the colorful sunset and ubiquitous fields of corn. Darkness set in, the drinks extinquished, then replenished, then extinquished again as we crossed into Romania. A nice bit of peaceful sleep undistrubed until the knock on the door for immeninent arrival.
Wishing to avoid residing in a slum, we had reserved an apartment in downtown Bucarest, including a transfer there. Our man was waiting as expected, and shuttled us to the apartment. A drab communist style concrete building with nothing impressive on the outside had us thinking we got hooked on the bait and switch. However, inside was nice as advertised: kitchen, two bedrooms, TV, couch, balcony, washing mashine, AC, etc. Living the high life.
Bucarest is not a pretty city. Nothing like Llubjana or Budapest. A true relic of the communist dictatorship and concrete dreams of the former dictaror Nicolae Ciscesceau. Once known as "little Paris", but definetly no longer. Depressing concrete buildings everywhere that make Seoul's endless apartment buildings seem attractive. Most areas of the city are run down at best, with not much sign of any investment to be seen outside the heart of the city. Run down cars buzz about the streets, with the occasional Trabant still putting around.
Among the most grandeous remakings of the city saw NC relocate 40,000 citizens and destroy some 600 acres of historical neighborhoods to erect the Parliament, the second largest building in the world (Pentagon being #1), to house his communist cronies and the goverment. It is an impressive building from the outside, especially given its scale and recent construction. The ironic thing being that it was completed in 1989, the year of his downfall and collapse of the goverment.
The goverment and NC started their downfall no more than 150 meters from our apartment in the now named Plaza Revolutieu at the Senate building, where he made his final speech as President on 21 Dec 89. The crowds had lost their love for the man, and were more than eager to show it. Some of the shots fired by police in response to this tore holes in the building to the side of our hotel. On Xmas Day, it all came to an end for NC, as he was captured then tried and executed on TV. Outside of the Parliment and Revolution sites, Bucarest is devoid of attractions for all except the most thorough and desperate of tourists.
So, in the absence of things to see, we found something to do: the first World Cup qualifier for '06 was on that night in Bucarest - Romania v Finland. Set off walking to the stadium, at least where we thought it was. After a good 30 minutes, resorted to a cab. Romanian cabs are notorious for being a bit dodgy as one might expect. This particular lady took us on a night journey through numerous side streets, only to end up 2km down the same street we started on. But when the fare is $1, the hassle is tolerable. Found the stadium by following the crowds, and then the ticket box, which is more or less a rectangular box with a person in it. Not knowing the prices, we got three tickets for what appeared to be the cheap seats. Total outlay: 150,000 Lei, or $4.50.....$1.50 per ticket for a WC qualifier. Nice. Ended up in the second row, behind the endline near the corner. Right next to us a few riot police in full gear. Not sure whether that should make me feel safe or not.....Match was bit slow the first half, but picked up at our send in the second with Romania winning 2-1. Took a good while on foot, bus, and metro to get back to the center, but sorted it out and ended the night with a few beers.
All desired sights seen, set out the next day to sort out transportation to the Danube Delta. After a good 3 hours of walking thru the rough and tumble parts of Bucarest and finding two of the bus stations we didnt need, we found the one we were looking for and made a reservation for 7am the following morning.....only problem being we didnt wake up til 630 the next day, and went to plan B - go to the train station and take a train somewhere.
Destination: Sighasoara in Translyvania and birthplace of one Vlad Tepes.....better known as Count Dracula. Upon arrival 5 hours later, sorted out an apartment in the home of a local couple, fully stocked. Out for some eats, began to realize that Romanian cuisine seems to have taken a second place to pizzarias in the country. They are everywhere, and its much harder to avoid them than find them. Came across a nice joint serving some local fare, and ended up with one of the best meals yet, meat and potato goulash with maize "porridge" and garlic potatoes, bread, and a beer. Excellent eats, at the $3.50 check was just as appealing.
Messed about the city the next day. The reputation of Translyvania as a dark, evil, spooky place is well deserved judging by the eire gothic architecture of the buildings and oldtown as a whole. The most bizarre "attraction" was the clock tower. Quite ordinary despite the random museum like displays on the way up the stairs: a rocket pioneer from the town, pharmacy room, clothing exhibit, tool display, torture room, etc. Outside of that, everything was interesting but nothing stunning. Made the requisite stop at the House of Dracula, where he lived for 5 years as a presumably innocent young lad before being send to the Turks where he mastered his craft as an Impaler, which he would use on over 20,000 unfortunate victims over the course of his stint as governer of the region.
Also ventured out of the city to a authentic local village. Exited the cab to see a dead sheep hanging from its legs behind a wooden fence. Welcome strangers. Walked around for a bit through the dirt streets. Most houses were small, simple, and worn down, with junk and overgrown gardens in the yards. Fields surrounded the village. Atop a small hill where a cemetary was unceremoniously located, we had a nice view of the surrounding area. From there went on to see real poverty - a small Roma (Gypsy) village just a bit further out. Running alongside a ditch flowing with water, a few dozens shack houses were erected. Most the villagers seemed to be hanging out, doing nothing, with the kids messing around in the dirt road. Every last one of them stared at us as we walked through. A bit odd feeling, taking a little tour through their dirt poor worlds. The Roma people have the worst of the worst in Romania, and throughout Europe, and as this village clearly showed.
Writer's cramp. To be continued later from Istanbul, where I just arrived today after another enjoyable enough train ride, this one 18hrs from Bucarest.
As does happen on occasion, the 14hr train from Budapest to Bucharest was a stunning surprise. Stocked up on food, drink, and reading material, we made our way on to the train to discover we had a two-person compartment with (relatively at least) loads of space, two beds, power, lights, AC, and storage space. Ah, a welcome improvement from the dodgy trains on the way to Budapest. Time flew by -unlike the train - as we kicked back in our luxurious quarters. Scenery didnt prove to stunning outside the colorful sunset and ubiquitous fields of corn. Darkness set in, the drinks extinquished, then replenished, then extinquished again as we crossed into Romania. A nice bit of peaceful sleep undistrubed until the knock on the door for immeninent arrival.
Wishing to avoid residing in a slum, we had reserved an apartment in downtown Bucarest, including a transfer there. Our man was waiting as expected, and shuttled us to the apartment. A drab communist style concrete building with nothing impressive on the outside had us thinking we got hooked on the bait and switch. However, inside was nice as advertised: kitchen, two bedrooms, TV, couch, balcony, washing mashine, AC, etc. Living the high life.
Bucarest is not a pretty city. Nothing like Llubjana or Budapest. A true relic of the communist dictatorship and concrete dreams of the former dictaror Nicolae Ciscesceau. Once known as "little Paris", but definetly no longer. Depressing concrete buildings everywhere that make Seoul's endless apartment buildings seem attractive. Most areas of the city are run down at best, with not much sign of any investment to be seen outside the heart of the city. Run down cars buzz about the streets, with the occasional Trabant still putting around.
Among the most grandeous remakings of the city saw NC relocate 40,000 citizens and destroy some 600 acres of historical neighborhoods to erect the Parliament, the second largest building in the world (Pentagon being #1), to house his communist cronies and the goverment. It is an impressive building from the outside, especially given its scale and recent construction. The ironic thing being that it was completed in 1989, the year of his downfall and collapse of the goverment.
The goverment and NC started their downfall no more than 150 meters from our apartment in the now named Plaza Revolutieu at the Senate building, where he made his final speech as President on 21 Dec 89. The crowds had lost their love for the man, and were more than eager to show it. Some of the shots fired by police in response to this tore holes in the building to the side of our hotel. On Xmas Day, it all came to an end for NC, as he was captured then tried and executed on TV. Outside of the Parliment and Revolution sites, Bucarest is devoid of attractions for all except the most thorough and desperate of tourists.
So, in the absence of things to see, we found something to do: the first World Cup qualifier for '06 was on that night in Bucarest - Romania v Finland. Set off walking to the stadium, at least where we thought it was. After a good 30 minutes, resorted to a cab. Romanian cabs are notorious for being a bit dodgy as one might expect. This particular lady took us on a night journey through numerous side streets, only to end up 2km down the same street we started on. But when the fare is $1, the hassle is tolerable. Found the stadium by following the crowds, and then the ticket box, which is more or less a rectangular box with a person in it. Not knowing the prices, we got three tickets for what appeared to be the cheap seats. Total outlay: 150,000 Lei, or $4.50.....$1.50 per ticket for a WC qualifier. Nice. Ended up in the second row, behind the endline near the corner. Right next to us a few riot police in full gear. Not sure whether that should make me feel safe or not.....Match was bit slow the first half, but picked up at our send in the second with Romania winning 2-1. Took a good while on foot, bus, and metro to get back to the center, but sorted it out and ended the night with a few beers.
All desired sights seen, set out the next day to sort out transportation to the Danube Delta. After a good 3 hours of walking thru the rough and tumble parts of Bucarest and finding two of the bus stations we didnt need, we found the one we were looking for and made a reservation for 7am the following morning.....only problem being we didnt wake up til 630 the next day, and went to plan B - go to the train station and take a train somewhere.
Destination: Sighasoara in Translyvania and birthplace of one Vlad Tepes.....better known as Count Dracula. Upon arrival 5 hours later, sorted out an apartment in the home of a local couple, fully stocked. Out for some eats, began to realize that Romanian cuisine seems to have taken a second place to pizzarias in the country. They are everywhere, and its much harder to avoid them than find them. Came across a nice joint serving some local fare, and ended up with one of the best meals yet, meat and potato goulash with maize "porridge" and garlic potatoes, bread, and a beer. Excellent eats, at the $3.50 check was just as appealing.
Messed about the city the next day. The reputation of Translyvania as a dark, evil, spooky place is well deserved judging by the eire gothic architecture of the buildings and oldtown as a whole. The most bizarre "attraction" was the clock tower. Quite ordinary despite the random museum like displays on the way up the stairs: a rocket pioneer from the town, pharmacy room, clothing exhibit, tool display, torture room, etc. Outside of that, everything was interesting but nothing stunning. Made the requisite stop at the House of Dracula, where he lived for 5 years as a presumably innocent young lad before being send to the Turks where he mastered his craft as an Impaler, which he would use on over 20,000 unfortunate victims over the course of his stint as governer of the region.
Also ventured out of the city to a authentic local village. Exited the cab to see a dead sheep hanging from its legs behind a wooden fence. Welcome strangers. Walked around for a bit through the dirt streets. Most houses were small, simple, and worn down, with junk and overgrown gardens in the yards. Fields surrounded the village. Atop a small hill where a cemetary was unceremoniously located, we had a nice view of the surrounding area. From there went on to see real poverty - a small Roma (Gypsy) village just a bit further out. Running alongside a ditch flowing with water, a few dozens shack houses were erected. Most the villagers seemed to be hanging out, doing nothing, with the kids messing around in the dirt road. Every last one of them stared at us as we walked through. A bit odd feeling, taking a little tour through their dirt poor worlds. The Roma people have the worst of the worst in Romania, and throughout Europe, and as this village clearly showed.
Writer's cramp. To be continued later from Istanbul, where I just arrived today after another enjoyable enough train ride, this one 18hrs from Bucarest.
Monday, August 16, 2004
SEARCHING FOR "EASTERN EUROPE"
My expectations for Eastern Europe consisted of something a bit more rugged, rough, less developed, adventurous, etc than Western Europe. After 10 days in Slovenia and Hungary, I am adjusting my notions. Much of what I have seen so far doesnt differ too much from the western side of europe. While it is not at the same level, the difference has not been as great as I imagined. It certainly appears that the countries set to join the EU have come a long way in the past 15 years.
Back to Slovenia.....Ljubljana, as I think I said, was pretty devoid of residents the weekend we were there, summer vacations and all. A nice calm city though, and well worthy of an additional visit. But it can't quite live up to the region around Bled, in the north west. The Alps, rolling hills, lakes, rivers, gorges, charming houses, etc create an area of stunning beauty. The day we arrived we settled in on the porch of our house with the Dutch lady to watch a equally impressive storm. The sky behind us was dark grey, collapsing around the patches of blue sky in front of us. Sitting back with some tunes and local wine, seemed to be a nice place to watch the storm. About 15 minutes later, everything was grey, wind was blowing furiously, and the skies unleashed a torrent of rain and hail up over a cm in diameter. We quickly sought refuge inside the house. The lady said she'd never seen anything like that. The storm was so strong that it sent a few dozens trees on the far side of the lake to the ground, some uprooted and others snapped in two.
The next day all was clear, and we went on a good 10k hike out of the town, to a river, through a 1600m gorge, and back over a hill to the front side of town. I'd make an effort to describe it, but photos will probably do it more justice. Another hike the third day up a 1000m hill surrounding the lake to get a great view from a tranquil park bench of the lake and city below. Until the 4 kids showed up yelling and screaming, unrestrained by their father. So much for peace and quiet.
Arrived in Budapest after spending the night in Putj, the second train being infinetly more comfortable than the first, but still nothing special. Hungarian trains, not up to Slovanian standards. Made quite a trek through Budapest looking for accomodations before taking a cab to a sure bet. Had plans of a big night out in Buda-Fest. Stopping in a pubs and cafes across the city, made our way to an outdoor venue on the river. Turned out to be a spring break, MTV atomsphere populated by weekend vacationers and other foreigners. Didnt stick around long. Back to town, ended up meeting some local ladies on the street, and went to a club with them, but it was hot as seoul in july in there, so it was a doner kebab and home.
Saturday mesed about the city a bit while chris recovered from a negative reaction to the doner kebab. Kept it quite Saturday night in anticipation of my big outing Sunday to the Hungary Grand Prix F1 race. Figuring I just couldnt be in Budapest during the race and not go, I sorted out the journey of 20min walk, bus, subway, light rail, and 45 min walk to the course. Hoping to pick up a ticket on the cheap, I meandered about for a while before hope faded, and I resorted to the full price GA ticket for 100 euros. Made a little recon around the track and camped out by the first corner for the start. Not knowing the results of qualifying, I was happy enough to see the two red Ferraris leading the pack. And the noise....Full throttle and accelerating, the high pitched scream that you can probably imagine, just a good bit louder. But downshifting into the turns and out of them, the cars seemed to belch in disgust from not being able to maintain top speed at the red line. During the course of the 72 laps, I made my way around a good portion of the track, getting a bit of each perspective. hour and a half later, they finished as they started, Ferrari 1-2. Joined the stampede down to the track for the victory presentation and champagne celebration. Then the unenjoyable 2.5 hr journey back, compounded by the lack of information on buses to the city or signs to the trains.
That night was uneventful, other than superb hungarian guloush at dinner, seasoned with the hungarian staple paprika, and 3 hours of diverse banter over beers between chris and i and the "little irish pub" around the corner from our place.
Today, Monday, we are off to Bucharest in search of "eastern europe" as i had previously imagined. Given that Romania did not receive a bid to the EU, it seems that things should get a bit wilder and more unpredictable. At least we hope. Once the 14 hour night train journey is over, that is.
My expectations for Eastern Europe consisted of something a bit more rugged, rough, less developed, adventurous, etc than Western Europe. After 10 days in Slovenia and Hungary, I am adjusting my notions. Much of what I have seen so far doesnt differ too much from the western side of europe. While it is not at the same level, the difference has not been as great as I imagined. It certainly appears that the countries set to join the EU have come a long way in the past 15 years.
Back to Slovenia.....Ljubljana, as I think I said, was pretty devoid of residents the weekend we were there, summer vacations and all. A nice calm city though, and well worthy of an additional visit. But it can't quite live up to the region around Bled, in the north west. The Alps, rolling hills, lakes, rivers, gorges, charming houses, etc create an area of stunning beauty. The day we arrived we settled in on the porch of our house with the Dutch lady to watch a equally impressive storm. The sky behind us was dark grey, collapsing around the patches of blue sky in front of us. Sitting back with some tunes and local wine, seemed to be a nice place to watch the storm. About 15 minutes later, everything was grey, wind was blowing furiously, and the skies unleashed a torrent of rain and hail up over a cm in diameter. We quickly sought refuge inside the house. The lady said she'd never seen anything like that. The storm was so strong that it sent a few dozens trees on the far side of the lake to the ground, some uprooted and others snapped in two.
The next day all was clear, and we went on a good 10k hike out of the town, to a river, through a 1600m gorge, and back over a hill to the front side of town. I'd make an effort to describe it, but photos will probably do it more justice. Another hike the third day up a 1000m hill surrounding the lake to get a great view from a tranquil park bench of the lake and city below. Until the 4 kids showed up yelling and screaming, unrestrained by their father. So much for peace and quiet.
Arrived in Budapest after spending the night in Putj, the second train being infinetly more comfortable than the first, but still nothing special. Hungarian trains, not up to Slovanian standards. Made quite a trek through Budapest looking for accomodations before taking a cab to a sure bet. Had plans of a big night out in Buda-Fest. Stopping in a pubs and cafes across the city, made our way to an outdoor venue on the river. Turned out to be a spring break, MTV atomsphere populated by weekend vacationers and other foreigners. Didnt stick around long. Back to town, ended up meeting some local ladies on the street, and went to a club with them, but it was hot as seoul in july in there, so it was a doner kebab and home.
Saturday mesed about the city a bit while chris recovered from a negative reaction to the doner kebab. Kept it quite Saturday night in anticipation of my big outing Sunday to the Hungary Grand Prix F1 race. Figuring I just couldnt be in Budapest during the race and not go, I sorted out the journey of 20min walk, bus, subway, light rail, and 45 min walk to the course. Hoping to pick up a ticket on the cheap, I meandered about for a while before hope faded, and I resorted to the full price GA ticket for 100 euros. Made a little recon around the track and camped out by the first corner for the start. Not knowing the results of qualifying, I was happy enough to see the two red Ferraris leading the pack. And the noise....Full throttle and accelerating, the high pitched scream that you can probably imagine, just a good bit louder. But downshifting into the turns and out of them, the cars seemed to belch in disgust from not being able to maintain top speed at the red line. During the course of the 72 laps, I made my way around a good portion of the track, getting a bit of each perspective. hour and a half later, they finished as they started, Ferrari 1-2. Joined the stampede down to the track for the victory presentation and champagne celebration. Then the unenjoyable 2.5 hr journey back, compounded by the lack of information on buses to the city or signs to the trains.
That night was uneventful, other than superb hungarian guloush at dinner, seasoned with the hungarian staple paprika, and 3 hours of diverse banter over beers between chris and i and the "little irish pub" around the corner from our place.
Today, Monday, we are off to Bucharest in search of "eastern europe" as i had previously imagined. Given that Romania did not receive a bid to the EU, it seems that things should get a bit wilder and more unpredictable. At least we hope. Once the 14 hour night train journey is over, that is.
Saturday, August 14, 2004
DONDE ESTA ESLOVENIA?
This question was the opening line of a book I read a few months back, Veronika Decide Morir bz Paulo Cuehlo. Now can say I know where Slovenia is, but it certainly is not in "Eastern Europe", or at least it didnt correspond to my notions of EE. The 6 days spent in Slovenia were not sufficient to reveal any significant flaws or cause any complaints. Well, outside of the fact that most slovenians appeared to be gone on summer vacations, and had been replaced by vacationers from other parts.
Ljubljana, the capital, is nicely tucked in between the fading mountains of the Alps. From the castle atop the city, it is quite easy to make out the old city full with the impressive architecture and design, the communist concrete block buildings beyond that, and the rebirth of modern buildings towards the outskirts. The whole of the country is green and fertile, trees, farms, and every house was impeccably well kept, down to the flowers on the porch and in the balconys. Bled, in the northwest corner, is on the edge of the Julian Alps, no different than the Swiss or Austrian variety. A lake in the town has a castle overlooking it and an island just big enough to have a church and nothing else in the middle of it. Spent three nights here in the house of a Dutch woman, along with a German man and an Aussie couple. Set off on a few hikes thru a river gorge, hills, and a nice steep climp of 1000m or so. And devoured a good few portions of Slovenia goulash with meat and potatoes. From there it was off to the eastern side to the town on Ptuj, pronounced Puh-too-eey. Nothing more than a stopover on the way to Budapest, but none the less conformed to our prior notions of slovenia being a picturesque and flawless country.
Not feeling to inspired at the keyboard at the moment, and didnt really do any justice to the week in Slovenia with the blurb above. In Budapest now and for a few more nights before heading down to Bucharest and Romania.
This question was the opening line of a book I read a few months back, Veronika Decide Morir bz Paulo Cuehlo. Now can say I know where Slovenia is, but it certainly is not in "Eastern Europe", or at least it didnt correspond to my notions of EE. The 6 days spent in Slovenia were not sufficient to reveal any significant flaws or cause any complaints. Well, outside of the fact that most slovenians appeared to be gone on summer vacations, and had been replaced by vacationers from other parts.
Ljubljana, the capital, is nicely tucked in between the fading mountains of the Alps. From the castle atop the city, it is quite easy to make out the old city full with the impressive architecture and design, the communist concrete block buildings beyond that, and the rebirth of modern buildings towards the outskirts. The whole of the country is green and fertile, trees, farms, and every house was impeccably well kept, down to the flowers on the porch and in the balconys. Bled, in the northwest corner, is on the edge of the Julian Alps, no different than the Swiss or Austrian variety. A lake in the town has a castle overlooking it and an island just big enough to have a church and nothing else in the middle of it. Spent three nights here in the house of a Dutch woman, along with a German man and an Aussie couple. Set off on a few hikes thru a river gorge, hills, and a nice steep climp of 1000m or so. And devoured a good few portions of Slovenia goulash with meat and potatoes. From there it was off to the eastern side to the town on Ptuj, pronounced Puh-too-eey. Nothing more than a stopover on the way to Budapest, but none the less conformed to our prior notions of slovenia being a picturesque and flawless country.
Not feeling to inspired at the keyboard at the moment, and didnt really do any justice to the week in Slovenia with the blurb above. In Budapest now and for a few more nights before heading down to Bucharest and Romania.
Monday, August 09, 2004
TO THE EAST
(disclaimer: the "y" and "z" are swapped on the slovanian kezboard, so anz tzpos are not mz fault, and zes, i am to layz to fix them)
Back in Granada, which at this point seems like months ago, at the Nasrid Palace in the Alhambra. Tough enough to try to describe how it looks and the details in everything. One thing that certainly impressed was their masterz of water. Aquaducts bringing water into central Spain, up to the fortress on the hill, and all throughout the Alhambra. Even today one can see small trenches that carried water into and out of the private living areas throughout the complex. I was also impressed by the ability to keep things cool inside the complex. It was a sweaty 40C out the day i was there, but down inside some of the rooms, it felt better than airconditioned. Something about being out of the sunlight and surrounded bz the clay and rocks, but I guess such methods were necessary to keep the whole of them from melting under the sun.
Now before it was finished, the King and Queen of Spain, Ferdinand and Isabel, drove out the Nasrids and took control of the Alhambra. They went about upgrading and redoing it, making it into a palace of sorts for the royal family. Again, the Muslim symbolism went away and the Christian ones moved in. Now, its a matter of 250+ staff keeping up and improving the complex despite the 8 million tourists treading through each year.
Moving on to Alicante the following day, the proximity to the coast turned the arrid landscape into more fertile and hospitable terrain, and orange groves replaced the olive trees. Outside of the orange for olive and green for brown swap, much remained the same. Arrived in Alicante at 10pm and hoped that mz three phone calls to the hostal during the day would prove useful and keep me from wandering the streets looking for a place to crash. All good, room ready, although the 38C temp inside and 6 inch window to provide airflow to the 6 inch fan weren't too comforting. But the rooftop patio made up for it. Made a quick run a a rollo kepab and a beer, and set back to chill out under the castle, the view being the same as in the pictures. Chilled out with a few Aussies, trading some good traveling stories and the like, before being joined by a Brit and a fwe Frenchies. As the room was still a balmy 37.7C, my efforts to crank up the fan showing minimal results, I resigned to staying out as late as possible. So after the Aussies made a run for it, ended up heading to the town with the 4 Frenchies and the Brit. Shared a few pitchers of Sangria over attempts to patch the conversational circuit across spanish, english, and french. The Frenchies, being on a week vacation and possessing a rental car (such luxury), were all ready to tear it up, so i headed off with them to a club at some point. Nice enough as they were, I didnt end up paying for anything, which is fortunate, b/c a round of drinks at their hangout would have blown my budget for sure. Regardless, by the time I made it home at 5am, my room was just cool enough to fall asleep, albeit with the fan blowing straight on mz face from 12 inch away.
The following daz I vegged out at the beach. The beach (=sand) itself was nice, but the seaweed and garbage in the water didnt reallz justify the oh so proud EU blue flag beach status. And the surrounding scenery out apartments and roads didnt quite match up to Thailand. But the sun was out, and I enjoyed a nice productive afternoon of doing nothing. That night, after making the trip to the grocery store during the day, I enjoyed a hot ham and cheese sandwich, probably one of the best ham and cheese sandwiches ever, after a month of cold ham and cheese sandwiches. With that a L of Sangria I went to camp out on the roof. This time the crowd consisted of a few Canadians, Aussies, and an Irishman, and maybe a few others. Enjoyed the typical full conversation circuit - travels, life before travels, sports, politics, etc - well into the night. Packed up the following daz before making a 15 minute bus trip to a neighboring beach, which turned out to be a combition of retirment beach and package vacation beach, perfectly illustrating the problem with southern spain in teh summertime.
Jumped a bus for Tarragona to spend a few days camping before hitting Barcelona. A bit of research on the net turned up a few campsites that appeared to be a step or two up from the usual ˝tent and camper parking lot˝ that most campgrounds resemble. But after a late arrival, a bit of aimless wandering, and a thin bus schedule I found myself at an aforementioned parking lot campground withing a stones throw from the train tracks and highway. My other option was wait til 1002pm, take the last bus out of the citz, and hope to find the other campsite 10km away, in the dark, and hope it would be open and available. So I waited out the hour and went for it. Seeing the signs for the intended campsite, I got a bit excited, not wanting to leave the marked path, and made a premature exit out of the bus, leaving an extra 1km walk. N o bother though, b/c I did arrive and the bus stop I was told to get off at turned out to be a bit further out of the way than 1 km. So I showed up, well past the usual arrival time, loaded up with my gear, to be greeted at the gate with ˝Completo, Terminado˝. Uh, not good. As I went into pleaing mode, explaining I only needed a little space and had no where else to go, the wing man came up and sorted me out, taking my passport in exchange for a map and a fine recommendation on where to set up camp. So I found myself an available patch of hard rocky ground, and went about trying to set up in the dark. Turns out mz tent stakes were no match for the ground, and quickly wilted into contorted figures instead of anchoring themselves into the ground. Ended up with a rather improvised set up, tying the tail end to a fence post and sticking a stake into the softer ground in the hole where I had unearthered the brick. Good enough for a former government employee, at least. But the extra time spent cost me, and even my pleadings couldn,t get the restaurant to whip me up a sandwhich or anything. So dinner consisted of some prepackaged ice cream dessert with whiskez on top.
The next day and night were spent doing nothing important or noteable, except for the photos which were all taken from the base of my tent. The second night an impressive lightening and thunder display just off the coast awoke me at 5am, just enough warning to pull my pack and other accessories under cover before the rains came. Thankfullz, things cleared up by the time I got up around 6am, and as photos of the sunrise will attest to. Had no problems on the bus to the town and walk to the train station to get there for the 815 ride to Barca.
****BARCELONA and COSTA BRAVA......COMING SOON*****
Met up with Chris in Milano on Friday, a good 7 weeks after leaving him in Bali as I set off for Europe. Spent a day messing about, seeing the Doumo, and onlz frmo the outside, being about the most significant activity before a nice Italian feed and some overpriced beers at the only open bar/pub in our district. The plan to go to Venice and on to Ljubljana from there sounded easz enough, but the Italians have their own way with the train szstems. First off, you buy ticket for a route, but the ticket doesnt specifz when or what tzpe of train. And you might or might not need a seat reservation, depending upon the train taken. So after shelling out €48 for the ticket from Milano to Ljubljana, we hot hit up for an additional €9 on the ride to Venice. Figuring on getting ahead of the system, I inquired at the station in Venice regarding reservations for the next leg, only to find out, once again, ˝Completo˝. Nothing availabe. Not quite sure what to make of that, but we quicklz decided the onlz truely important factor was to get on the train and leave the station. So we got on, quickly fuond out that yes, indeed, it was completo and no seats remained, and resigned to roughing it between cars for the next 4 hrs. Now since we have a ticket, but dont have a seat, we figured we wouldnt have to pay for a seat reservation. Wrong. Another €8 to the man. The final three hours we spent crouched in the dining car/bar. No seats for sitting, just some spaces more out of the waz than others. Regardless, we arrived, and that was the goal. Just had hoped on arriving with funds, not without funds.
Time to move on, will hit up Barca and Ljubljana next time.
(disclaimer: the "y" and "z" are swapped on the slovanian kezboard, so anz tzpos are not mz fault, and zes, i am to layz to fix them)
Back in Granada, which at this point seems like months ago, at the Nasrid Palace in the Alhambra. Tough enough to try to describe how it looks and the details in everything. One thing that certainly impressed was their masterz of water. Aquaducts bringing water into central Spain, up to the fortress on the hill, and all throughout the Alhambra. Even today one can see small trenches that carried water into and out of the private living areas throughout the complex. I was also impressed by the ability to keep things cool inside the complex. It was a sweaty 40C out the day i was there, but down inside some of the rooms, it felt better than airconditioned. Something about being out of the sunlight and surrounded bz the clay and rocks, but I guess such methods were necessary to keep the whole of them from melting under the sun.
Now before it was finished, the King and Queen of Spain, Ferdinand and Isabel, drove out the Nasrids and took control of the Alhambra. They went about upgrading and redoing it, making it into a palace of sorts for the royal family. Again, the Muslim symbolism went away and the Christian ones moved in. Now, its a matter of 250+ staff keeping up and improving the complex despite the 8 million tourists treading through each year.
Moving on to Alicante the following day, the proximity to the coast turned the arrid landscape into more fertile and hospitable terrain, and orange groves replaced the olive trees. Outside of the orange for olive and green for brown swap, much remained the same. Arrived in Alicante at 10pm and hoped that mz three phone calls to the hostal during the day would prove useful and keep me from wandering the streets looking for a place to crash. All good, room ready, although the 38C temp inside and 6 inch window to provide airflow to the 6 inch fan weren't too comforting. But the rooftop patio made up for it. Made a quick run a a rollo kepab and a beer, and set back to chill out under the castle, the view being the same as in the pictures. Chilled out with a few Aussies, trading some good traveling stories and the like, before being joined by a Brit and a fwe Frenchies. As the room was still a balmy 37.7C, my efforts to crank up the fan showing minimal results, I resigned to staying out as late as possible. So after the Aussies made a run for it, ended up heading to the town with the 4 Frenchies and the Brit. Shared a few pitchers of Sangria over attempts to patch the conversational circuit across spanish, english, and french. The Frenchies, being on a week vacation and possessing a rental car (such luxury), were all ready to tear it up, so i headed off with them to a club at some point. Nice enough as they were, I didnt end up paying for anything, which is fortunate, b/c a round of drinks at their hangout would have blown my budget for sure. Regardless, by the time I made it home at 5am, my room was just cool enough to fall asleep, albeit with the fan blowing straight on mz face from 12 inch away.
The following daz I vegged out at the beach. The beach (=sand) itself was nice, but the seaweed and garbage in the water didnt reallz justify the oh so proud EU blue flag beach status. And the surrounding scenery out apartments and roads didnt quite match up to Thailand. But the sun was out, and I enjoyed a nice productive afternoon of doing nothing. That night, after making the trip to the grocery store during the day, I enjoyed a hot ham and cheese sandwich, probably one of the best ham and cheese sandwiches ever, after a month of cold ham and cheese sandwiches. With that a L of Sangria I went to camp out on the roof. This time the crowd consisted of a few Canadians, Aussies, and an Irishman, and maybe a few others. Enjoyed the typical full conversation circuit - travels, life before travels, sports, politics, etc - well into the night. Packed up the following daz before making a 15 minute bus trip to a neighboring beach, which turned out to be a combition of retirment beach and package vacation beach, perfectly illustrating the problem with southern spain in teh summertime.
Jumped a bus for Tarragona to spend a few days camping before hitting Barcelona. A bit of research on the net turned up a few campsites that appeared to be a step or two up from the usual ˝tent and camper parking lot˝ that most campgrounds resemble. But after a late arrival, a bit of aimless wandering, and a thin bus schedule I found myself at an aforementioned parking lot campground withing a stones throw from the train tracks and highway. My other option was wait til 1002pm, take the last bus out of the citz, and hope to find the other campsite 10km away, in the dark, and hope it would be open and available. So I waited out the hour and went for it. Seeing the signs for the intended campsite, I got a bit excited, not wanting to leave the marked path, and made a premature exit out of the bus, leaving an extra 1km walk. N o bother though, b/c I did arrive and the bus stop I was told to get off at turned out to be a bit further out of the way than 1 km. So I showed up, well past the usual arrival time, loaded up with my gear, to be greeted at the gate with ˝Completo, Terminado˝. Uh, not good. As I went into pleaing mode, explaining I only needed a little space and had no where else to go, the wing man came up and sorted me out, taking my passport in exchange for a map and a fine recommendation on where to set up camp. So I found myself an available patch of hard rocky ground, and went about trying to set up in the dark. Turns out mz tent stakes were no match for the ground, and quickly wilted into contorted figures instead of anchoring themselves into the ground. Ended up with a rather improvised set up, tying the tail end to a fence post and sticking a stake into the softer ground in the hole where I had unearthered the brick. Good enough for a former government employee, at least. But the extra time spent cost me, and even my pleadings couldn,t get the restaurant to whip me up a sandwhich or anything. So dinner consisted of some prepackaged ice cream dessert with whiskez on top.
The next day and night were spent doing nothing important or noteable, except for the photos which were all taken from the base of my tent. The second night an impressive lightening and thunder display just off the coast awoke me at 5am, just enough warning to pull my pack and other accessories under cover before the rains came. Thankfullz, things cleared up by the time I got up around 6am, and as photos of the sunrise will attest to. Had no problems on the bus to the town and walk to the train station to get there for the 815 ride to Barca.
****BARCELONA and COSTA BRAVA......COMING SOON*****
Met up with Chris in Milano on Friday, a good 7 weeks after leaving him in Bali as I set off for Europe. Spent a day messing about, seeing the Doumo, and onlz frmo the outside, being about the most significant activity before a nice Italian feed and some overpriced beers at the only open bar/pub in our district. The plan to go to Venice and on to Ljubljana from there sounded easz enough, but the Italians have their own way with the train szstems. First off, you buy ticket for a route, but the ticket doesnt specifz when or what tzpe of train. And you might or might not need a seat reservation, depending upon the train taken. So after shelling out €48 for the ticket from Milano to Ljubljana, we hot hit up for an additional €9 on the ride to Venice. Figuring on getting ahead of the system, I inquired at the station in Venice regarding reservations for the next leg, only to find out, once again, ˝Completo˝. Nothing availabe. Not quite sure what to make of that, but we quicklz decided the onlz truely important factor was to get on the train and leave the station. So we got on, quickly fuond out that yes, indeed, it was completo and no seats remained, and resigned to roughing it between cars for the next 4 hrs. Now since we have a ticket, but dont have a seat, we figured we wouldnt have to pay for a seat reservation. Wrong. Another €8 to the man. The final three hours we spent crouched in the dining car/bar. No seats for sitting, just some spaces more out of the waz than others. Regardless, we arrived, and that was the goal. Just had hoped on arriving with funds, not without funds.
Time to move on, will hit up Barca and Ljubljana next time.
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
PLAYING CATCH UP
Left Madrid on a bus for Cordoba, and saw an entirely different side of spain on the way. The climate was hot and arrid, and I am sure cold and desolate in the winter. Rolling hills spread out in all directions, breaking up the monontany of the flat plains. The unfriendly climate did not support much vegation, except for the olive trees. Rows upon rows of olive trees spread out over the plains, up and down and arround the hills. The tree itself was as rugged as the land it thrived in, staying low to the ground, and often appearing to have a few trunks. The barren earth beneath it was better for supporting the rocks than grass or weeds. Anyway, it was nice, but certainly after a few hours a change of scenery was appreciated.
Cordoba, once a thriving city of 1.5 million back in the 14/15/16th centuries, when the Muslims controlled the sourthern half of spain. Now, a mere relic of its old self, with 250,000 or so. Despite it all, the signs of centuries of Muslim, Christian, and Jewish influence are plain to see. The centerpiece of Cordoba is La Mezquita (Mosque), built by the Nasrid Muslims, the opposing Muslim power to the Baath´s in Baghdad. (yes, the same ones). The temple is the most important Muslim mosque in the Western World, and has even been cited by OBL himself. Anyway, inside this amazing building, other than the 850 columns and arches between them all, is none other than entirely Christian symbolism, imagery, and basically, a full church with all the trimmings. This thanks to the reconquest of Spain in the late 15th century. Interesting enough to have a Catholic church inside an important Muslim mosque. Around this in the town are Arab baths dating to way back when, a Jewish quarter, a Roman mill on the river, and Roman bridge over the river, walls still standing around a good part of the old city, etc. Impressive, and had I wrote this a few weeks back, I might remember more. But I do remember it was hot. Real hot. About 43C or so. Good thing I had AC in my room there.
Moved on from there into Granada. Granada is home to The Alhambra. This is one of the grandest and most flamboyent buildings (complexes) I have seen. Built on a plateau with a 270 view of the plains below and a hill behind it, it was a key fortress for the Nasrid kingdom when they occupied Spain. An entire city more or less, with public homes, gardens, military quarters, etc all contained. And the Nasrid Palace, home to the Big Guy. This area was off limits to the general public, and from the outside looks unimpressive enough.
PAUSE - TIME IS UP
One last thing. Spain owes a good bit of its tourism industry, and believe me, it has quite a few of them, to American authors. Back in 1830s, Washington Irving lived in the Alhambra and wrote Tales of the Alhambra. When he lived there, it was more or less neglected, unused, and unvisited. Now 8 million per year go there. In the 1920s Ernest Hemingway went to a little party called San Fermin in Pamplona and wrote a book about it. And of course now everyone knows about the Running of the bulls, and there are a few more people there than the Spanish locals. And many other towns have similiar festivals, with bulls running and matadors fighting, but of course, you probably haven´t heard about them.
Left Madrid on a bus for Cordoba, and saw an entirely different side of spain on the way. The climate was hot and arrid, and I am sure cold and desolate in the winter. Rolling hills spread out in all directions, breaking up the monontany of the flat plains. The unfriendly climate did not support much vegation, except for the olive trees. Rows upon rows of olive trees spread out over the plains, up and down and arround the hills. The tree itself was as rugged as the land it thrived in, staying low to the ground, and often appearing to have a few trunks. The barren earth beneath it was better for supporting the rocks than grass or weeds. Anyway, it was nice, but certainly after a few hours a change of scenery was appreciated.
Cordoba, once a thriving city of 1.5 million back in the 14/15/16th centuries, when the Muslims controlled the sourthern half of spain. Now, a mere relic of its old self, with 250,000 or so. Despite it all, the signs of centuries of Muslim, Christian, and Jewish influence are plain to see. The centerpiece of Cordoba is La Mezquita (Mosque), built by the Nasrid Muslims, the opposing Muslim power to the Baath´s in Baghdad. (yes, the same ones). The temple is the most important Muslim mosque in the Western World, and has even been cited by OBL himself. Anyway, inside this amazing building, other than the 850 columns and arches between them all, is none other than entirely Christian symbolism, imagery, and basically, a full church with all the trimmings. This thanks to the reconquest of Spain in the late 15th century. Interesting enough to have a Catholic church inside an important Muslim mosque. Around this in the town are Arab baths dating to way back when, a Jewish quarter, a Roman mill on the river, and Roman bridge over the river, walls still standing around a good part of the old city, etc. Impressive, and had I wrote this a few weeks back, I might remember more. But I do remember it was hot. Real hot. About 43C or so. Good thing I had AC in my room there.
Moved on from there into Granada. Granada is home to The Alhambra. This is one of the grandest and most flamboyent buildings (complexes) I have seen. Built on a plateau with a 270 view of the plains below and a hill behind it, it was a key fortress for the Nasrid kingdom when they occupied Spain. An entire city more or less, with public homes, gardens, military quarters, etc all contained. And the Nasrid Palace, home to the Big Guy. This area was off limits to the general public, and from the outside looks unimpressive enough.
PAUSE - TIME IS UP
One last thing. Spain owes a good bit of its tourism industry, and believe me, it has quite a few of them, to American authors. Back in 1830s, Washington Irving lived in the Alhambra and wrote Tales of the Alhambra. When he lived there, it was more or less neglected, unused, and unvisited. Now 8 million per year go there. In the 1920s Ernest Hemingway went to a little party called San Fermin in Pamplona and wrote a book about it. And of course now everyone knows about the Running of the bulls, and there are a few more people there than the Spanish locals. And many other towns have similiar festivals, with bulls running and matadors fighting, but of course, you probably haven´t heard about them.
Monday, August 02, 2004
RUNNING TO STAND STILL
While Internet cafes and the like are easy enough to find, it takes a good bit of searching and good fortune to find one where I can download fotos, sort them out, burn them to disc, and whatever else. So far I have only encountered a couple of them, the best by far being in Porto.
So, I just spent a good two hours downloading, burning, and uploading photos from the past 3 weeks. And just when I started to write, my time unknowingly ran out and the computer reset. And I am at another location now, and yahoo won´t let me sign in to see if the last batch of photos made it or not. Always an adventure.
Regardless, I am in Barcelona, and planning leaving this evening for Girona. Then it will be on to Italy at the end of the week. Hopefully I can find an affordable internet connection up there to post some updates from the past 10 days.
While Internet cafes and the like are easy enough to find, it takes a good bit of searching and good fortune to find one where I can download fotos, sort them out, burn them to disc, and whatever else. So far I have only encountered a couple of them, the best by far being in Porto.
So, I just spent a good two hours downloading, burning, and uploading photos from the past 3 weeks. And just when I started to write, my time unknowingly ran out and the computer reset. And I am at another location now, and yahoo won´t let me sign in to see if the last batch of photos made it or not. Always an adventure.
Regardless, I am in Barcelona, and planning leaving this evening for Girona. Then it will be on to Italy at the end of the week. Hopefully I can find an affordable internet connection up there to post some updates from the past 10 days.
Sunday, July 25, 2004
DR GOOGLE & MADRID
First off, the whole health matter. So, before going to the farmacia in madrid, I, of course, went to google. Search: sore, throat, swollen. Result: Google returned a wide variety of options, and I went to one. It said: sore throat+swollen tonsils & glands+white spots on tonsils= strep throat with infection; antibiotics required. Time spent: 4 minutes. Cost: €.05. So armed with Dr. Google´s advice, hit up the farmacia for the pills. That was Tuesday. Skip forward to Friday. No improvement. Patience is gone. To the Cruz Roja Hospital I go. After a bit of wait, doctor sees me. Asks whats up, then looks at my throat. Two seconds later - Ahhhh. Back to the desk. I was able to understand what he said: Strep throat with infection. Time spent: 40 minutes. Cost: €37.30. The only difference being he was able to write a prescription for something stronger and better equiped to fight the afliction. So, my solution to all health care problems: www.drgoogle.com - type in your symptoms, out comes a prescription. Everyone is happy, time and money saved. Now its Sunday, and the drugs are working and soon I will have my "A" game back.
So, Madrid. Loaded with painkillers I took to the streets, and took a path I rarely take - the one leading to the art museums. I got the trio pass to hit the three biggies in Madrid. The biggest was the Prado, and it was impressive indeed. I am sure more sophisticated scholars of art would recognize the names of the painters and the works, but, not being of that variety, I didn´t know much. I certainly was amazed at what can be accomplished with ink and a canvas, especially over such a time period. But I didn´t have the knowledge or background to truely "appreciate" all the intricacies and hidden meanings, if they exist, within each painting. Or maybe its just a conspicary among "art people" to make "non-art people" feel stupid by deriving all sorts of meaning and interpretations from even the most minute detail. I dont know. But I do know the following day at the Reina Sofia museum I felt a bit better about myself thanks to Roy Lichenstein. The musuem has a RL exhibit, and his work was within my grasp. And quite amusing really, if such a term is appropriate for art. Next up with Salvador Dali. Quite a contrast there. While having very little idea what was in the man´s head while painting such convoluted matters, I didn´t feel so bad for myself, figuring that no one should really have any honest idea what is going on. Certainly amazing work though, and I found myself looking at some of them for a good five minutes. The exhibit contained a good bit on his film and Hollywood ventures ,which I knew nothing about, and his planet sized ego, which led him to publish the "Dali News" daily in New York, containing nothing but articles and paintings by him and about him. In the main gallery the highlight was Picasso´s Guernica. Guernica is a town in the Basque Country that was the victim of the first-ever coordinated arial bombing during the Spanish civil war in 1939, requested by General Franco and delivered by Hilter´s Germany, as a test of their capabilities. Anyway, a good percentage of the town and people were wiped out. The painting is about 3m X 6m, very large. Lots of distorted figures and imagery with no real color. Interpret it for yourself, as Picasso never shed any light on what anything in the painting meant. It also was in New York during the remainder of Franco´s reign, and wasn´t returned to Spain, at Picasso request, until democracy was restored. Anyway, enough about art, lets talk about....
Futbol. Estadio Bernabeu, home of Real Madrid. Took the subway up north and took a tour through the stadium, from the upper level behind goal, to the President´s box, to the players bench, to the dressing rooms, around the field, and into the self-promoting trophy room and out through the never ending souvenier shop. I was impressed by the steep angle of the stands, such that the top row is about twice as high off the pitch as they are from the pitch. While sitting in the players bench, could only think, if only I had trained a little bit harder as a youngster.....
First off, the whole health matter. So, before going to the farmacia in madrid, I, of course, went to google. Search: sore, throat, swollen. Result: Google returned a wide variety of options, and I went to one. It said: sore throat+swollen tonsils & glands+white spots on tonsils= strep throat with infection; antibiotics required. Time spent: 4 minutes. Cost: €.05. So armed with Dr. Google´s advice, hit up the farmacia for the pills. That was Tuesday. Skip forward to Friday. No improvement. Patience is gone. To the Cruz Roja Hospital I go. After a bit of wait, doctor sees me. Asks whats up, then looks at my throat. Two seconds later - Ahhhh. Back to the desk. I was able to understand what he said: Strep throat with infection. Time spent: 40 minutes. Cost: €37.30. The only difference being he was able to write a prescription for something stronger and better equiped to fight the afliction. So, my solution to all health care problems: www.drgoogle.com - type in your symptoms, out comes a prescription. Everyone is happy, time and money saved. Now its Sunday, and the drugs are working and soon I will have my "A" game back.
So, Madrid. Loaded with painkillers I took to the streets, and took a path I rarely take - the one leading to the art museums. I got the trio pass to hit the three biggies in Madrid. The biggest was the Prado, and it was impressive indeed. I am sure more sophisticated scholars of art would recognize the names of the painters and the works, but, not being of that variety, I didn´t know much. I certainly was amazed at what can be accomplished with ink and a canvas, especially over such a time period. But I didn´t have the knowledge or background to truely "appreciate" all the intricacies and hidden meanings, if they exist, within each painting. Or maybe its just a conspicary among "art people" to make "non-art people" feel stupid by deriving all sorts of meaning and interpretations from even the most minute detail. I dont know. But I do know the following day at the Reina Sofia museum I felt a bit better about myself thanks to Roy Lichenstein. The musuem has a RL exhibit, and his work was within my grasp. And quite amusing really, if such a term is appropriate for art. Next up with Salvador Dali. Quite a contrast there. While having very little idea what was in the man´s head while painting such convoluted matters, I didn´t feel so bad for myself, figuring that no one should really have any honest idea what is going on. Certainly amazing work though, and I found myself looking at some of them for a good five minutes. The exhibit contained a good bit on his film and Hollywood ventures ,which I knew nothing about, and his planet sized ego, which led him to publish the "Dali News" daily in New York, containing nothing but articles and paintings by him and about him. In the main gallery the highlight was Picasso´s Guernica. Guernica is a town in the Basque Country that was the victim of the first-ever coordinated arial bombing during the Spanish civil war in 1939, requested by General Franco and delivered by Hilter´s Germany, as a test of their capabilities. Anyway, a good percentage of the town and people were wiped out. The painting is about 3m X 6m, very large. Lots of distorted figures and imagery with no real color. Interpret it for yourself, as Picasso never shed any light on what anything in the painting meant. It also was in New York during the remainder of Franco´s reign, and wasn´t returned to Spain, at Picasso request, until democracy was restored. Anyway, enough about art, lets talk about....
Futbol. Estadio Bernabeu, home of Real Madrid. Took the subway up north and took a tour through the stadium, from the upper level behind goal, to the President´s box, to the players bench, to the dressing rooms, around the field, and into the self-promoting trophy room and out through the never ending souvenier shop. I was impressed by the steep angle of the stands, such that the top row is about twice as high off the pitch as they are from the pitch. While sitting in the players bench, could only think, if only I had trained a little bit harder as a youngster.....
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
Well, maybe I am getting a little lazy in updating my blog, but so be it.
Going back a bit, last Thursday and Friday went to the "Concerts for the New Milenium" in Santiago. Great outdoor venue a easy 10 minute bus trip from town and festive atmosphere both nights with nearly 30,000 in attendance. Starting off on Thursday was none other than Iggy Pop. I don´t think the guy has any shirts and no one has told him that hes some 50+ years old. He was playing the rock star from start to finish, and for it still being light and only third from the top of the list, it was pretty impressive. Not to familiar with his stuff, but he did play "Dont wanna be a dog" twice. Was hoping for a bit of lust for life, but no dice. Next up Massive Attack. Took the stage with an cast of about 6 and an ANGEL amongst them. With the singers always coming and going, they delivered some KARMACOMA to keep the crowd SAFE FROM HARM. The INTERIA CREEPS but couldnt stop the HYMN OF THE BIG WHEEL from crashing into the MEZZAINE, resulting a few TEARDROPs. All was well, though, as the RISINGSON brought PROTECTION, but the UNFINISHED SYMPHONY was never completed. Among others. All in all, fabulous show with top-notch lightening and effects. The Chemical Brothers took the stage around half 12, and said, "HEY BOY, HEY GIRL, you're gonna be UNDER THE INFLUENCE of some BLOCK ROCKING BEATS, so, we hope you´ve GOT GLINT, but either way, IT DOESN'T MATTER cuz were just gonna LET FOREVER BE. Not as up to date on my hermanos tunes, and they played a good deal more new stuff than did massive attack. Again, the crowd, mostly 16-23 year olds it appeared, was loving it and the presentation was excellent. Not to mention the insane volume. Alrite, overall, I´d give the show 8 of 10. Could have used a bit more MA and a bit more passion from the brothers.
Day 2. Didnt bother showing up for the first few bands as it was a bit toasty. Lou Reed, taking the place of David Bowie, played the role of sub-headliner. Again, dont know much of his music, but it was a quality show, a bit more laid back the IP of course. And I got what I came for, as he left us with a PERFECT DAY. Taking the top bill was The Cure. And they played....and played...and played. A full 3 encore performances, during the last of which they were playing a mellow song and I just wanted it to end, as it was now after 3am. Delivered a good mix covering most of the hits from Galore and about half their new album. Great show, well worth it, but unless MA, this one dragged on.
Next day was off to Salamanca to camp and chill out for a few after the run Santiago to Pamplona and from the bulls and back to Santiago. The town has the oldest university in Spain, going back to the 13th Century. The landscape in this part of the country is flat, rolling hills, and mostly farmland, not to mention dry and hot in the summer. The plan was to rent a bike and make a 43km loop around the area. Nice plan it seemed, but the rental bike wasnt too comfortable. Anyway, no bother, set out Sunday morning. Got about 4km from town and the chain had derailed 3 times already, and the pedal had developed a regular clicking sound. Stopped to check things out, and the bolt holding in the left pedel was coming loose. A local stopped on his way by, and offered to help me get it fixed in the town 2k ahead. Nice. Found a farmer, tightened it up, and set off again with a guide to keep me from losing myself. Until 3k more down the road it was loose again. Worthless. Sometimes ya get what ya pay for, other times you get a whole lot less. Like this time. The local assured me I couldnt make it and should set back, but that defeats the purpose I figured. Told him I´d be alrite, and he set off. Clunked my way through another 3k or so to the 13k point. Couldnt go any further. The lack of ability to use the left pedal more than a touch combined with the threat of soon having no left pedal forced me back. By the time I got back to town there was no way I was taking the bike back to the campsite, 4k on teh other side, so I locked it outside the shop and left it for the night.
Not much else eventful, as I was starting to feel a bit ill, so just chilled out at the campsite pool. Came to Madrid on Monday, and the illness took on a whole new life. I´ve got strep throat or something evil like that. My throat is about 35% swollen on each side, leaving only a meager 30% for the essential things like breathing, eating, and drinking. And without 800mg of IB every 6 hours, I´m a hurting unit. But the European medical system (hopefully) came in handy enough. I had no intention of paying 100€ to see a doctor, as even taking the time to do it is hurdle enough, without any money involved. So I went to a pharmacy and managed to communicate my symptoms and assure them that only antibiotics would do. So I walked away with some drugs for a mere 4€. Now only if they´ll start doing some damage to my affliction.
Needless to say, Madrid has been a bit quieter than expected. Spending the days seeing the sights and all, and just laying low at night. Will be out of here Thursday or Friday heading down south.
Going back a bit, last Thursday and Friday went to the "Concerts for the New Milenium" in Santiago. Great outdoor venue a easy 10 minute bus trip from town and festive atmosphere both nights with nearly 30,000 in attendance. Starting off on Thursday was none other than Iggy Pop. I don´t think the guy has any shirts and no one has told him that hes some 50+ years old. He was playing the rock star from start to finish, and for it still being light and only third from the top of the list, it was pretty impressive. Not to familiar with his stuff, but he did play "Dont wanna be a dog" twice. Was hoping for a bit of lust for life, but no dice. Next up Massive Attack. Took the stage with an cast of about 6 and an ANGEL amongst them. With the singers always coming and going, they delivered some KARMACOMA to keep the crowd SAFE FROM HARM. The INTERIA CREEPS but couldnt stop the HYMN OF THE BIG WHEEL from crashing into the MEZZAINE, resulting a few TEARDROPs. All was well, though, as the RISINGSON brought PROTECTION, but the UNFINISHED SYMPHONY was never completed. Among others. All in all, fabulous show with top-notch lightening and effects. The Chemical Brothers took the stage around half 12, and said, "HEY BOY, HEY GIRL, you're gonna be UNDER THE INFLUENCE of some BLOCK ROCKING BEATS, so, we hope you´ve GOT GLINT, but either way, IT DOESN'T MATTER cuz were just gonna LET FOREVER BE. Not as up to date on my hermanos tunes, and they played a good deal more new stuff than did massive attack. Again, the crowd, mostly 16-23 year olds it appeared, was loving it and the presentation was excellent. Not to mention the insane volume. Alrite, overall, I´d give the show 8 of 10. Could have used a bit more MA and a bit more passion from the brothers.
Day 2. Didnt bother showing up for the first few bands as it was a bit toasty. Lou Reed, taking the place of David Bowie, played the role of sub-headliner. Again, dont know much of his music, but it was a quality show, a bit more laid back the IP of course. And I got what I came for, as he left us with a PERFECT DAY. Taking the top bill was The Cure. And they played....and played...and played. A full 3 encore performances, during the last of which they were playing a mellow song and I just wanted it to end, as it was now after 3am. Delivered a good mix covering most of the hits from Galore and about half their new album. Great show, well worth it, but unless MA, this one dragged on.
Next day was off to Salamanca to camp and chill out for a few after the run Santiago to Pamplona and from the bulls and back to Santiago. The town has the oldest university in Spain, going back to the 13th Century. The landscape in this part of the country is flat, rolling hills, and mostly farmland, not to mention dry and hot in the summer. The plan was to rent a bike and make a 43km loop around the area. Nice plan it seemed, but the rental bike wasnt too comfortable. Anyway, no bother, set out Sunday morning. Got about 4km from town and the chain had derailed 3 times already, and the pedal had developed a regular clicking sound. Stopped to check things out, and the bolt holding in the left pedel was coming loose. A local stopped on his way by, and offered to help me get it fixed in the town 2k ahead. Nice. Found a farmer, tightened it up, and set off again with a guide to keep me from losing myself. Until 3k more down the road it was loose again. Worthless. Sometimes ya get what ya pay for, other times you get a whole lot less. Like this time. The local assured me I couldnt make it and should set back, but that defeats the purpose I figured. Told him I´d be alrite, and he set off. Clunked my way through another 3k or so to the 13k point. Couldnt go any further. The lack of ability to use the left pedal more than a touch combined with the threat of soon having no left pedal forced me back. By the time I got back to town there was no way I was taking the bike back to the campsite, 4k on teh other side, so I locked it outside the shop and left it for the night.
Not much else eventful, as I was starting to feel a bit ill, so just chilled out at the campsite pool. Came to Madrid on Monday, and the illness took on a whole new life. I´ve got strep throat or something evil like that. My throat is about 35% swollen on each side, leaving only a meager 30% for the essential things like breathing, eating, and drinking. And without 800mg of IB every 6 hours, I´m a hurting unit. But the European medical system (hopefully) came in handy enough. I had no intention of paying 100€ to see a doctor, as even taking the time to do it is hurdle enough, without any money involved. So I went to a pharmacy and managed to communicate my symptoms and assure them that only antibiotics would do. So I walked away with some drugs for a mere 4€. Now only if they´ll start doing some damage to my affliction.
Needless to say, Madrid has been a bit quieter than expected. Spending the days seeing the sights and all, and just laying low at night. Will be out of here Thursday or Friday heading down south.
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