Travel is Fatal

My “dining strategy” is to walk into alleyways (or...

Mon, 12 Sep 2011 12:31:06 +0100

My “dining strategy” is to walk into alleyways (or hutongs, as they’re called here in Beijing) and sit down in the first place with people.

Inevitably, someone’s curiosity will get the better of them and they’ll machine-gun questions at me in an unfamiliar tongue. I then smile and point at what a fellow patron is enjoying.

This normally works fine.

Today I ordered an entire chicken, chopped up, and cooked in a hotpot.

Lama Temple

Sun, 11 Sep 2011 12:30:05 +0100

Lama Temple

Caged Royalty.

Sat, 10 Sep 2011 12:30:06 +0100

Caged Royalty.

It’s hard resisting making this yet-another Engrish...

Fri, 09 Sep 2011 12:30:05 +0100

It’s hard resisting making this yet-another Engrish travelogue.

紫禁城, no-longer brought to you by…

Thu, 08 Sep 2011 12:30:05 +0100

紫禁城, no-longer brought to you by…

The Red Lantern House It’s been quiet. Nice.

Wed, 07 Sep 2011 12:31:05 +0100

The Red Lantern House

It’s been quiet. Nice.

The real CRAZY WING

Tue, 06 Sep 2011 12:34:05 +0100

The real CRAZY WING

Todo : Travel Catchup

Tue, 06 Sep 2011 04:37:00 +0100

It’s time to admit I’ll never write about these…

Montenegro

Meeting Mira & Boris
Having an apartment of my own.
Day to Day Life
- Pastries
- Sandwiches
- They use the Euro
- Odd man out, stand out but always treated nice.
- Walkable town
- Cafes everywhere
Hiking up to Kotor Ruins
The Serbian cross, brotherhood of Serbia
Monastery
- “Schlafen” around!
- “He has uses.”
Niksiche
- The commerical advertising the beer
- Climbing on the statue
Hiking in the wilderness
Traditional food!
The coast (Budva, Bar)
- “Negotiating” for a beachhome
- Jazz in Budva
- For pay beaches, pros and cons.
Watching “Two Lovers” as the only English speaker
Serbian Folklore: “There’s no better bird than pork.”
- Rhymes in their language
Leaving Montenegro
- A sad evening, waving goodbye, parting text messages, a smoky train

Belgrade

Rewandering around town
falling asleep on the castle ruins.
Questionable national statuary
Scoping out places to sleep for the night
Turkish Millennium Tower
Putting the CouchSurfing call out
Getting ripped off on the train to Budapest by Serbian police

Budapest

Depressed
Coffeehouses
Some “famous” restaurants
Neat Communist bar
CouchSurfing meetups
- American girl hating me
The Opera
- Hungarian State Opera
- Midsummer’s Night Dream, the Ballet
- Hadn’t slept for over a day, wasn’t up to dress code, and hate that play.

Vienna

“Before Sunrise”
How I met Barbara (Ethiopia)
Addidas Party
- Waking up the next morning, looked over by a child. “Why is he still sleeping?”
Fighting in the park
Busted up my right hand.
Hiking in the forest
Museums - royal jewels
- “Every period was once modern.”
Biking around Vienna
Zentralfiedhof
1 euro sandwiches
National library!
Kunsthauswein
Gunter quote:
- “You gotta give her something in the Austrian accent.” Kiss the hand, Miss?
The progression of train quality

Munich

Oktoberfest 1 and 2
- Italian Weekend
Clubbing
- #s for “crushes”
Swimming at the waterpark
The high ropes course
The autobahn

Flying off

Jeff Plumer, ADCC
DJ on the flight

Welcome Home

7 months
Even Compton feels rich
Weinerschnitzel
Remembering complex English
Forgetting other languages
Not talking about the stories

Playlist of the trip

It was night when I finally arrived to Podgorica. The SIM card...

Sun, 13 Dec 2009 12:35:54 +0000

It was night when I finally arrived to Podgorica.

The SIM card that the Vodafone representative in Istanbul promised would work in Serbia and Montenegro didn’t. So, I had been out of contact with Mira until one of the Grandmothers in the train loaned me her mobile. Not a smart idea for a random guy arriving in an unknown city.

Fortunately, ProMonte is on top of things and has Tourist SIMs for sale at every kiosk. I rang Mira in short order. She picked up (yay!), was with her boyfriend (yay!) and would pick me up in a half-hour or so (yay!).

I was totally unprepared for the grade of hospitality that I was about to be given.

I needn't have packed food for my train to Montenegro.

Sat, 12 Dec 2009 12:35:56 +0000

My cabin-mates were a group of four Grandmothers and one surly looking young man. I sat in the line of fire of a social interaction that transcends cultures: a gossip circle. But, as my position became more awkward, I “relented” and offered to swap spots with adjacent lady in the window seat.

I’m so gracious.

Of course, now I was a legitimate conversation topic and target. My Serbian was non-existent at this point, but one of the women spoke a few words of English. Between hand signs, small words, and my woeful but rapidly expanding phrasebook, we exchanged stories. The ladies were all returning from visiting their respective families. And, the woman who spoke some English had learned it to teach her son, who was now living abroad and doing well for himself— in part— thanks to her early tutoring.

Eventually, I stopped being interesting, and we resumed our former activities. The Grandmothers chatting over their knitwork. The surly young man and I watching the countryside descend into breathtaking mountain passes.

I alternated between dozing and counting tunnels. On their walls were white Charlie Brown zig-zag patterns. The base of the waves were inset cubbies I decided were for emergencies.

The Grandmothers were clearly veteran riders. Every couple hours, they would reach into their bags or stowed luggage to produce sandwiches. The first time, I took this as a reminder to munch on my own dwindling leftovers. But, I was surprised in short order by a proffered meal!

For the remainder of the trip, I was forcibly stuffed like a piñata. My adopted family had decided I was too helpless to be left to fend for myself. And, after bidding farewell to each woman at her stop, the last and I disembarked and hugged partings at Podgorica.

I snapped this photo because I recognized the icon but...

Fri, 11 Dec 2009 12:35:56 +0000

I snapped this photo because I recognized the icon but couldn’t quite place it.

Shortly after uploading the photo to Flickr, a friend of mine tagged it.

“Fallout!”

The morning train to Montenegro departed five minutes before I...

Thu, 10 Dec 2009 12:35:55 +0000

The morning train to Montenegro departed five minutes before I arrived in Belgrade. I hadn’t planned on exploring; but, who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?

Back in Sofia, I had cached a map with an overview of the city center. I knew where I was, and I knew where the Kalemegdan was.

North.

I can do north.

The city awoke around me as I walked and watched day begin to break. I ascended on the switchbacked paths and passed through the fortress gates. Finally, I climbed the northern wall that overlooked the Danube.

Then I napped on my backpack.

I was startled back into consciousness by a park warden politely informing me that I couldn’t sleep there. As there were bums dozing in nearby benches, I figured he was just worried about me falling to my death.

Graffiti at the Belgrade tram depot.

Wed, 09 Dec 2009 12:35:56 +0000

Graffiti at the Belgrade tram depot.

I stepped off the train in Sofia and was promptly hustled by a...

Tue, 08 Dec 2009 12:35:00 +0000

I stepped off the train in Sofia and was promptly hustled by a tout.

Two other backpackers and I were searching for international ticketing. Over my half-hearted objections, we accepted the “help” of a man dressed in what passed as a maintenance staff uniform. He guided us and politely demanded a tip.

From using touts as an instrument of abuse upon my travel-mate, to coughing up currency for—frankly— a second-class act. I was so embarrassed. But, I smiled and looked thankful.

Regardless, reservation in hand, I strode out of the dark station and in to the day-lit city of Sofia.

My time limit was nine hours, 50 Bulgarian lev was split between two pockets, and I had no travel guide, But, there was a solid plan fixed in my mind. Two words: ride buses.

I beelined for the transit kiosk and used sign language to purchase a day-pass. (Show the brochure for bus passes. Point at your watch, then use your hands in the air to indicate 24-hours. Realize the kind lady sold you the wrong ticket. Try again while smiling and look thankful!) Then, after photographing a map of the transit system, hopped on the first bus that goes out of the city.

The city center is stylish and modern. It takes a few miles before you’re in communist-era concrete highrises. Another mile, the end the line, and it’s green fields. I lounged in the sun until I was hungry. Rode back to the city and went to the grocery store to make a sandwich.

It was in Sofia that I first encountered the European style tagging of produce. You put your fresh foods in a bag, weigh it, enter an item code on adjacent terminal, and an adhesive ticket is printed. I watched other people do this, and as I was about to tag my green peppers the security guard ran up and did it for me.

His facial expression and body language indicated that he expected me to be confused. I smiled and looked thankful.

The checkout girl flirted with me. She liked my hair. I smiled and looked thankful.

Rode to the city center on the presumption there would be a park. There was. Lounged around and finished both “For Whom The Bell Tolls” and “A Hundred Years of Solitude.” Out of books, again.

Chatted with a nice young man from city who was incredulous that I wanted to vacation here. Then we took turns playing WWE SmackDown vs. Raw on his mobile and watching beautiful young women pushing children in strollers.

Finally, with an hour remaining, and I excused myself to catch my train. He said it was nice to talk with an American, I said it was nice to talk with a Bulgarian. We both smiled and looked thankful.

Met back up with my backpacker friends. They had a rushed day seeing the cathedral, visiting a museum, and eating at local restaurants. I had no worries and a half-eaten sandwich.

You know what I did.

Hello Bulgaria

Sat, 21 Nov 2009 06:21:53 +0000

Why is border control at 3am? Why?!

This train runs nightly. Everyone has patiently lined up. None of us are wearing anything more than the barest pajamas.

Except her. What the hell, damn lady?! Oh man, I hate Bulgaria. Why are you fully made-up and dressed in lingerie? Every guy in here just got whiplash tracking your tits, ass and legs cross the room.

Seriously, though. Train. Runs. Nightly. Dozens of us. One stamp wielding official.

Why is it 3am?!

My photo doesn’t do the art justice. Every car on the...

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 06:21:55 +0000

My photo doesn’t do the art justice. Every car on the train was covered in dozens of distinct tags.

The Internet is chock-full of vivid photographs depicting Eastern European industrial scenes with exotic graffiti styles. Hopefully, I will encounter, capture and share a few.

The whistlestop tour from Istanbul to Munich begins.

Meet Chris. He’s been my consistent mancrush for six...

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 06:21:54 +0000

Meet Chris.

He’s been my consistent mancrush for six years and been my constant travel partner for six months.

He’s also been responsible for every good photograph on this travelogue.

Unfortunately for us all, we’re parting ways. Him for the United States, me for Eastern Europe.

Expect quality to promptly falter.

I walked up to the Turkish State Railways international...

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 06:21:52 +0000

I walked up to the Turkish State Railways international ticketing booth and politely asked for a ticket to, “as far away as possible.” “Munich?” Works for me!

Reproduced above is the diagram I used to demolish the language barrier that tried to block my negotiation with the TDD agent. Red is the more popular and slightly cheaper Bosphor Express. Blue is the path of winners via the Balkan Express.

I had an open ticket in my hand. Winners always prosper.

Pinar and Oyku invited me to the Asian side of Istanbul. A...

Tue, 17 Nov 2009 06:21:53 +0000

Pinar and Oyku invited me to the Asian side of Istanbul.

A delicious dinner, a warm evening lounging on the grass of the seaside park, and discussing life over drinks until well past bedtime.

It was my last night in Istanbul.

Ramadan is the Muslim holy month. For an infidel, what’s...

Mon, 16 Nov 2009 06:21:51 +0000

Ramadan is the Muslim holy month.

For an infidel, what’s most noticeable is that the day-lit streets are suddenly empty. The next thirty days (or so) are marked by prayers and fasting. In a country like Turkey, with an Islamic religious majority, many restaurants choose to close rather than remain open and unoccupied. Even those not fasting feel a strong social pressure to avoid eating in public.

But, that all changes after sunset.

Even before the echos of the maghrib fade, a flood of people pours out in to the green areas and common spaces of the city. What better excuse for a party than hunger?

Theatre, dervishes, markets! All over dinner with family and friends.