I can't believe how much has happened in the last 3 1/2 months and how quickly they have gone by. I never in my wildest dreams thought I would be headed back to Boulder so soon, but I have to go with the flow and trust. I hope the next step brings me closer to a career. Right now I am just a jumble of feelings and a bit of a mess. I know I haven't been gone that long but returning to Boulder is always so strange. There is a very different feeling to it than I had returning from Asia, or more recently, from Africa.
I still feel lot with where I want to go or how to get to the next stage of my life, but happy with the feeling that I am loving my life so much and living it to the fullest. But mostly I'm sad at how quickly this time is going by. It doesn't feel real. It's strange and a bit sad when I can't imagine how I want my life to be. It's sad that travel can't last forever when it is the best and most important part of my life. In my last couple days I find myself trying to soak up every moment. I try to squeeze out every last contrast of the places I'm in, one last glimmer of light, scent, or foreign word. One of my favorite quotes is, "Every place has its own hidden room, it's up to you to find it."
Istanbul, especially is full of hidden rooms. I keep finding them in fishermen under the bridge, a delicate painting under the curl of a roof in an old building. I love the unexpected moments that come with travel. They are like air to me, a person who gets tremendously stressed by routine, I will miss life on the road. I could go anywhere. I never know who I will meet. I feel like this tiny speck on a huge globe and nobody knows who I am or where I am. I feel utterly alone, but strong in myself. The adrenaline, freedom, learning, new people and places, unexpectedness, adventure and contrasts of travel are what I thrive on. It's hard to go home and not meet friendly people from all over the world all the time or see things I've only ever read about in books. Riding on the train through the Bulgarian countryside today, I felt happy and for no reason but my own, having noting to do with anyone else. That's the best kind of happy. I will miss the generosity and curiosity I encounter every day as I explore this strange world we walk in. It's the simple things, like the boy I met waiting for a train in Turkey who wanted to practice his few years of English on me and was just curious about what I was doing. After a simple exchange and I had to be on my way, he gave me his bookmark as a gift.
I may have gotten lost looking for hidden rooms in Plodiv, Bulgaria, but that's the best things about not knowing where I am supposed to be going, I suppose I can't really get lost in the end, only found.
Recently I've realized how little I actually have to lose at this point in my life and there is something incredibly freeing in that. I am having the time of my lie and wouldn't' change a thing. There are more and more moments when I catch myself and think that there is nowhere else I would rather be than in this very moment.
So I am scared about how I will make a living and a life in this world, but I am so grateful for the life I've had so far. I have seen so much. I may not have a lot, but what I do have, the memories of the places I have been and things I have seen and people i have met, those can't be taken away. They are building a lifetime. I can only hope that in the next step of my travels things will become more clear and remember there is more to his journey. If I am still unclear next time I'm headed home then I can (and probably will) have a nervous breakdown. But for now, I'm happy to be here, sad this part is ending, but I trust that the next will be even better. As for life now, I really can't complain!
Saturday, November 8, 2008
A Wonderful Day in Istanbul (Turkey)
I love the unexpectedness of travel and have reaffirmed how much I want to try to make it as an international journalist, somehow. I wanted to get out of the touristy old city part of Istanbul, Turkey, so I headed across the bridge to Taksim Square, where the locals are supposed to hang. I may not be the most observant person in the world (when I was home for the summer half way through the visit my mom moved a big palm tree plant I used to have at my old house into the guest room where I was staying and it took me over a week to notice and I only did in the end because she said something) but there did seem to be an awful lot of police with riot gear around. As I got closer to the square, there were even more, it looked like they were prepared for a full-out war. It seemed the rest of Istanbul could be raided by the Chinese and nobody would notice because all the police were here.
I got to the square which was covered in Turkish flags, which all have the Muslim moon on them. There were police tanks (yes, tanks) and I counted 11 bus loads of police in full riot gear. There was a mound of press squirming around with their cameras, microphones and gas masks. Unable to find anyone who spoke English to tell me what was going on and hating myself because I make it a habit wherever I am to try to track down an English paper if possible so that I can see if anything interesting to me journalistically is going on but I hadn't been able to do that yet in Turkey.
I sat down close to the action. A nice man bought me coffee but the only info I got out of him was a, "boom!" sound and him splaying his hands. The only bomb that looked like it had gone off in the square was one full of Turkish flags and also the ones with the wolf, the radical ones. More caffeinated but not any more enlightened, I continued on my quest for information, loving the chaos. Finally I talked to a Reuters reporter who told me there was supposed to be a pro-Kurdish demonstration and the police weren't allowing it. I asked him where the best place to watch the action would be and he said he wasn't sure protesters would be able to get in with all the blockades outside of the square and I should get out of the square anyways if I don't have a gas mask because Turkish police tend to be a bit gas-bomb happy.
Not one to pass up a good old fashioned riot, I parked myself at a restaurant on an open-air deck with the best view of the square. (It was actually at a Burger King!)
I wasn't the only one with that idea and soon struck up a conversation with at Turkish photographer who spoke a decent amount of English. He cracked me up because he is from Turkey but hates Turkish people. I felt bad for him because he feels really isolated in Turkey not being religious, but he said there is actually a large underground movement of Atheists but they keep quiet.
He filled me in that it was the DTP (sort of like a less-extreme, legal PKK that is a political party the government recognizes) that was supposed to come that afternoon. I asked about the police blockades, "Oh, they will find a way in." He said.
He told me that the last time there was a protest there a sniper shot 36 people and showed me the window he did it from. I couldn't understand if it was that protest or the one before it that a suicide bomber came and killed several people in the square because the police had blockaded it and weren't letting people out.
I obviously don't want anyone to get hurt, but if there is going to be action, I want to be there for it, I do have a career I want to start but this made me nervous, especially since there had been two suicide bombers in Turkey in the last 3 days. My new friend said he thought it was likely there would be bombs today. asked if we were safe and he said, "Well of course, that's why I am up here. The bombs are hardly ever big enough to reach up here and I don't think a sniper would aim in this direction."
Feeling more alive than ever, adrenaline coursing through my body and energized in a really interesting conversation about politics, I decided to wait it out. Suddenly there was a lot of commotion. My friend snapped some photos then zoomed in to show me the two main leaders of the DTP had come, a man and a woman, and were talking to the press. He said the protesters wouldn't come because police would obtain the video footage and identify as many people as they could and go to their houses in the night and beat them. I may complain about my country, but I felt a rush of privilege to be from the U.S. after hearing that.
He looked through my photos and told me that in a crowd shot I had was a PKK leader who was meant to be hiding in the mountains but was actually there in the crowd and I had his picture! That was exciting. Then, the tension seemed to fizzle out. The police were still there on roofs, all around the square, and the police helicopter continued to do rounds overhead, but the thrill in the air had evaporated.
"They won't come. The police get their cues from the media. It's the media who is in contact with the protest leaders so when the media begins to leave we know they got a phone call and it's over," he said.
So the most action I saw was the press jostling each other to get a better view of the interviewees, but still got that rush and reminder of what I am striving for. Imagine being on the phone with a PKK leader! Another wonderful day in Istanbul.
I got to the square which was covered in Turkish flags, which all have the Muslim moon on them. There were police tanks (yes, tanks) and I counted 11 bus loads of police in full riot gear. There was a mound of press squirming around with their cameras, microphones and gas masks. Unable to find anyone who spoke English to tell me what was going on and hating myself because I make it a habit wherever I am to try to track down an English paper if possible so that I can see if anything interesting to me journalistically is going on but I hadn't been able to do that yet in Turkey.
I sat down close to the action. A nice man bought me coffee but the only info I got out of him was a, "boom!" sound and him splaying his hands. The only bomb that looked like it had gone off in the square was one full of Turkish flags and also the ones with the wolf, the radical ones. More caffeinated but not any more enlightened, I continued on my quest for information, loving the chaos. Finally I talked to a Reuters reporter who told me there was supposed to be a pro-Kurdish demonstration and the police weren't allowing it. I asked him where the best place to watch the action would be and he said he wasn't sure protesters would be able to get in with all the blockades outside of the square and I should get out of the square anyways if I don't have a gas mask because Turkish police tend to be a bit gas-bomb happy.
Not one to pass up a good old fashioned riot, I parked myself at a restaurant on an open-air deck with the best view of the square. (It was actually at a Burger King!)
I wasn't the only one with that idea and soon struck up a conversation with at Turkish photographer who spoke a decent amount of English. He cracked me up because he is from Turkey but hates Turkish people. I felt bad for him because he feels really isolated in Turkey not being religious, but he said there is actually a large underground movement of Atheists but they keep quiet.
He filled me in that it was the DTP (sort of like a less-extreme, legal PKK that is a political party the government recognizes) that was supposed to come that afternoon. I asked about the police blockades, "Oh, they will find a way in." He said.
He told me that the last time there was a protest there a sniper shot 36 people and showed me the window he did it from. I couldn't understand if it was that protest or the one before it that a suicide bomber came and killed several people in the square because the police had blockaded it and weren't letting people out.
I obviously don't want anyone to get hurt, but if there is going to be action, I want to be there for it, I do have a career I want to start but this made me nervous, especially since there had been two suicide bombers in Turkey in the last 3 days. My new friend said he thought it was likely there would be bombs today. asked if we were safe and he said, "Well of course, that's why I am up here. The bombs are hardly ever big enough to reach up here and I don't think a sniper would aim in this direction."
Feeling more alive than ever, adrenaline coursing through my body and energized in a really interesting conversation about politics, I decided to wait it out. Suddenly there was a lot of commotion. My friend snapped some photos then zoomed in to show me the two main leaders of the DTP had come, a man and a woman, and were talking to the press. He said the protesters wouldn't come because police would obtain the video footage and identify as many people as they could and go to their houses in the night and beat them. I may complain about my country, but I felt a rush of privilege to be from the U.S. after hearing that.
He looked through my photos and told me that in a crowd shot I had was a PKK leader who was meant to be hiding in the mountains but was actually there in the crowd and I had his picture! That was exciting. Then, the tension seemed to fizzle out. The police were still there on roofs, all around the square, and the police helicopter continued to do rounds overhead, but the thrill in the air had evaporated.
"They won't come. The police get their cues from the media. It's the media who is in contact with the protest leaders so when the media begins to leave we know they got a phone call and it's over," he said.
So the most action I saw was the press jostling each other to get a better view of the interviewees, but still got that rush and reminder of what I am striving for. Imagine being on the phone with a PKK leader! Another wonderful day in Istanbul.
Adventures in Albania
After some time wandering around in Skopje, Macedonia, a gritty, communist-block like city that seems to be trying valiantly to redefine itself, I found myself stepping onto yet another bus into the night towards Albania. This was another country I was a bit nervous about, mostly because every single person I had spoken to told me not to go. To be fair, none of them had been there which is how I rationalized going despite the warnings.
Albania has long been a traveler's blacklisted country and it is only recently that it has opened up its borders. Like for Kosovo, I wanted to be one of the first let into a country with such a torrid reputation. I was a little apprehensive on the bus because it was just two men (the drivers) and me. But it turned out to be great. I was able to spread out and sleep in the isle, and the men were really nice and despite not speaking any English, their hospitality was impeccable. They tried to buy me coffee or food at every stop and just seemed to look out for me.
I got off the bus dazed at 5 a.m. in Tirana, the capital. I had no idea where I was. Like Macedonia, Albania is trying to give itself a face lift by painting every single building a different color. We are talking Easter egg colors here by the way. It was the full giant Crayola pack, not the small one. Knowing very little English would be spoken, I had armed myself with as many Albanian phrases as I could manage. I certainly attracted stares walking down the street with my backpack, but I felt very welcome.
Transportation in Albania is absurd. There are no bus stops, just plots of dirt throughout the city where buses sometimes stop. They leave haphazardly and just to make it a little more fun, they like to mix it up by constantly switching the plot from which certain destinations will depart from. I asked a girl in Albanian where the bus to Saranda would be. She laughed at my awful Albanian then dropped everything, got out of line for the bus she was waiting to board, took my hand, and led me along the street. She spoke maybe 10 words of English, to my 10 of Albanian but we babbled at each other. It should have been awkward but wasn't at all because of her warmth. Apparently the Saranda bus plot had changed recently. We got to where she thought it was and had to ask someone else. He promptly dropped everything to walk us to the new plot. Soon we had a whole crew of Albanians joining out team and detouring from their day on a mission to help me find the right bus. When we finally did they all shook my hand or hugged me goodbye. The bus driver took out his wallet to show me how much money I was to pay and he didn't even try to cheat me. I went across the street to get some coffee while we were waiting for the bus to fill. The waitress patiently held up each kind of coffee and milk for me to make sure I got just what I wanted with unending precision. On the bus the only other English speaker, a 10 year-old girl with great English sat next to me. We chatted about things you could talk about with a 10 year-old, sweet Albanian girl. Each time the bus stopped people would try to buy me food. I decided I never wanted to leave Albania.
There might not be much English spoken but that was the adventure of it. I got by through hand gestures and writing down numbers or showing money or just blindly guessing, it was all tremendous fun. I thought it would be frustrating but it never was. People could see I was a foreigner and wherever I was, they would buy me coffee and try to communicate in any way that we could, or just stop to say hello and shake my hand.
Sadly, for all the kindness of Albanians, the majority of the countryside I was was not nice. All the old cars that didn't make it to Kosovo wound up in Albania. The communist urban sprawl is appalling and even the rivers had the glazed sheen of oil coating them.
Also disturbing are the 700,000 concrete bunkers that are scattered everywhere. They are in front yards, fields, mountain sides, everywhere. Later, an Albanian that had lived in Canada so he spoke English told me that the government had convinced them that the entire world was against them so they built all the bunkers. He said that the cost of building one bunker is equivalent to the cost of building a one-bedroom apartment. That's a lot for a poor country.
The whole time I was in Albania, the hospitality was unending. Anyone who spoke any English at all wanted to come talk to me and seemed genuinely happy to share their country with me. Despite the challenge, or maybe because of it, Albania was one of the most rewarding places I have ever been.
Albania has long been a traveler's blacklisted country and it is only recently that it has opened up its borders. Like for Kosovo, I wanted to be one of the first let into a country with such a torrid reputation. I was a little apprehensive on the bus because it was just two men (the drivers) and me. But it turned out to be great. I was able to spread out and sleep in the isle, and the men were really nice and despite not speaking any English, their hospitality was impeccable. They tried to buy me coffee or food at every stop and just seemed to look out for me.
I got off the bus dazed at 5 a.m. in Tirana, the capital. I had no idea where I was. Like Macedonia, Albania is trying to give itself a face lift by painting every single building a different color. We are talking Easter egg colors here by the way. It was the full giant Crayola pack, not the small one. Knowing very little English would be spoken, I had armed myself with as many Albanian phrases as I could manage. I certainly attracted stares walking down the street with my backpack, but I felt very welcome.
Transportation in Albania is absurd. There are no bus stops, just plots of dirt throughout the city where buses sometimes stop. They leave haphazardly and just to make it a little more fun, they like to mix it up by constantly switching the plot from which certain destinations will depart from. I asked a girl in Albanian where the bus to Saranda would be. She laughed at my awful Albanian then dropped everything, got out of line for the bus she was waiting to board, took my hand, and led me along the street. She spoke maybe 10 words of English, to my 10 of Albanian but we babbled at each other. It should have been awkward but wasn't at all because of her warmth. Apparently the Saranda bus plot had changed recently. We got to where she thought it was and had to ask someone else. He promptly dropped everything to walk us to the new plot. Soon we had a whole crew of Albanians joining out team and detouring from their day on a mission to help me find the right bus. When we finally did they all shook my hand or hugged me goodbye. The bus driver took out his wallet to show me how much money I was to pay and he didn't even try to cheat me. I went across the street to get some coffee while we were waiting for the bus to fill. The waitress patiently held up each kind of coffee and milk for me to make sure I got just what I wanted with unending precision. On the bus the only other English speaker, a 10 year-old girl with great English sat next to me. We chatted about things you could talk about with a 10 year-old, sweet Albanian girl. Each time the bus stopped people would try to buy me food. I decided I never wanted to leave Albania.
There might not be much English spoken but that was the adventure of it. I got by through hand gestures and writing down numbers or showing money or just blindly guessing, it was all tremendous fun. I thought it would be frustrating but it never was. People could see I was a foreigner and wherever I was, they would buy me coffee and try to communicate in any way that we could, or just stop to say hello and shake my hand.
Sadly, for all the kindness of Albanians, the majority of the countryside I was was not nice. All the old cars that didn't make it to Kosovo wound up in Albania. The communist urban sprawl is appalling and even the rivers had the glazed sheen of oil coating them.
Also disturbing are the 700,000 concrete bunkers that are scattered everywhere. They are in front yards, fields, mountain sides, everywhere. Later, an Albanian that had lived in Canada so he spoke English told me that the government had convinced them that the entire world was against them so they built all the bunkers. He said that the cost of building one bunker is equivalent to the cost of building a one-bedroom apartment. That's a lot for a poor country.
The whole time I was in Albania, the hospitality was unending. Anyone who spoke any English at all wanted to come talk to me and seemed genuinely happy to share their country with me. Despite the challenge, or maybe because of it, Albania was one of the most rewarding places I have ever been.
Words from the Balkans
I had the honor of talking to several people, despite how fast I was moving on my travels in the Balkans. They have lived through things most of us have only read about, and hopefully will never experience ourselves. I asked them about freedom and democracy, the former Yugoslavia, the genocide, religion and communism. Here are some of their words.
On independence:
On independence:
- "Before people didn't have to think for themselves, now they do and they are not ready."
- "Things were so much better with Tito and communism. My kids could go to school. We had medical care. Now we have nothing."
- "With communism we had health care and homes, we had bigger salaries. We were taken care of."
- "It's a difficult transition, but it always is, I am sure things will improve, we are adjusting."
On the genocide:
- "If you had told me 20 years ago that this would happen I would have laughed. You can't imagine. I can't imagine."
- "I left, I had to. I had to forget, but the people still living here, they aren't forgetting. They can't forget if they stay."
- "It happened so fast.I don't understand how it happened.It was never a problem before. I'm from Croatia. I married a Muslim from Mostar (Bosnia). Nobody cared. Then all of the sudden, people became like animals. So fast. It happened overnight, they became animals."
- "I can't forget. But there is nothing I can do. There is no justice. But like the Chinese saying, 'The stupid only look back. The smart look ahead.'"
- "I lived in a cellar with the Croatian army for 2 months. For 2 months, I didn't know if my husband and children were alive or dead. My husband was right there. All he had to do was cross the bridge to get to me, but he couldn't. It took him two months and he had to go all the way to Moscow first. He had to get fake papers to leave. We were lucky."
- "People just turned into animals. I saw neighbors looting stores, people I knew doing these terrible things. You couldn't imagine."
- "I never thought it would happen here. Never. It could happen anywhere. Nobody is immune."
On Albania
- "Of course things are better after independence. People have been learning. After 1997 it was hard, but we are rebuilding."
- "The bunkers were mistakes, there were a lot of mistakes made back then. But we must try to forget and look forward."
- "We used to think the whole world was against us. That is why we built the bunkers. We thought everyone wanted to attack."
- "They built them because my parents used to be afraid, but now they are not." (bunkers)
Wandering Through the Balkans
After spending a week in Western Europe I was looking forward to going somewhere more adventurous. The information I could get about parts of the Balkans where I wanted to go was extremely limited. I realized that this is going to be a complete shit show. I was right, but ti was one of the most amazing shit shows I could imagine and my only regret is I had way too little time there.
There was hardly any English spoken. It took half a day to figure out daylight savings was creating a time change. I know I am a little slow, but also imagine dealing with that and having to catch a bus but nobody was really sure about the time change or if the clocks went forwards or backwards all without English! There were some unique hand gestures in there for sure. Another good time was in Montenegro, trying to order food from a restaurant with a large menus, but with only a few times actually available and no English. Apparently the universal fish sign for a mackerel varies from that of a bass. I'm still not sure if that was what the waiter was trying to tell me, but I have to admire his enthusiasm. I went back to Croatia from Montenegro and then on to Bosnia and Herzegovina.
At this point in my travels, I didn't think I could really be shocked, but I was shocked in Bosnia. I think about the genocide in Rwanda and they were killing each other with axes. For some reason even after being there, it seemed so horrible that it was too far away to imagine, almost like the reality of it never hit me. And axes and those sorts of weapons don't leave lasting marks on a city. More buildings than not that I saw in Southern Bosnia and Herzegovina were either bullet-riddled or had been poorly patched. There were more burnt out shells of buildings than actual buildings themselves. And walking around Mostar, there were more bullet holes in buildings in that one city than I could comprehend there being bullets in the world. It was unbelievable. It was absolutely devastating, and to see it in a place that looks so much like home was really surreal. What happened there I can't make sense of. I don't think the people who were involved can either. It seems closer to home. It was incredible to speak with people about their experiences. I never pried, but people seemed to want to talk as if to try to make sense in their own heads. But at the same time, in a town like Mostar with the famous bridge, I had to question the idea of turning a genocide into a tourist attraction.
But despite such a history, everyone I met was incredibly warm and also thanked me for coming to their country. It made the damage everywhere seem all the more unfathomable. I could also see some wildness left in people. I was with another traveler for a few hours and we met a local Bosnian who offered to buy us coffee because he wanted to practice his English. One cup turned into three and soon he decided that we had to meet his cousin. We piled into his pick-up and he handed both of us a beer. He cracked one open for himself and put it in his lap. He had a huge joint in one hand and pulled out a gun and started waving it around in the other while he drove and sipped his beer and pulled on the joint. "Welcome to Bosnia!" He said. We careened around curves and he said, "Just kidding, we hate guns here." As he put it back under his seat.
My introduction into Serbia wasn't as nice. I boarded an overnight bus from Mostar to Belgrade. Luggage costs extra, so I was fishing through my purse and in one hand I had 50 euros and the other the requisite 10 euros. The driver snatched the 50 out of my hand. On the bus I did everything I could to get my change back or to get my 50 back so I could just give him the 10, but he just laughed. The bottom floor of the bus all tried to help me and soon the driver started yelling at them. The woman who was translating said he was angry and I don't speak his language so why should he bother to give me back his change, and she said she told him that I shouldn't have to speak his language and he almost kicked both of us off the bus. He wouldn't unlock the bathroom door either so I was quite pleased when a woman threw up just outside the locked door (not because she was sick but because I hoped the asshole driver would have to clean it up).
But it was late at night waiting for my bus in a sketchy Bosnian bus station that I realized how happy I was. Travel may sound glamorous, but most of your time is spent waiting for a bus or being on a bus or being lost in a city or trying to figure out how to do a simple task. But mostly lots and lots of waiting. It was a comfortable feeling. The last few months had been really hard on me, Western Europe was a rough transition from Africa and there have been a lot of rough changes in my life lately, but at that moment I felt free. I felt strong and independent. The waiting for a bus to carry me off into the dark unknown, alone with nobody knowing where I was or who I am has become the most familiar feeling to me. After having a rough time, I finally felt more like my self again, the girl who headed off to Asia and Central America and then Africa- alone.
There was hardly any English spoken. It took half a day to figure out daylight savings was creating a time change. I know I am a little slow, but also imagine dealing with that and having to catch a bus but nobody was really sure about the time change or if the clocks went forwards or backwards all without English! There were some unique hand gestures in there for sure. Another good time was in Montenegro, trying to order food from a restaurant with a large menus, but with only a few times actually available and no English. Apparently the universal fish sign for a mackerel varies from that of a bass. I'm still not sure if that was what the waiter was trying to tell me, but I have to admire his enthusiasm. I went back to Croatia from Montenegro and then on to Bosnia and Herzegovina.
At this point in my travels, I didn't think I could really be shocked, but I was shocked in Bosnia. I think about the genocide in Rwanda and they were killing each other with axes. For some reason even after being there, it seemed so horrible that it was too far away to imagine, almost like the reality of it never hit me. And axes and those sorts of weapons don't leave lasting marks on a city. More buildings than not that I saw in Southern Bosnia and Herzegovina were either bullet-riddled or had been poorly patched. There were more burnt out shells of buildings than actual buildings themselves. And walking around Mostar, there were more bullet holes in buildings in that one city than I could comprehend there being bullets in the world. It was unbelievable. It was absolutely devastating, and to see it in a place that looks so much like home was really surreal. What happened there I can't make sense of. I don't think the people who were involved can either. It seems closer to home. It was incredible to speak with people about their experiences. I never pried, but people seemed to want to talk as if to try to make sense in their own heads. But at the same time, in a town like Mostar with the famous bridge, I had to question the idea of turning a genocide into a tourist attraction.
But despite such a history, everyone I met was incredibly warm and also thanked me for coming to their country. It made the damage everywhere seem all the more unfathomable. I could also see some wildness left in people. I was with another traveler for a few hours and we met a local Bosnian who offered to buy us coffee because he wanted to practice his English. One cup turned into three and soon he decided that we had to meet his cousin. We piled into his pick-up and he handed both of us a beer. He cracked one open for himself and put it in his lap. He had a huge joint in one hand and pulled out a gun and started waving it around in the other while he drove and sipped his beer and pulled on the joint. "Welcome to Bosnia!" He said. We careened around curves and he said, "Just kidding, we hate guns here." As he put it back under his seat.
My introduction into Serbia wasn't as nice. I boarded an overnight bus from Mostar to Belgrade. Luggage costs extra, so I was fishing through my purse and in one hand I had 50 euros and the other the requisite 10 euros. The driver snatched the 50 out of my hand. On the bus I did everything I could to get my change back or to get my 50 back so I could just give him the 10, but he just laughed. The bottom floor of the bus all tried to help me and soon the driver started yelling at them. The woman who was translating said he was angry and I don't speak his language so why should he bother to give me back his change, and she said she told him that I shouldn't have to speak his language and he almost kicked both of us off the bus. He wouldn't unlock the bathroom door either so I was quite pleased when a woman threw up just outside the locked door (not because she was sick but because I hoped the asshole driver would have to clean it up).
But it was late at night waiting for my bus in a sketchy Bosnian bus station that I realized how happy I was. Travel may sound glamorous, but most of your time is spent waiting for a bus or being on a bus or being lost in a city or trying to figure out how to do a simple task. But mostly lots and lots of waiting. It was a comfortable feeling. The last few months had been really hard on me, Western Europe was a rough transition from Africa and there have been a lot of rough changes in my life lately, but at that moment I felt free. I felt strong and independent. The waiting for a bus to carry me off into the dark unknown, alone with nobody knowing where I was or who I am has become the most familiar feeling to me. After having a rough time, I finally felt more like my self again, the girl who headed off to Asia and Central America and then Africa- alone.
Travels in the World's Newest Country (Kosovo)
I was scared shitless when I entered Kosovo. Well, first I was surprised I got in because I was coming from Serbia, but then I was scared because I realized what I was doing. There was no information about borders, visas, or really anything except warnings not to go, so I was surprised at how easily I was stamped into the world's newest country. The border guard spoke some English and asked me why I was there. He looked shocked then doubled over laughing when I told him I was a tourist. Then he shook my hand and thanked me genuinely for coming to his country.
That nice exchange aside, entering Kosovo is like entering a war-zone on pause. I go the feeling I did when I was the only person walking around and the only person without a gun in the D.R.C.. The border was surrounded by intimidating circular barbed wire and carefully watched by NATO and UN vehicles and a few choppers standing by for good measure. What they were guarding I am not sure because to put it bluntly, Kosovo is a bit of a shit-hole. It is mostly flat, a bit like Kansas, full of rusting oil drills and burnt out houses. It seemed to be the place that all the old cars in the world must be sent too. I don't know how they all get there, but believe me, they are there.
What really scared me was the approaching darkness. This is always a worry as a single woman traveling alone, but especially in a place where I had no idea what to expect. It seemed ominous and full of danger. Soon I couldn't see anything but silhouettes of houses. Kosovo is the darkest country I have ever been too. There were plenty of big houses, all in the middle of nowhere, but they were mostly uninhabited and scattered along the roadside. A couple had a light bulb shining, one for a two or three story house, but most were just dark. A few had open fires, but other than that just black. It was an intimidating entrance into an intimidating country.
But I loved Kosovo. I don't know why. There is nothing pretty about it. Pristina, the capital, is your typical socialist block city with added graffiti and plenty of signs looking for war criminals like we look for lost children on the back of milk cartons in the past. A few buildings have attempted to be creative, but the result is more shocking and garish than anything. I never thought I would say it, but they should stick to the block buildings. But what the city lacked in character, people made up for in warmth. Yes, many were confused as to why I was there, but because of NGO/UN presence, there was a little English spoken.
When the owner of the hotel I stayed at found out I was from the U.S. he smiled a huge smile and shook my hand enthusiastically. "America! You recognize my country! I give discount to you. Thank you."
People went out of their way to help me. When I was trying to leave, there was a problem with my bus. A janitor at the station saw me waiting and went in search for someone who could speak English and tell me the bus wasn't coming. When I went to use the bathroom, the station manager personally showed me where it was and made sure I didn't have to pay the fee they usually charge, then handed me a towel himself to dry my face after I had washed it. I was treated like an honored, albeit unexpected, guest. The people I met were proud of their country and fiercely optimistic about the future. It was one of the best experiences I have ever had. I have found that often, in the countries that scare me the most at first end up being the most rewarding.
Lessons from Western Europe
Once again, I don't have as much to say about Western Europe. But I will impart a little information gleaned from this stop instead of ignoring it completely:
- Everyone goes the the Colosseum and Vatican City in Rome while I will admit are must-sees, but after that, just as entertaining is to sit in a square and watch people in tourist groups get pooped on by pigeons. Roman pigeons seem to aim for the Japanese, though that could be a sheer numbers game, but it is quite a good day out if you are as easily amused as I am.
- If you are ever in Ireland in a pub reading Finnegan's Wake and it starts to actually make sense, you are officially too drunk and it's time to go home.
- Likewise, if you are ever in Dublin, dazed from just having arrived, carrying a huge backpack with nowhere to go and a group of wasted guys (still drunk from the night before because it's 10 a.m.) invite you to sit down and have a beer with them, despite your first reaction being to run away, do it. They will likely sing you Irish songs and rhymes and be hilarious to hang out with and a great welcome to Ireland.
- I'm going to go ahead and put Croatia in with Western Europe because it is so easy and touristy. If you ever go to Dubrovnik, it's a great afternoon to play hide and seek with kids in the old city.
- Do not go to Corfu, Greece if you are feeling independent and loving being the only tourist. If you are looking to get laid and wasted with a bunch of half-naked 18 year old Australians, then it is your place.
So that is a little bit of what I learned. I'm glad that I saw the things I did in Western Europe and feel lucky to have been there, but I also realized that's not the type of life-changing, challenging, brain-quenching, thought-defining, or adventurous travel that I am looking for at this stage in my life. But someday I will be back with money to have a good time!
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