From the new Islamist Government in Somalia

“These were not regular demonstrators,” said Abdul Kadir Jibril, one of the Islamist Court officials charged with security in Kismayo. “They have a political agenda to undermine our administration.”

The Islamist government may end up providing what the country needs most, stability. This comment is still pretty funny.

NYT/reuters article here.

The Doosy

What follows is a doosy, (Webster’s dictionary defines Doosy: a days worth of writing). I wouldn’t expect anyone to have time to read it. I put headers in bold. At the end are some more philosophical tangents recent experience obliged me to explore when I couldn’t sleep at night. Putting all of this on the internet often seems a bit self-important. I don’t really know what to take out though as this is what I have been up to lately. Ella’s more recent post is far more concise and relevant than any of this, check that out here.

The last few days of travel have been dominated by a personality of a fellow traveler. Rather than try to explain or analyze the goings on piece by piece, I will sketch him with my keyboard.

“Joe”

“Joe” is 25. His name is Volva, a Russian name. But for Anglos, it’s Joe. He speaks English excellently but not precisely. He is fluent but makes many mistakes while speaking. His accent is Eastern European. Beyond that, however, it is enigmatic. Is forced to guess, people generally go for something unfamiliar and a bit obscure, like Finnish or Hungarian. Six feet tall he is strong but slender, a kick-boxer but out-of-practice. His hair is almost bleach blond and his eyes the lightest blue, a tint common to Russians. He had short hair, just longer than a buzz cut. He wore sunglasses, a tight undershirt, a leather jacket, tight jeans (by American standards) factory bleached in various placed. His collar, whether on a jacket or buttoning shirt, was always popped.

He graduated from Ohio with a degree in business, especially real estate. His interests in studies were then and today remain completely overshadowed by his interest in meeting people. He finances his travels by collecting rent on properties in Columbus, Ohio and Moscow and some kind of Ebay business.

Our conversation started as soon as I sat down on the bus. He never hesitates at to approach anyone. No nervous salesman, he drives the conversation unhurryingly. He was born in Ohio and has the, no a, passport to prove it. It is one of many. He has been living and traveling for three or four months in Eastern Europe, mostly the Balkans. He lived a month in Skopje (Skope-ia, like Sofia), a month and a half in Beograd (Belgrade) and has otherwise been traveling to Sarajevo and Mostar in Bosnia/Herzagovina, Dubrovnik in Croatia, Kotor and Budva in Montenegro, Ohrid in Macedonia, and Sofia and the Black Sea Coast in Bulgaria.

He has a sound grasp of the (Belo)Russian language, his vocabulary and ease of speaking is exponentially higher than mine but his grammar is far worse. His father was from Minsk and he spent years there growing up. His mother is from Prague. His comfort with Slavic languages and diving into conversation has allowed him to pick up enough Serbo-croatian, Macedonian, and Bulgarian to be conversational. Paradoxically, Joe’s lack of hyper-fluency in any one language is in many ways a great strength. Lacking a rigid linguistic structure, Joe’s personality transcends any language barrier.

He regales me with stories about how he helped a Scotsman he traveled with in Montenegro steer clear of being ripped-off, how many girlfriends he dabble with in each city where he lingered, and how he got great deals on accommodation all over former Yugoslavia.

He shows me camera and all of the lovely places he has been. In each picture he is standing before a lovely background, left foot six inches ahead of the right, his torso and shoulders slightly facing right but his head always square. He is not smiling in any of the picture. He has perhaps 50 pictures of this variety to show me. Two are of the scenery alone, “it was so shitty outside that no one was there to take my picture.”

“Ahh.”

We are in Albania and headed to Triana, the capital. He suggests that we split a room. I accept. I haven’t been very social since Beograd and cheap hostels do not exist in Triana. It is a bit too off the tourist track.

After traveling with Joe for three days, I came to admire him. I admire that he fearlessly approaches anyone. I admire that his personality is not contingent (or limited) by language. I admire his ability to bring a smile to the face of a complete stranger in mere seconds. In this regard, his ability to read people and communicate is almost telepathic. I came also to find him distasteful. I do not think I ever felt at ease around him. He would befriend a taxi driver, waiter, or whoever ran our lodgings one minute and critique them venomously the next. He was very impressed with his language abilities and charisma but never really listened and tried to understand what other people were trying to tell him. He would decry generalizations about nationalities or ethnicities and proclaim them in the same sentence. These irritations brought out of me a combination of jealousy and scorn. I was enchanted by his ability to be anything to anybody and repulsed by his inability to hold down a steady identity.

The reality of his personality is, of course, more delicate and subtle than the generalizations I must employ to understand him (and my reaction to him). But there is enough truth in them to catch a glimpse of him, opaque though the lens may be.

Albania

Up until my run in with Joe, my trip between Albanian had been typical of my traveling experiences. I was knowingly overcharged, but not absurdly so, and passed off from one random extraction artist to another. Taxi drivers dominated the day because right now there is no bus between Montenegro and Albania. Five hours in a bus costs about the same as 10 minutes in a taxi. Such situations are what they are. Indignity will only make it worse. My Montenegran chauffer tried hard to make conversation in English. His vocabulary was limited. Pizza, Triana, Podgorica, and Audis were all “beautifool.” Country-side, Kosovo and Croatians were all “not beautifool.”

Glad to have that straightened out.

He yelled at a man standing next to a car with Albanian plates. After a conversation in Serbo-Croatian he became my driver once I crossed the border. My caravan made it to the very highly policed yet very chaotic border. Horns honked in futile and irritating expression of exasperation. The police remained gruff but indifferent. Somehow they kept things moving remarkably slowly despite undertaking no more than superficial inspections of persons, documents and vehicles. With a handshake, my passport was stamped. I have never shaken hands with border police before. Albanians, in general, like Americans.

Entering Albania is to enter a whole different world. It is a destitute country complete with potholes large enough to wreck a truck, businesses peddling goods I cannot imagine anyone wanting, and rusting equipment. On the whole the infrastructure spans the full range of quality, from relics better suited for a museum or kitchy antique store to most contemporary of microwave transmitters for telecoms. Piles of mud, garbage and broken contrete formed a fairly consistent mound along side the road. These piles of waste never fail to bother me. What better way to reduce the quality of life than to live amongst yesterday’s refuse?

We passed several sights that stuck me as odd: a man driving a minature steam roller on our dirt road, herds of goats (blocking the road), dead tree telephone poles and carts being pulled by mules being passed by brand new Mecerdes SUVs.

The rural areas of Albania are dotted with miniature mushroom-shaped bunkers built by the Communist regime. The were used for practicing emergency drills to prepare for wars with imaginary enemies (while relations between states in this part of the world are usually cordial at best, the benefits of attacking Albania are dubious).

Entering Triana, the capital, reminded me of the first glimpses of cities in poor regions of South America like El Alto near La Paz, Iquitos or Julianna on Titicaca. Every building outside of the center of the capital was built with concrete. The new buildings were poured; the old ones, cinder blocks.

The center could have been most any part of any European city. A brief spell of wandering confirmed that there was little fun to be had doing that outside of voyeuristically marveling at the poverty outside of the center. Joe talked with several pretty women, none of whom could show us around that night.

A concert in the central square had some folk music and dancing followed by Turbo-folk. This is an eclectic melding of folk and techno/crap hip-hop. The event was sponsored by some organization for Southern European unity. Their trucks bore the flags of all nations South or East of Croatia and Serbia. Kosovo’s flag was marked identically to Albania’s. The Turkish flag was first and larger than the others. They gave away free meals before the concert. Turbo-folk is typical of Turkey and I would not be surprised if this was an effort to boost Turkey’s cultural influence in the area. Many large governments, including our own, have cultural departments in their foreign offices to oversee the spread of cultural influence and recognition. We walked around that night and early the next morning to play the tourist game and boarded a bus for Skopje. Joe constantly discussed women, “is she good looking? And that one? What about her?” When he works a woman he devotes all of his considerable energy and talent into charming them. I would consider shameless. As soon as the woman is out of ear shot, he reassure me that it is all just a bunch of fun and that she was not really great for one reason or another. I got the feeling Joe enjoyed telling people what they wanted to hear.

And hear they must, for while Joe asks for an response or a appraisal of his statement, he never left a question open ended. As a result, though we were in one another’s company almost every waking hour for three days, our conversation rarely dipped beneath the superficial. Almost paradoxically, he seemed at times to both want to treat me like a naïve person needing his expert traveling skills and simultaneously craved my approval. Perhaps his lack of placement has him searching for belonging in unusual places.

Bus Ride

We got on the 9am bus to Skopje, an eight hour ride. Joe’s assessment of Albania was almost entire negative until the bus ride. He asked me at least eight times, “Do you know what I like about this country?”

“What?”

“Nothing!” But on the bus a couple of young ladies smiled broadly at us as we walked to our seats. Joe put his bag in a seat and immediately went back to start a conversation with them. I watched from further back. Then I moved closer. I Realized that I was behaving very awkwardly. Having the benefit of experience, I knew that awkwardness does not diminish on its own with time. It takes some effort, usually very little. So I worked to dig myself out of my anti-social hole and soon we were all sitting around a small table on the bus. Joe took to smothering the girls, especially the older “prettier” one by his estimation with unending flattery and flirtation. It was shameless and made me a bit uncomfortable but it made the ladies laugh, me grimace (close enough, right?) and never failed to keep the conversation alive (or at least undead).

Joe turned the conversation to the kind of guys the girls like. Their preference was for a combination of traditional male-subordination and comtemporary equality. A sort of limited equality. Joe pushed the flirtation hard the entire time. And much to my chagrin the rejection he first encountered softened and as we disembarked his efforts were rewarded with a kiss.

Women.

The girls were really interesting and had to work hard to make it as Albanians. Albanians can pretty much only work in Macedonia and Turkey, as other richer countries do not want large populations of impoverished minorities driving down the living standard. It would be very frustrating to be smart and educated and Albanian. They spoke almost perfect English but could hardly travel anywhere. They had a hard time understanding how I could travel not for work. (Joe claimed that he had “worked” in Macedonia and Serbia, in reality he had considered buying property but decided it to be too corrupt).

Macedonians don’t think much of Albanians. The relationship is probably not dissimilar to the stigma of many Latinos in the states.

The countryside in the East of Albania was more pleasant than the north. It was cleaner and things seemed less chaotic. A river that would have been suitable for a weekend of whitewater ran alongside the road.

We got off the bus earlier than we originally planned as the bus went very near Ohrid, a town I wanted to see. He wanted to show me around and had nothing to do in Skopje (the girls lived a family and would not be going out that night). I had hoped that by changing my plans without much consultation, we would part ways. I still had much to learn from my companion, however.

Ohrid

Getting settled in Macedonia involved a couple of cab rides and negotiations with homeowners that supplement their income by renting rooms to travelers, like in Kotor. As with women, Joe approached all of these transactions with suave-ity, pigeon-Macedonian, and undeniable charm. I was advised not to speak. It bothered me, but I could relate to his desire to get as chummy as possible to save money. He never failed to establish himself as more than the average tourist-traveler. He saved us 50% on the 30 minute ride from the town where the bus dropped us off to Ohrid. He would not let me tip the driver. I felt bad, I think the driver may have lost out on the deal.

Joe’s opinion of himself as exceptional dominated the first day in Ohrid. He complained loudly of any attempts, past or present, to “rip [him] off.”

Locals constantly milk you for all the Euros, dinars or pesos they can get out of you. I accept is as my roll. To get upset each time would be too indulgent in a combative siege mentality. I travel to open my mind to the world, not build mental barriers against all I meet.

The constant game of trying to charm people with far fewer opportunities to make money than myself feels manipulative. This perpective may be moderately elitist. It shortens and simplifies my interactions but it also makes me feel more open towards strangers and helps me sleep better at night even though I can earn in a month what an experienced professional might earn in a year.

Joe’s mentality of buddying up and then complaining about any possible extra-costs strikes me as hypocritical. He befriends others to make them feel comfortable and trusting but always remains suspicious of their true motives. I worry more about Joe’s motives than the taxi drivers. Is he not “ripping off” locals as he sets the price to the rock bottom in poor countries when he could afford to pay more? If getting ripped off is paying double the normal fare, bring to total for a taxi ride or a private room to a whopping $10 dollars, than isn’t it better just to get a little “ripped off” in the hope that that money makes a nominal difference in someone’s weekly income? It sure as hell doesn’t make a difference in my income. I don’t consider this to be wasting money.

Ohrid sits on a beautiful lake. It is hilly country. The hill of the old town is home to a 1,500 year old monestary. It is a beautiful structure with a grand view of the lush sparsely populated hills and the lake. Low clouds have given the scene a hint of Avalon. On the shore, 12ft small boats sit belly up revealing bright paintjobs.

Love Horny Boat Captain

As we finish a brief walk around the more beautiful and historic portions of the city, a middle aged man wearing an old captain’s hat approaches me. He starts a conversation along general lines before moving on to his sales pitch. He does boat tours on the lake. Joe at first wanted nothing more than to keep going but I wanted to listen to the guy’s spiel. Joe made some comment about women in Macedonia and how he “understands Macedonian” and the captain fell in love with my companion. He invited us aboard his boat, opened up a two-liter bottle of beer and listened with remarkable gusto as Joe recounted stories and strategies for picking up women.

The captain declared their minds to first be 99% and then 100% the same. In truth they were very similar, both clearly learned languages with great flexibility if little discipline or attention to detail. And despite their love of language, I suspect both would have been hard pressed to finish a book. (Joe could speak Slavic languages like Russian, Serbian, Macedonian, Czech and Bulgarian but couldn’t really read the Cyrillic script.) Both loved the ideal of seducing women and moving on. Both were smooth talkers. And the more they talked, the less I said and the more I convinced myself that they must be lonely. The old man made remarks along the lines of how intelligent and wise Joe was. He would then include me too for politeness. But I remained quiet and subdued. The gift of gab was not mine that night and that talent was held in high-esteem by this captain who prided himself on getting on well with people from all over the world.

As the conversation about girls became more and more involved, the captain offered to call a good looking 19 year old to show us around that night. Joe consulted me before accepting. I was unenthusiastic but I didn’t want to play the roll of morale mother-superior all of the time and told him I didn’t care. As soon as I said it I was asking myself why a fifty year old guy had a 19 year old’s number… none of the conclusions I could come up with were very soothing and I became quite uncomfortable as her arrival drew near. The captain also became more concerned about tactfully articulating that she probably could only spend a limited amount of time in our company and that she would like for us to spend some money on her dinner and maybe help her to buy something she would like. The sketchiness of the situation was causing tension.

She was petite, with darker skin than most Macedonians. She spoke no English and her Macedonian was discernibly cadenced. I thought she was likely a Roma, and I was right. She was friendly and easy enough for Joe to talk to with the captain translating. I got up to use the WC after a minute or two and thus missed much of the conversation. As she left the boat, the captain helped her off. His back turned, Joe tapped my knee and mouthed something along the lines of “what the hell was with that?”

“Yeah…” I forced a smile. But I was thinking that “that” was an unnecessarily unpleasant situation I would never have gotten myself into and the fruit of Joe’s labors. I didn’t say anything critical but I couldn’t hide my unhappiness. He told me not to be so worked up… nothing bad resulted from the experience.

The captain though was crestfallen by Joe’s obvious disinterested attitude in the girl he thought would make us so happy. When Joe excused himself for the WC I tried to diffuse the situation explaining that Joe likes blonds or something. The captain struggled to say that she was not a professional prostitute but just a modern free spirited girl that would want any man she was with to provide her with a little spending money. He thought this to be like any other male-female relation. I tried to just to reassure him that it didn’t matter to me. Up to that point I had been little more than an observer, so I just tried to reassure the captain that Joe and I didn’t think less or him or something.

After that I knew I had to get back to being on my own. No matter what the next night I would not be hanging out with Joe.

So-Long Joe

The steady rain of the next day made Joe determined to move on. It was a simple matter to stay even though there was “nothing to do.” I journaled at least 20 pages, and typed 9, read another section of the Koran, sent a couple of emails and now feel centered again among other mundane chores.

Before he left we shared some drinks with our host family. Joe jumped right into inter-ethnic relations in the Balkans and proceeded to tell it like it was. Our hosts would have been justified in decking him then and there, but they just told him that you don’t talk about such things. Joe told me they said something about the Albanians. I actually think Joe’s comprehension of Macedonian was lower than he believed. They smiled politely but I do not think they saw Joe as “getting it.” Joe then tried to dominate a conversation about earlier-Macedonian history with a friend of the family that sat with us to practice his English. If he would have shut up, he and I would have learned a lot more. He never really listened though, just tried to express his ideas.

I thought this was very arrogant. One should never preach history or politics to an acquaintance in their country. And to do it in former-Yugoslavia… I as taken-aback even after 3 days of being taken-aback.

After our final meal together I looked for my visa to withdraw some money. It was gone. I don’t know how I could have lost it. Joe was the only person who could have taken it. On the one hand, I wouldn’t put it past him. But I think he is smarter than that. Visa’s are not as useful for making purchases in newly democratic countries. Almost the only thing you can do with them is withdraw money. For that you need a pin. The card is also easily cancelled. I don’t think he would be that stupid. But it put a bit of a sour note on his departure. The situation was worked out quite favorably after getting on the phone with Visa and my dad.

I will pick up a new card to be ‘Fed-Ex’ed from home after Visa rush delivers is there. It should be in Sofia, the capital of Bulgaria by Friday. The world is a quickly shrinking place. I had to ask for some money to be wired, which hurt my pride a bit. But working things out with my dad on the phone (focusing on resolving the problem), getting prompt offers to help from Greg (my friend currently in Munich on the Watson), and a timely online chat with Peters in Guatemala put me in a great mood.

I slept better that night than I had since meeting up with Joe.

Listening to Joe for 3 days gave me much to say. He probably sees me as self-sheltered, naïve and cold. I learned a lot form him in our short time together but like hard class with a unapproachable professor, I am happy to put the class behind me. Our objectives in wandering the Balkans are probably quite distinct and incompatible after a short period. I tend to travel quietly and reflectively, in many ways a contrast to life at home. Like wilderness trips, it is distinct tool for to see my life, friends, and opportunities from a new perspective. It also lets me put world events into a more palpable context. In other words, it is impermanent. Perhaps for Joe it is quite more a way of life.

Center

Night of October, 6^th – Skopje

Right now I do not feel I am living my own life. This experience has allowed me to see how this style of traveling with another is unsatisfying. This has clarified what I want, how I want to live.

I foremost feel uncentered: stretched and pulled in directions, down detours not meant for me. Being centered is more than the symmetry of opposite extremes. Opposite extremes do not cancel each other out. A healthy bout of college depressive reflection revealed that years ago. Rather a sort of concentration, a tighter weave of symmetry and an exfoliation of useless motional, physical and spiritual mass is the essence of being centered that I have come to pursue.

When this is well accomplished a sense of purpose, inherent and inalienable, fills my life. Purpose gives guidance and guidance gives determination and vision necessary for further centering. So is born a positive cycle of reinforcement. So to find center is not the arrival at a constant but rather a process of steady adaptive change and reform.

Religion

Western societies are caught is a spiritual crisis. Many religious people say that the people have become lost: without faith, without purpose and without values. I do not think it is because people have abandoned religion. Religion has always thrived so long as it has helped people to adapt to their reality. Rather, religion no longer answers questions relevant for today’s Western societies. The dominant Western religions (Judeism, Christianity and Islam) cannot reconcile the all controlling nature of a deity with modern physics.

An aside: Why trust physics and not religion? I cannot see, hear or feel an electron, nor have I had an encounter with God. So both are taken as faith? Wrong. When I flick a light switch, the light comes on. This can be explained by understanding the nature of electrons. God can never be explained, his actions (never reactions, for a timeless, all-knowing, all-powerful being to react would be absurd) cannot be predicted. Explanation and prediction give me reason to believe what I cannot directly perceive.

Back inside: Our universal understanding moved towards absolutist truths under the study of classical physics, but relativity, quantum physics and the Uncertainty Principle tells us our reality is far more subjective.

Computers run on principles of quantum physics. The peace-preaching believers of the same God continue to kill each other in the same holyland.

Truth, truth vs. relevance

Truth is not subjective and seemingly opposite and exclusive things can be and are both true. For example, life is short and people imperfect. One should thus not allow guilt to paralyze a person from pursuing good actions. On the other hand, actions have great impact all around, both passively and actively. You must seek to behave then as compassionately and virtuously as possible. To pursue the latter and accept the former is the mark of wise living.

If truth is subjective then perhaps one must not obsess over truth, but relevance. If something has predictive powers, helps us to better live, then it is relevant. This may very from person to person but the very variety of relevance is its strength. Whereas truth seeks to provide an objective answer, relevance sees a goal and asks how to de get there? Even regarding arithmetic like 1 + 1 = 2 we may view it not as “this must be” but rather, if we accept this idea then we have a powerful tool for explaining and predicting our universe. Such a perspective may do well to reconcile religion and secularism. Different tools for different problems. Such a perspective is, however, unlikely to satisfy analytical human minds which, for better and worse, seek concrete understanding of the causes of all we see.

A Ramble About Life of Pi

October 4, 2006 - Kotor, Montenegro. (My fourth and final night here!)

I stayed on here because I found it to be a nice place to be. The town is a labyrinth of beautiful little gems and surprises. But it is all so crammed that it is quite impossible for me to do it any justice in a photo. It’s is reclusive but rewards respectful curiosity. I hope to have a personality like Kotor when I am old. Reclusive, hospitable... convoluted. Don’t let my romanticized and self-indulgent tales of the town (or any my travels) fool you. I spent most of time with my nose buried in a book, my journal or working on some project on the laptop.

Be warned, what follows is not in any way about Kotor but thoughts and ignorances related to recent readings.

I began the Koran today. The second Sura felt quite long. Starting in on any new style of prose is tough. Whenever I get discouraged I think back to my slough through Macbeth in the 8^th grade. This gives me the resolve to read anything. I am not sure how much to write about attitudes towards it. The Koran lies pretty clearly outside of my intellectual framework and most anything I say will most certainly be ignorant. But I think that is exactly why I am reading it and if I don’t share my thoughts, no body can help me to better understand. Too bad none of my friends are Islamic.

The first impressions of the Koran are that it is a book written very deliberately. It gives very specific directions regarding society and religion. The acceptable terms for divorce are exactly listed as are when one make skip fasting and how to make up for it and, most of all, defense of the up-and-coming religion against conversion (back?) to Judaism or Christianity. Clearly I am no expert (Imam’s spend years studying the text and among most Muslim cultures only they are considered fit to make any public interpretations of the word of God) but God basically says that it’s okay to be Jewish or Christian. They are a little befuddled but they mean well on the whole. Anyone that has heard the truest newest word of God, however, is obliged to take up the Islamic faith or be a non-believer (infidel is such a politically charged word these days). And that is bad. The Koran does a good job of walking a fairly fine line between distinguishing Muslims from other Judeo-Christian faiths without hyperbole. It did have some controversial statements about women (II: 222-8).

Digesting some of the Koran got me thinking about Life of Pi. The narrator claims the book “will make you believe in God again.” The following will make more sense if you have read this book. I don’t think it will be incoherent if you have not, however, and the book cannot be ruined as there is no climax and the ending is revealed from the outset. At least that is just my impression. Forgive the quotation marks. The book questions the nature of belief structures so in this case it seems appropriate to use them. I gave the book away to an enthused couple so forgive me if I present some inaccuracies. Final disclaimer, I am a bit self-conscious about the length of these posts but with no other way to gain different perspectives on the work, I just have to bite the bullet.

Pi jumbles religions in the first part of the book. Pi is drawn to Hinduism, Christianity and Islam by motivations that are at once united (a sense of purpose, guidance and peace) and distinctly articulated. According to Pi, Christianity offers love, Islam sublime unity with God among all things, and Hinduism grandeur and dynamism. If one takes his less-interesting but more “believable” version free of zoo animal then the retelling of Pi’s tale of survival along metaphorical and comfortable lines, his story suggests that all religions are grasping for us to come to terms ourselves as well as the external world. Pi has similarly invented a “story” (his animalist account is quite factual, only the name and species of the character differs), a religion, to help him explain and come to terms with the events.

Atheism is celebrated by pious Pi. Atheism too is a consistent and coherent set or world beliefs. It is scientific creation mythology. Pi views Agnosticism with far less enthusiasm as it waffles. Uncommiting Agnosticism does not organize the universe or seek to explain it, throwing up its hands, frustrated by a difficult but worth while task.

The analogy of the zoo left me somewhat complex. In exploring it I digressed for quite a while into the misguided efforts to erect a wall in the desert southwest. Another day. But I have been building up a strong conviction that the barriers people erect are almost universally psychological. Let us assume that the zoo animals represent humans as they may in Pi’s account of his survival. Pi contends that animals in the wild are not happy or prosperous. Rather his portrayal is one of constant struggle to establish territory and find food, exactly what is provided in their zoo habitat. So animals actually crave the stability and security of a zoo. To back up his argument Pi relates numerous anecdotes about escapees happily returning to their enclosures. People are also quite able to break out of the security provided by place in society and make a go for it beyond its margins.

But we do not. We remain within our imaginary spaces (our homes, our work and our pre-established social networks). We may run off for a moment or two but we always basically come back, largely content to exchange one imaginary enclosure for another.

This analogy may be taking things too far. Any choice excludes possibilities that once could have been. That’s what a choice is. This may only rearticulate the analogy, however. Following this idea, the very act of living inherently creates spaces (temporal, special and social). While it would be unrealistic to expect anyone to be all places and pursue all impulses at once, it is undeniable that most people generally lead fairly well-defined lives. Anytime someone remarks “I’ve always wanted to ______” I am reminded of these imaginary boundaries that help us define the possible from the impossible.

If the idea that our social habits define existence as much as space-time holds any water, that would beg some interesting questions.

If anyone has any thoughts on the crazy island Pi found, I would love to hear ‘em cuz I got nothing.

You Too Can WIN!!

Beograd (Belgrade) has been bombarded by both McDonald's and NATO in recent years. These buildings were across the street from one another. So much for the McDonald's theory of Peace and Development. (A political science threorist whose name escapes me noted that no countries with a McDonald's had ever been at war) .

The American Embassy is about 2 blocks down this street (among many other NATO members). My hostel owner had no idea why it had been bombed, or at least he would not tell me.

To enter send one item to:

Anders Conway
Alpine Fund
Prospect Mira 74, #16
Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan

The first card to arrive on the day of my arrive or thereafter will win a special prize. Test the world wide mail system! You win extra points for creativity, organic materials and concealing contraband in your post... Maybe just postcards would be a better idea.

I bought cheese... at the deli counter. Nothing was repeated, all parties left the transaction satisfied. Yeah, today was that good. I hope to be in Albania by the 5th of October.

I Motor to Kotor! and Other Obnauseous Commentary

Kotor's walled city is nestled snuggly in an imposing fjord. Above the town, walls wind to an even more-defensible fortress. Montenegro was the only Kingdom in this region to remain unconquerred by the Ottoman Turks.

I have posted pictures on many of the previous entries. More are coming.

October 2, 2006 - Kotor, Montenegro

Montenegro voted to become independent from Serbia only a couple of months ago. It has a history quite distinct from neighboring regions as it was the only kingdom to maintain independence from the Turks from the 15^th to 19^th centuries. It is densely populated and rugged country. The coast shifts from the hills of Croatia to more imposing fjords. Taller, steeper mountains rise dramatically from the azure inland Mediterranean. Only 1000 kilometers inland, mountains rise to lofty heights of 2,500m (maybe 9,000ft). Montenegro uses the Euro.

Kotor sits in the largest Mediterranean fjord. The old town is walled and chalk full of cramped winding streets, old churches, antique Venetian palaces and humanity. Above the town a wall runs to a fortress high above the town. Its small and beautiful but large and alive enough to make ambling aimlessly along the cobbled streets entertaining. Outside of the walled town, buildings are being rebuilt. Some older buildings from the days of Yugoslavia are large, abandoned and look like hell.

The trip to Montenegro was short and smooth. Finding a place to stay was a little more difficult. I arrived on a Sunday, and despite the fact that this town is accustomed to a steady stream of visitors, no one could be found to give a cheap room. Eventually I just started wandering around old town with my over-sized backpack, hoping to find a building with a sign of “sobe” which mean a room for rent. A lady saw me wandering and inquired, “sobe? Sprechen ze Duetche?” As I don’t speak (or spell) German, I replied, “Da. Ne.” On the way to her friend’s place we had a remarkably well understood conversation in Serbian, English, German, and Russian.

While we waited for her friend to show me the place, we discussed family. This is always a good topic as it leads to others very easily. Her kid is studying political science in Beograd (ace w:st="on">Belgrade). It would certainly be an interesting place to ponder governance, national identity and the roll of the state. Her only sibling and husband were both killed in Bosnia. Upon hearing of my travel plans to go to Albania and Macedonia both my guide and my new host were quite perplexed, “Bah! But it is a modern place. There is nothing to see or do there. [There is] only concrete [there].” Past experience indicates that these protestations indicate that time spent in Albania and Macedonia will be well spent.

Despite (or perhaps due to) the recent bouts of weariness I have greater comfort now in the traveling. I buy food at the supermarkets and prepare it in a kitchen more often than not now. I wish I had more history books to read on these areas. It is terribly interesting and complicated. I can’t really complain about what I have been up to though so I will have to be satisfied with retro-active deeper understanding once I get back to the states.

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.