Bus-about

Bulgarian rain

September 19^th I think.

Enough. Long bus rides. Many. Long train and road taxi rides. Quite a few. All over the Balkans and more besides. On hot days and now cold days. Rough roads and super highways. Spotless toilets and squat toilets. Past picturesque villages and unsightly mines, Over mountains and under mountains. With bus drivers who are the impresarios of very entertaining little transportation kingdoms and taxi drivers who do not speak for 110 kilometers. Through slow and fast border checkpoints.

  I have paid my road travel dues and am switching to airplanes. Not that they are such a joy. But the toilets are better and, while the humiliation and discomfort are greater when flying, the duration is certainly shorter and the ability to get information when you get into the new place is greater.

 Yesterday. A bad, bad, bad, good, bad, good travel day. Didn’t sleep well, up at 5 am to get to Pristina bus station at 6. Staying in a very nice little room in a tiny hotel above a store where the hotel employees (a family) go home at night so when I can’t figure out how to operate the shower there’s no one to ask. I take a sort of splashing-about a running faucet bath of sorts. You would be surprised at the number of ingenious devices shower makers have created to make you want to stay at home with your own shower forever and ever.

 The weather has turned fall, cold, rainy, gray…my favorite other than the cold part. Bus to Sofia unheated. Even with four shirt/sweatshirt/sweater/pullover combination things it is chilly after a few hours.

 I arrive in Sofia without a hotel reservation, not worried because I know a couple of hotel names and there are always a bunch of taxi drivers on the street outside every bus station with many suggestions. NOT in Sofia. There are three guys none of whom speak English and no central area where I can turn on the computer and check some possibilities.

 Finally I  get one of the guys to find Art Otel in a guidebook. For 20 Euros, more than I paid for the ride from Pristina, we get here. It’s a sweet but cold room. I go to a little Bulgarian food buffet next door for a late lunch and the food is simple and beautiful and fresh and tasty. The hotel gives me a little heater—because I’m old and a wimp and I whine.

 I go out to buy some bananas and get totally lost. But the rain lets up and my neighborhood is the art/funky chic area of the city so finding my way about is a pleasure. I come back home to my berry tart and in-room cappuccino and lots of CNN International and rediscover how much I love doing this…for long moments and hours and sometimes even days.

 Good night.

Macedonian night

Walkabout II

 

Finally, the lime green I’ve been looking for

Bill and his adoring Kosovo Albanian public

Field of Blackbirds

I think it commemorates the battle and Tsar Lazar but I can’t be sure

Old Norwegian detective on the trail of historical bad guys

It really is the wild west of Europe out here

more out west

One of Enver’s bunkers

An Enver bunker–up close and personal

Really bad roads by the Montenegro-Albanian border

The world needs more pink houses

Nice photo

I left you in Sarajevo; I return to you from Pristina in the Republic of Kosovo. I can report several things. The cheap hotel situation is perfectly wonderful. How gorgeous is this funky little 35 euro room? We are not talking clean here; we’re talking retro funky with lime green sheets and an old fashioned bathtub. Kosovo’s my new favorite place…well not really.  

I am sorry to say that the pizza I ordered out for in a weak moment is just as bad as typical stateside pizza. I was hoping for something a little more Italian because of the Albanian-Italian connection. But you learn these things through extensive travel—do not order the pizza in Pristina.

 The Pres looking good

Bill Clinton is much loved here because of sending the bombs into Belgrade to stop Serbia’s genocidal attacks on Kosovo. More about that in the history lesson that follows. Sorry I just cannot resist as this is one of five or so sites I really wanted to and did visit on this trip.

 History, it’s good for you

Just returned from a drive out to the site of the 1389 Battle of Kosovo where the Turks defeated the Serbs leading to a few centuries of bloodshed and turmoil. Rebecca West’s classic Black Lamb and Grey Falcon (1941) describes Kossovo Polye, the Field of Blackbirds, like this:

Kossovo, more than any other historical site I know, arouses that desolation. It spreads peacefully into its vast, gentle distances, slow winds polishing it like a cloth passing over a mirror, turning the heads of the standing grain to the light. It has a look of innocence which is the extreme of guilt. For it is crowded with the dead, who died in more than their flesh, whose civilization was cast with them into their graves. It is more tragic even than its own legend, which with the dishonesty and obstinancy of a work of art, commemorates one out of several battles of Kossovo That battle which was fought under the leadership of Tsar Lazar in 1389, and placed the Serbs under the yoke of the Turks… “

 Kosovo was a part of Yugoslavia before its breakup and Serbia was intent on maintaining that control even though over 80% of the population is Albanian Muslim.

The infamous Serb leader, Slobodan Milošević, came to this very site in 1987 to make a rabble-rousing speech that is believed to have had a major role in inciting the Balkan wars of the 1990’s that involved both America and Europe and ultimately led to Bill Clinton’s statue happily smiling and waving on a downtown street corner.

 I became interested in all this when I read West’s book a few years ago and was quite excited to see both the monument to Tsar Lazar and the stretch of battlefield. West’s description still rings true I think though the giant hydroelectric plant literally pouring smoke over the famed field certainly casts a real and historical pall on the surroundings.

 Where was I? When last we spoke.

• Early morning bus from Sarajevo, long day to Podgorica, Montenegro. Spectacular wild mountain scenery. Odd smoky hotel but turned out perfectly ok because the open window and smoke from a nearby forest fire overwhelmed the smell of cigarette smoke. (17^th)
• Left Podgorica early for Shkoder on the Albanian side of the border. Hassle because you have to take cabs since the roads are so bad on both sides only a few big tour buses brave it. But driver on Albanian side great. Stayed in a luxury (by my standards—almost $100) hotel last night and hated it. Felt Vegasy. (18^th)
•  I booked the trip today from Shkoder to Prizren with same cab driver—again no regular buses. Albania once had a very crazy dictator named Enver Hoxha who built thousands of little concrete bunkers all over his country…the idea was that Albanians could barricade themselves inside and shoot the enemy—whoever they were. Saw several of the bunkers today. Good history day actually. Then I took the bus on in to Pristina. Happy tonight in Hotel Lyon. (19^th)

 Enough. To bed. Wish I were still reading Balkan history but I’ve pretty much given into my base instincts and am engrossed in Scandinavian murders. One’s true nature always comes through doesn’t it?

 ON THIS ENTIRE TRIP I HAVE HEARD AMERICAN-SPEAK EXACTLY ONCE! At the Hotel Moscow in Belgrade. Strange I think.

Walkabout

 

The crumbling grey concrete blocks of Soviet Eastern Europe

Country roads, Moldovan, Ukrainian style

Every town should have an orange building

“Polenta” field

Love these horse and wagon scenes

MY TABLE at the B&B in Suceava

Gaze deeply into my buttery depth

VERY early at the train station

Roma people still obvious sometimes

Train stations just simply look mysterious and romantic

Mom and son on the train to Timisoara

yellow and power lines and hills, nice

the sun goes down

Full moon over Romania

Moon over Timisoara

If I am not on a holiday or vacation or a fact-finding mission or a study trip what in the hell am I doing? I am on a walkabout. The dictionary (Merriam-Webster) defines walkabout as “a short period of wandering bush life engaged in by an Australian aborigine as an occasional interruption of regular work.”  How about…a short period of wandering around engaged in by a restless American woman as an occasional interruption of regular work. It is okay, I think.

 This is my fourteenth day in the Balkan region of the European world. I am in the hotel, Pansion Harmony, in the hills of Sarajevo. Down in the city center where I spent part of the day wandering and shopping it is beautiful and historic and lively. The problem is … I have now spent so many days in city centers that are “beautiful and historic and lively” that it is getting harder and harder to keep my level of enthusiasm as high as these vibrant places deserve.  The kind of city centers that we can only dream of in the US for the most part.

 The walkabout so far then: September day by day

• To Bucharest (3^rd)
• Arrive Bucharest (4^th)
• Sightsee Bucharest, arranging bus to Chisinau (5^th)
• LONG day’s bus to Chisinau (6^th)
• Chisinau walk. Museum. Afternoon bus to Odessa. Check into hotel of horrors, Zirka. (7th)
• Change hotels. LOVE Odessa (8^th)
• Odessa (9^th)
• Early bus, Odessa to Chisinau, cannot get connections on to Suceava so overnight Chisinau again.(10^th)
• Bus to Suceava, check in and dinner at B&B (11^th)
• Tour of Painted Monasteries of Bucovina (12^th)
• LONG train ride to Timisoara in hot dirty miserable train where I meet warm and friendly Romanians who feed me all day and we speak in something called “friend sign.” You know…where you smile and gesture and point and offer each other whatever you have. Overnight in Timisoara, unplanned originally (13^th)
• Second night in Timisoara, hard to get to Belgrade! (14^th)
• Early train to Belgrade, all day mini-walkabout in Belgrade, flight to Sarajevo.(15^th)
• Today in Sarajevo (16^th)

 For the record!

Doing it alone—but then aren’t all walkabouts alone? It is hard to maintain one’s level of energy and enthusiasm when traveling alone. With others you have someone to push you along when spirits flag, to remark upon at day’s end, etc. By the same token, traveling with someone else brings their moods and biases into the picture which can change your perceptions of a place or experience drastically…it’s all a trade-off of course.

Hotels Matter (Odessa 2011)

Arrived in Odessa, Ukraine about 10pm. Taxi from bus station dropped me off on a dark corner. I entered the tiny shabby lobby where a line of “loving” couples and bewildered families were waiting to check in. Checked in. Room maybe 8X8. Hot. No air. Mattress a throw-away from the family camper. I am NOT going to like Odessa am I?

Next morning on line I book Hotel Ekatarina.

Just out Ekatarina's front door

 Taxi. Check in. Light sunny room. Golden good cheesy sweet breakfast crepes.

Good things do happen to those that change hotels

Walk about the square, Richelieu takes center stage surrounded by the awe-inspiring buildings of that old beautiful Europe we love so much—the creamy yellows, mint greens, rosy-reds shimmer in the morning sun. I AM GOING TO LOVE ODESSA.

Pretty in Pink

 Odessa is a place to wander about most happily. For two days, I walked. Down Potemkin Steps, up through a huge park that led me to the beach where, among the froth of condoms and potato chip wrappers, I stuck my toes in the Black Sea.  A friendly sitting-about and reading, card playing, family game kind of beach.

Potemkin Steps...you had to see the film

The seafront is grand. From Potemkin Steps to the working port. 

Can't walk down there because of "terrorism" the guy said when I tried

Long cobblestone tourist street with the requisite chic shops and cafes down to the fountain where marriages are being celebrated in fine Ukrainian and Asian traditions complete with snow white puppies and falcons and swords.

 

Among the wedding guests

Another meal to treasure. Beet-red borscht almost glows in the bowl in the sun by the sea.

I had no idea I liked borscht

Brown bread to be spread from the pot of pork fat retaining tiny slivers of the roast, a healthy shot of vodka decorated with a tiny scallion quite yummy to lick.

Even better than the borscht

 I think I would love Odessa in the rain and snow as well. It has this sense of layers and layers of cultures mixing in battle and in bed leading to that thing great cities have—a bit of each of us in their DNA. Pushkin called Odessa the city where “the air is filled with all Europe…” I suspect ‘all the world’ could be accurate.

A perfect day for a wedding

 I can picture myself…I’m young, living in a warm attic with my lover, the poet. We eat endless loaves of brown bread slathered with that delectable pork fat downed with the vodka we keep chilled in a bottle on the fire escape. It snows and snows. We stare out to sea, talking about our novels and poems and get chilly and damp as we dream. Then we get pneumonia and die.   

And our pet falcons are sold to the circus where they are beaten

 Most of my conversations take place during my endless quest for directions. My favorite in Odessa was with a young man, surely his grandmother’s favorite—polite, curious, charming—who wanted to know how it was I could be traveling about by myself. “How old are you?” “How come you are by yourself?” “Aren’t you tired?” “My grandmother cannot travel because her pension is too small in Ukraine.” “Where will you go next?” I think young men must favor their grandmothers—they’re always the ones that want to talk about their lives to me. Later, that evening three of these young guys from Moldova started a conversation about travel as I sat on a park bench near my hotel, telling me how hard it is to get visas to go places in the west, how one of them had never even seen the sea before, etc. I am so looking forward to the trip to Australia next winter with MY GRANDSON who is THE best.

 

And walk and walk and walk

David B., thank you for recommending “The Lady with the Fan” and “Lost.” I am so excited I have discovered a new place to worship from afar and visit often through books. Cape Town was my earlier favorite—which I’ve largely been exploring through murder mysteries! This will be a change.

 

My flat will be on the top floor

ODESSA. I DO LOVE YOU.

A quick trip to Chisinau

A sticky business

 Mini-bus Bucharest to Chisinau, Moldova takes about 8 hours. Countryside rolls by. Nap. Talked a little to the only English speakers on the bus—a Moldovan Mormon educator who supervises English teachers in 29 countries  (my dream job…well except for the religious part) and a young American couch-surfer, a perfect way to travel IF one is young and extremely flexible (Taylor was on his way to live on the couch of a young family with two small children—which makes even a bad hotel sound good).

The new old world

Chisinau could be Albuquerque. Well not quite, because in Albuquerque we are not all white Christians. It seems Chisinau was once almost half Jewish but they drove out or murdered all of them—which was surely the city’s downfall as a culturally interesting place. The gypsies/Roma are still being driven out of town I hear. No identifiable Muslims, Africans or Asians were on the streets while I was there either. Michelle Bachman would love it there. There was a prevalence of oldish or really old women in Lutheran Ladies Aid outfits so, except for my jeans, I really quite fit in.

Well maybe...

 Chisinau is the same size city as Albuquerque with equally few attractive buildings; they do have a lot of tree-lined streets though…but we have the Bosque.

 On the good side the Hotel Stela de lux was pretty and stylish.  

The Boucherie around the corner offered my new favorite food–meat solyanka “…with ingredients like beef, ham, sausages, chicken breast, and cabbage, together with salted mushrooms, cucumber pickles, tomatoes, onions, olives, capers, allspice, parsley, and dill are all cut fine and mixed with cream in a pot. The broth is added, and heated for a short time on the stove, without boiling”—with a big slice of lemon.Thank you Wikipedia).

My second favorite new food, polenta with sheep cheese and sour cream is a regional specialty, all nicely tart and creamy, although sheep cheese did give me pause.

Reminded me of all the lost families of Chisinau

 Ended my visit at an okay museum/gallery.

 

What to say?

Walking Bucharest

Hotel Trianon--Highly recommended

I visit countries the way we visit towns on a typical U.S. road trip or the way we investigate the neighborhoods of our own cities. I am walking and then walking some more with many stops to ask directions and much poring over my map. (No, I do not want to use the GPS of my Droid…I want to puzzle out the best way forward all on my own!)

The grand old world

 It was a perfect get-acquainted day. The 7pm train to Chisinau was not running so I rebooked my Trianon Hotel room for another night and roamed and napped all day. I LOVE Bucharest. Grand old buildings, many still a little shabby from the bad years, and the interesting Old World is interspersed with the dank dictator-gray ugliness of soviet-inspired architecture. On this benevolently-sunny early fall day though it all looks historic and gracious.

Cismigiu Gardens

 In the cool of the morning…slowly through Cismigiu Gardens. A mom out early with the baby, people cutting through on their way to work but not so hurriedly, old guy reads on a bench. It offers that green connection that can make almost any day go a little better.

Simple and fine

With mysteries to ponder.

 Although I could not book my train ticket, the way there took me to a most beautiful old church (for which I now cannot find the name) and gave me a look at what is Bucharest’s most famous and infamous landmark, the Palace of Parliament.

Mine's bigger than yours

In the mid 1990s, Romania’s very own craftily crazy dictator, Nicolae Ceausescu, had a substantial chunk of central Bucharest bulldozed to build a monument to … himself, of course. He wanted it to be the biggest building in the world but, according to Lonely Planet, it is only the second biggest. The Pentagon, built to honor our very own dictatorship of the military-industrial complex, is the biggest!

When you need a break from the desert southwest...

 Expensive milkshake and coffee in the leafy loveliness of the Gardens and back for a read and a nap. THEN my five-hour stroll up and down Calea Victoriei, the grand avenue of Bucharest. Hard to find restaurants oddly enough. Along the walk the choice was luxury hotel dining or McDonald’s. Finally found the French Bakery for a sweet little meal of quiche heavy with bacon, salad light with oil and vinegar, orange juice sweet with red wine.

You can almost never go wrong if the word French is in the title

An ever-so-pleasant sanctuary for the tired walker with a friendly talkative young man who gave me a real voice to hear—it seems all the words and history that accompany me come from books because I’m almost anti-social when actually on the road. I hear voices form history, from memoir, travel writers, all talking about the blood and guts and fear and deprivation of Balkan history. But here is an ordinary Romanian guy trying to figure out how his life relates to all that.

My smart new friends

We talk of Dracula and éclairs and history reconsidered on this September evening and my legs ache as I walk back but I’m happy.  

Fondly called olive on a toothpick

 No rest for the wicked…or obsessed.

 Now for the bus to Chisinau.

The First 24.

At the Trianon Hotel, Bucharest, Romania and it is just as claimed. If you can get through that first exhausted collapse after 24 hours from home to hotel in a cheap, clean and comfortable room it bodes well for every move to come. The Trianon is an oddly pretty heap of a building, friendly staff and plain but good room for $63—my goal of $100 a day for everything could work.

 Lonely Planet has a section for every country called “Getting There.”  Here is my version.

Transportation: Flights to DC, Frankfurt, Bucharest—all United or Lufthansa—all uneventful. Bus from airport into city center, taxi to hotel.

Food: There’s a restaurant at the Frankfurt Airport that is a perfect spot to write, i.e. BLOG! My Sunday morning Muesli and yogurt was only $14 and included two tiny exquisite branches of lingonberries, three apples slices, four raspberries and five blueberries. Almost compensated for the fact that, on Saturday morning, in a weak and sleepy moment, I had succumbed and ordered breakfast at an Albuquerque airport restaurant (the one at the end of the B gates) which consisted of a puffy tasteless omelet covered in barely melted Kraft cheese, hash browns all sad and limp and desperate for catsup and watery orange juice—for $14. But then it is not all about food is it?

Nice People: I did a very bad thing (only second time ever) and left my billfold on the counter when I bought my bus ticket AND THE LOVELY TICKET SELLER CAME AND FOUND ME WITH IT! Otherwise some among you would have received a collect call…please tell me you would have accepted the charges! It is confirmed in my mind that honesty exists in at least two places in the world: Romania and Cote d’Ivoire.

Toys in orange

 TOYS: There are Mattel toys and sex toys and motorized boy toys that go vroom vroom. My toys are better but will take awhile to get under control. This computer is my old travel buddy;  my camera is quite familiar—I even brought along the CD of instructions on the off chance that after a year I would actually listen to them and the Kindle is fine, not so exciting but lighter than 10 books. BUT THEN there’s the Droid. We have not totally bonded yet although I do get goose bumps when my gravely-voiced little travel companion speaks to me. I AM TRYING. YES I AM. In fact I have conquered phoning and texting.

Droid and friend

  A man at the Albuquerque airport asked me where I was going, “Bucharest.”  “To see family? he asked.” “No, I’m a WRITER,” I said!