Is Not Worrying a Worrisome Sign?

This is a picture looking down the Latin Bridge, away from the city center. The Arch Duke Ferdinan was killed by a Bosnian-Serb Nationalist, setting in motion the militarization of allied nations that escalated quickly into WWI.

September 30 – Dubrovnik, Croatia

The last day in Sarajevo passed slowly. My activities included ticket purchasing and a little bit of wandering photography. I have reached a point where I cannot seem to get enough sleep, especially in the mornings. I don’t like the feeling of sleeping in much and missing out on the day but I am unable to summon the determination to make myself rise. I have no schedule and my body seems to know that no one will chide me for staying in bed. In the past, when I have felt like this I have attributed it to trying to learn a new language and the strain of working out logistics somewhere where you have never been. It is true that the mind constantly seems to be mulling over endless scenarios of “what will I do if…” I am not sure if stress is all there is to it. I think that a more general weariness must be overcome when facing the day independently.

Turkish Nescafe hurts so good.

Little projects can take on a great deal of time and effort. After buying a bottle of wine, I realized I had no cork screw. I spent the better part of an hour and a half walking around the Turkish Quarter of Sarajevo stopping by every kiosk and mini-mart asking if they sold cork screws. By asking I mean motioning, mumbling pigeon Russian and looking perplexed. Eventually one cashier had her own. So I fetched the bottle and stood by helplessly while she struggled for minutes to get the cork out. She would abide no assistance.

My train to the Croatian coast left at 6:30 the next morning. The plan was to keep a full bladder and thus ensure an early start (I do not own an alarm). The plan failed and I just stayed half awake.

I got up at 5am, donned my wet laundry. I had washed my laundry at dusk the night before in the bathroom sink. Wearing it dried it quickly and I was happy that I had chosen to pack fancy quick dry fabrics. The train ride passed like the night, neither fully awake or asleep.

Croatia feels like California. This makes sense because they are both Mediterranean climates. The coastal hills are green and lush. The shoreline starts and stops with a series of islands and peninsulas interrupted by open Mediterranean. It’s enough to make one want nothing more than a sail boat and a lot time. The country is changing quickly. Corrugated metal shacks sit just down the tracks of a tourism-oriented train station. Many of the people seem miffed that the travelers don’t bother to learn Croatian. To me, this indicates that they have not traveled much themselves. Most every traveler learns key words like ‘hello,’ ‘please,’ and ‘thank you.’ It is hard to grasp much more than that when you spend no more than a week in a country language area (All the languages of former Yugoslavia are mutually intelligible. Pronunciation and minor vocabulary variations define whether you are speaking Bosnian, Croatian or Serbian. I am not sure where Slovenian fits into the mix but I suspect the differences are slightly greater but not imposing.

The little sleep the previous night and on the train would prove to be contributing factors to a “rough day at the office for Mr. Conway.” To make a long story shorter, my credit card was maxed, internet cafes are not plentiful so paying it off was a project, I had no local currency, it was a weekend in a work-week oriented locale, and I left my things on a bus which pulled away before I could get back on after a break. At one point, I had about four dollars of local currency, my credit card was stopped and I lost my bags. I have always been adverse to worrying. My philosophy is that the stress of worrying neither contributes to solving the problem nor improves my overall frame of mind, so why get dragged into it. It can become quite a vicious cycle of remorse, stress, and frustration with no constructive outlet. Better just to make a note of my stupid mistakes and move on. It is embarrassing to mess up.

By the time I went to bed in Dubrovnik, this situation had been largely remedied. I am now just waiting for Visa to get word that I paid the bill.

The hostel in Dubrovnik is out of dorm rooms. I have my own room again, a mixed blessing. Cats and kittens are all over the patio here. They also will come into your room or follow you into the kitchen if given an opportunity. On the upside, it is nice to pet the cats. But they beg mercilessly, encouraged by past guests well-intended charity. As a result the owner is rather hilariously involved in a struggle to capture the cats to send them to a sort of Humane Society. I have never felt so care-free as during these cat-capturing sessions. He talks to them sweetly just after chasing them all over the place. They always want food so they keep within range to get something to eat but always elude his grasps. Unfortunately for the cats hunger gets the better of their judgment when he produces meat. Why he does not just invest the couple of bucks for a can of tuna, I have no idea. He likes the cats abstractly, but doesn’t appreciate their behavior when the guests are trying to eat and claims they eat “everything,” notably, his grapes. “Sadly, they must go,” he apologetically explains.

At night, after a hard day of cat herding and fixing up his new property, he talked with me about Dubrovnik. The city was shelled by Serbs from the nearby hills and the Ocean, largely out of spite. The city has no strategic value and is wholly Croatian. It does boast fantastic medieval fortifications and a spectacular walled old town. My host is a very friendly man. He is working as a delivery man temporarily until he can find better pay as a grape-agro expert or start his own business. The guest rooms nicely supplement his 9-5. He believes that there can be peace as long as people have “normal jobs,” so they can “build normal lives.” Still, he holds no love for Serbs, “I can see why young people, who do not know about all of the death would want to visit there. It’s not for me. I cannot go there.”

Spending most all of time focusing on my plans, writing about my experiences and so forth has revealed a consistent strain in living. It is a balancing act trying to both embrace and spread happiness. Hopefully my time in Kyrgyzstan will be better suited for this balance.

Sarajevo!

September 27 Downtown Sarajevo

Overnight bus rides suck. I'll spare you the gripe session. The view makes it worthwhile.

Sarajevo is a small city of around 600,000 souls. People of my age know the city only as the stage for the tragic siege of during the war that lasted from 1992-1995. The ravages of this war scarred the facsades of buildings all over town. Huge chunks of concrete were ripped violently away, sometimes revealing an apartment. Some of these apartments have been patched and deemed livable by hardy Sarajevans. Bullet holes are the most common form of defacement. The city is still very much rebuilding, restoring and renovating. Some completely new buildings of glass and steel shine in contrast to the dirtier grayish fade of the structures that endured the war. A few completely destitute skeletons of concrete, enormous relics of the war, are so badly damaged from shelling and fire that they remain untouched. Soccer ball sized shell blast craters are filled with red cement. They are scattered throughout the central city. A plaque now and then recalls the names of victims from a particularly deadly shell.

The city is surrounded by steep hills, strategically it is easy to envision it under siege. But the small cabin-like homes that dot these hills otherwise completely covered in vibrant green foliage radiate an unmistakable liveliness that seems better suited for the city than the helter-skelter missing pieces of buildings. Mosques, synagogues, orthadox and catholic churches all lie within a couple blocks of one another in the center. The streets bustle with all of the activity of any other city I have yet seen in Europe. It is a city, not a ruin, after all. But things have a bit more of a somber feel here. It may be that it’s just the smallest city I have seen so far. It may not be.

I’ll now try and describe a summary of the history of the war. Serbs are predominantly Orthodox. Croats, Catholic. Muslims are called Bosniaks. Croats and Serbs have their own nations on either side of Bosnia and Herzagovina. Additionally, there are “Bosnian-Serbs” and “Bosnian-Croats.”

All three groups came to live in more-or-less equal numbers in the region as here the Russian/Byzantine, Austro-Hungarian/Catholic, and Ottoman Turk/Islam vied for territory over the centuries. Upon the breakup of Yugoslavia, Serbs began seizing territory and ethnic-cleansing aided by the fact that they had inherited most of the Yugoslav army. Croats and Muslims fought against them. Then Croatia decided enough was enough and began a similar policy of ethnic cleansing to pre-empt the Serbs. This set each ethno-religious group on its own. From 1992 to 1995 the war raged. Sarajevo was besieged twice by Serbs. The Dayton Agreement, negotiated under intense US and European political pressure as well as a NATO bombing campaign were signed in 1995. Peace has tenuous held since. (Nationalism flaming politicians in Serbia later set that country to attempt to settle Kosovo in 1999, even though Albanian Muslims still live there). Today Bosnia and Hercegovina is divided into two separate ‘entities’. A jagged area stretching mostly along the Northern and Eastern regions is called the Serb Republic. It controls 49% of the country. The rest is governed by the Federation of Bosnia and Hercegovina and includes Sarajevo. The administrative centers (capitals) of the two ‘entities’ are only 40 km apart.

All of the peoples of the country are Southern Slavic. Physically they are indistinguishable. Intermarriage was common. Ethnic cleansing has concentrated Croats in Hercegovina (Southwestern Bosnia and Hercegovina), Muslims in Sarajevo and central Bosnia, and Serbs in their entity to the North and East.

Elections are now being held in the Federation. Sarajevo is a nice town. The tourist season must be far gone; I have an apartment with no furniture but some 30 cots all to myself. There is a basic kitchen and warm water in the bathroom. I reckon I will stay here another couple of nights.

Their is good evidense of the state of integration of Sarajevo right now. The tourism industry exists but its a bit dodgy. When we were let into the apartment that comprises a tourism agency's "hostel" the man who led us there spoke not a word of English. He couldn't open the door and began angrily ringing the door bell. Eventually he pushed and pushed. The door gave. A half naked polish kid looked dazed. It was 7am. He started yelling at the Polish kid in Croatian and general angry monosyllabic grunts. Fortunately the staff of the hostel are safely some 7 blocks away from my apartment. Which is mine all mine. When an experience backpacker opens up a helpful, fun, AND cheap hostel things might liven up a bit in down town Sarajevo. For now, you have to visit despite the accomidations.

At least the lady that served me pizza was nice.

On Down the Danube

Serbian take pride in their nation's folk traditions. The next generation seems ready to take up the tradition.

To follow up on Budapest's woes:
The unrest was greatly exaggerated in Western media, as was the issue with the president's comments. His remark was taken out of context. When addressing his party we was reminding them that all of the parties lied last term and to get reelected and that there needed to be a better job done this time around. The media emphasized only the "we lied" aspect. It took a couple days of inquiries to reach straighten this out with locals. I worry that our news are too bored with the story to correct their errors.

Belgrade, Serbia - I wankered out on a commitment to not leave Budapest until I had some more work done on a project for Widjiwagan. I do have more work done, but it's not finished. Budapest is too swinging of a place. While the Hostel's free WiFi would be ideal for officish busy embodiment, almost $20/night and many fun people here and there are less conducive toward hard work and sound fiscal planning.

So Mr. Kris Weum, if you read this... I am going to do the rest of the stuff in small boring towns.

I got sick from staying up too late and being unaccustomed to Euro-flu. It's a lot like the flu back home but instead of my test feeling tight and sweating a lot, I felt tight in the pants and my hair got all greasy. That was another reason to skip Budapest, If I was going to sleep all day and all night, it might as well be on a train and then in a hostel.

My plan worked perfectly.

Belgrade, or beo-grad, as it is actually called (I know, who knew, right?) is a good city to visit. So Serbia is the country that whaled on Kosovo and then got whaled on my NATO. Before that it did much to precipitate the violence of the Balkanization of the 1990s with its nationalist policies and ambitions of yore.

Belgrade thus is a really crazy mix. It's young. It's old. It has beautiful old buildings like Prague and Budapest in the city center. These are mixed willy nilly with GROSS/UGLY/STUPID socialist blocks. It is an odd sight.

The first thing I saw getting off the train was an even more remarkable paradox or enigma or super-tough-mystery-problem. There before me, in the middle of down town, stood a HUGE Yugoslavia-era UGLY building with holes in it and a distorting bulge in the side. It looked structurally unsound. All of the buildings around it were barococo. Nice. Fancy. Not TOO fancy. This was a dangerous pile of ugliness. Upon closer looks of gaping mouthed tourist perfection, it appeared bombed. Holes extended from the ground to the top story, 13 stories or so up. It had broken windows in a blast radius. Nearby Barococo pillars were missing chunks. Another part had a section that looked blasted from the side. Maybe a missle, maybe a huge piece of destroyed other part of building... I would guess that this came from a NATO bombing run. The building could have been a government building or a Chinese embassy. Too soon?

The US embassy was about a two blocks away. How times do change. Serbia is on the rise in its capital. It looked like either of the EU capitals I have seen.

There are a lot of old people in the parks here. It's good to see places where 'old' is not synonymous with 'inactive.' People here apparently really love their rural folk heritage almost as much as the latest Italian fashions. Large-glassed tight pantsed youngsters, smiled clapped and chatted in a semi-circle around traditionally dressed dancers and their band. Older people in the park spontaneously joined in a dance that would have been seen only in a sketch comedy show in the states.

Knowing the Cyrillic alphabet (or rooski-glyphics as my British friends calls them) has been a good thing here. Pigeon Russian is likewise back in vogue (with myself). The best Slavic-tongued interaction I have had so far was at a pastry shop. I asked if a pastry had meat in it. The worker said, "of course," intoning "you idiot" without needing to verbalize it. My friend bought it. Of course the croissant has a cold hot dog in it you fool. How else could you enjoy the flaky goodness of the pastry?

Late last night we ran into a young serb. A self-describe "hip hop artist" he aspires to see Dr. Dre and Snoop Dog in Compton before visiting Detroit to scope the haunts of Eminem. He told us of how Serbia was poorly represented in the media, which seemed valid. And of how what happened in Kosovo "was nothing," which didn't. I don't think he denied any problems but rather blamed it on meddlesome Albania. After telling us that young people everywhere want the same thing, to hang out, be friends and live in peace (great) regardless of race, creed or religion, he told us to avoid Albania because Albanians are crazy. The conversation turned towards relations in the Balkans when at the beginning of the conversation my companions from the hostel told him that they were working in Croatia. He had just finished recording an album in Zagred (capitol of Croatia) and felt that by-gones should be by-gones... I guess the amnesty only extended to those involved in the Bosnian War.

Speaking of which, I have a bus to Sarajevo to catch in a couple hours.

I am getting eager to travel away from big cities, but its hard to pass up Sarajevo. The coasts of Montenegro and Albania, Macedonia and Bulgaria should all be largely town-oriented.

Two Tickets Please! The Train to Surreality

Unity Hostel, Central Pest of Budapest, September 21st - The train ride from Prague to Budapest passed with a whiff of surreality. You know when you feel awake all night long but somehow manage to "wake up" intermittently and with due irritation. Yeah, one of those. In this case the unwelcome interruptions came when the train stopped ("Oh God! Are we here already?!? But I'm not wearing pants!") and when the police knocked on my door. In the former situation I would try and calm myself. "Look Self," I would say, "you're just paranoid because you haven't done this before and your language skills smell. It will be LIGHT OUT when I/you/we get there, stupid. In latter case of police knockery I would rouse myself grope for my passport until I found it in the dark, lurch to the door, pause to consider finding a shirt, decide that it would only cause a delay and open the door shirtless, blurry eyed and generally dishevelled. It's better to be a slob dealing with a stern Slovakian policeman at 4am than to be presentable but dealing with a angry Slovakian policeman at 4:05 am. I'll have to remember to tell that to my son on his wedding day. Then I would hand over the passport with a friendly incoherent gutteral vocalization and then mumble something I meant to sound apologetic as the wrinkled brow searched for the right stamp in my little collection. Finding it, it is stamped again on the door jamb. I got used to the routine and started to feel like I was actually resting around day break. After sleeplessness at night, once it's time to get organized and pay attention I am unable to stay awake.

Fortunately Budapest was also stretched a little thin that night, what with the demostration and all. I met some Argentines at the hostel and we went for a walk. The scene at the paliamentary building was civil but angry. Speakers spoke. Protesters protested. Guards Guarded and Journalists journal-listed it all for our consumption. We moved on, and I will say that Budapest is a soulful city, also not to be missed.

It was recruitted to "go out" with the Argentinians. They made it clear that anything less would be lame. I was tired but I agreed. Social pressures are strong stuff when you're on unsteady ground. The spot we went to featured a Hungarian usion jazz folk band playing some US pop covers like "These Boots Are Made for Walkin'" by Nancy Sinatra and, of course, Hungarian fusion jazz folk songs. A loud mix of Hungary and places further West through and through.

Topical Digression: I love hostelling. I bummed around Budapest all day with Argentines, ate dinner with them them, an Irishman and a Japanese girl (we were all traveling solo), talked world affairs, talked religion, coversed of topics unfit for conversation, slept, cooked, checked email, learned the best route in the city from a friendly local, and ate breakfast on a tine balcony with two Israelis. The music school across the street bleched opera and flute scales. All that and more for $15/night! Eat that Hilton.

Chronological Progression: On my way home, and their way to the next happening joint, we came to the hostel. It is about a block away from the biggest street in Pest (Buda is on the other side of the Danube). A chemically smell hung in the air and a crowd of a few score was backing up the main street slowly. Loud pops that sounded like gun shots (but certainly were not!) confirmed that the police were nearby. Aha, the "chaos gripping the Hungarian capitol." I got my camera. This must have been a minor group of hooligans or something because there was little chaos, just lots and lots of police, a solid serving of tear gas and a sprinkle of hooliganism. It was a recipe for cautious photography. Lots of other photographers where running around, so I felt good about the situation.

To summarize, stupidly reckless unnecessary force begot stupidly wielded unnecessary force. From my vantage, police chased unseen perpetrators of unwitnessed offenses. Burst into side streets and buildings seemingly at random and found what they were looking for. 6 arrests were made between my side street and the main square where they called it a night around 3am.

My camera is high def and this connection slowish. More pictures are in the gallery though.

Lost Voice: Night Soul Glow in Prague

Cafe with Turkish Coffee Between Castle and Bridge, September 19 - The Castle Was Neat. Of course its not the places I go, but the funny little things I do, people I meet and musings I mull over in between that I end up writing about. I don't think I could write a decent paragraph about Prague castle. I'll just say this, it's pristine and well worth seeing. Being a tourist for me is all about pressing wherever I am hard to make an imprint upon myself. It's better to stay a while and let a place settle more comfortably on you. But that's a luxury of time we busy tourists cannot afford. So we take a lot of pictures and hope for the best.

As a lingered in Prague throughout the day, having seen everything close by and free that I wanted to see, I read. I read Life of Pi.

I have noticed that I write much better when I am reading a well written book. I mean I feel that I have a clearer voice, less need to be pithy and the process feels more simple and hopeful. More purpose, less agenda. I worry though that it's not my own voice that relates and reflects but that of some other more talented author. He tells about my day, through me. Sunlight and prism. I contribute a pleasant spectrum, assorted and arranged for viewing pleasure but there was no original creation. I bend it. My independence and ego are not satisfied with this arrangement. To hell with post-modern languish, I want to be it. The original, the base, the flour in your cake. But original goddamn creation. That's divine. But the harder one tries for such a thing, the more pathetic the attempt. Gothic spires and vaulted ceilings may be impressive in a given light and no one would say it wasn't a noble attempt. But it's pitiful when I look at it from a nearby hill. It's nice to get over myself now and then. It's the view.

The mechanism is now underway for an application to Grad School at U of Washington. Once you get this sort of process rolling, it's more or less unstoppable. I have to say I think that signing up for more school is a bit like enlisting in the WWI. Sure, it seems like the right thing to do and there are high hopes for the future. Glory, honor and purpose: that's the thing to get me on the happy track. And that I've signed on, I put in so much work! I feel validated when my superiors think I'm 93% fantastic. So if I get accepted I'll probably go. That's why men charge from the trenches. Momentum. Well that has a certain element of idiocy in a supposedly intelligent affair. Consider the following, you can make US wages and live where the living standard is geared towards a salary of $2,000/year and learn Arabic. Just move to Dubai. Being a native English speaker is to be born with a silver spoon in your mouth.

On my way back from the castle, it was dark outside and growing darker. Lamp posts along the Charles Bridge illuminated dirty yellow patches of stonework. Pigeons darted into and out of the otherwise invisible bubbles of bright. The buildings of any historic and aesthetic significance were lit from below all along the river and into town on both sides. The imposing rampart of Prague Castle with the aspiring spires of the Cathedral behind was particularly striking. A semi-circle formed half-way across the bridge. I assumed a statue was being toured (the tours do still run just after dark). But the epicenter was a jazz band. Lighting up cigarettes and faces with laughter. They played 1920s jazz tunes well. People danced, tapped toes and snapped shots. Once a tourist, always a tourist. I decided to let my tourist rest in peace for the night.

The moment was too good to be true and flash bulbs do not add to such romance.

PS: If it seems like I am saying the word "I" a lot it is because when I first wrote this stuff I wrote a lot of the generalities with you (e.g. But it's pitiful when you look at it from a nearby hill. It's nice to get over yourself now and then. It's the view.) I decided that being self-centered was better than putting words in your mouth.

Okay in Hungary

This is just a quick heads up. I got into Hungary this morning, after the demonstrations. I'll be careful as a clam. If you have no idea what I am talking about, click here. I really need to get pictures up... and I will.

Of Dirty, Smelly Pants and Hostels

I forgot to put my predeparture post online, it's two posts down from this one. Czech it out. Sorry.

Newtown Prague - Newtown Prague was founded in 1326 about 100 meters from Old Town Prague. Old Town Prague was founded a hundred years or so earlier. There is just so much history in Europe, you know? yes.

I am going to get trapped tourist style in Prague Castle today. There the Second Defenestration of Prague occurred in the 15th century that set off the 30 years war. In the end, the Catholics won. Good thing too because their cathedrals are so shiny.

The 17th I woke up at 4am and wandered the city fearless of feeling like a super-tourist. I am working on getting over the fact that I do not and more or less will not speak a word of any native tongue during my travels for the next month. Hopefully broken Russian will be in higher demand down South. Walking around the city before light was great. People said Dobrei Den to me, acknowledging my humanity and allowing me to feel above average once more. After watching the sunrise, the cursory early morning greeting is my favorite part of getting going really really early. I took photos of some famous landmarks that are strikingly beautiful and historic without crowds of people around. That was nice.

Finally I walked up a Hill on the West side of town and watched the sun rise. The pointy self-involved heavenly aspirations of Gothic architecture had never really done it for me. But seeing the towers lit by the first spears of rosy light gave me a new appreciation for them. Later that day I attended an organ, trumpet and vocal concert in one of the cathedrals. Hearing Mozart echo from the vaulted frescoes was just that... better than imagination and better than words. It was so peaceful and I was so exhausted from walking since before the sunrise that I actually couldn't keep from head bobbing. Embarrassing.

The next day I worked on stuff. Writing and reading as well as reading and writing. The night was enlightening. I met some strange Americans: strange in that they were so normal. So... predetermined in their world view and sort of typically not understanding of cultural differences. You don't run into that in hostels very often. It is really cool that they are here. I hope they loosen up a bit along the way. You meet more people like Tammy from England.

Tammy went right to school after high school. But everything she has done since has been unconventional and, I would argue, smart as hell. She used her student status to take out student loans. She bought a house with the money and with rent and a couple of years working paid the monthly charges easily. She sold the house and made enough money to spend the last two years basically travelling... everywhere. She has lived and worked for a few months in commonwealth countries but nothing quite stuck so she's been scratching pavement like a pro. She finagled her way into Canada despite heavy restrictions on work visas with similar ingenuity. She applied for a student visa. Said she needed to make sure she could work, so got a 3 month work visa through the easy to get student visa. Living proof that bureaucracies were meant to be broken. Immigration reform will never work.

Before bed I got pulled into interrogating a Slovenian about the Yugoslavia break up. I guess it was actually pretty violent and complicated. I learned a lot from her about the tragedy of the state that could never be a nation. I am set on visiting Sarajevo now.

I worry that Central Asian countries, similarly contrived, may eventually meet a similar fate in a moment of crisis. I am listening to a Czech cover of John Denver's Country Roads in the 85 degree internet cafe. It's really good.

The song. Not the Heat.

I'm booked for the late night train to Bupapest. 9 hours in a bed and a ride all for 40 bucks.

I will put some pictures up today if I can find a Wifi spot.