Day 267 Bus Riding as an Extreme Sport

Leaving Tirana was more challenging than I had thought. The few trains that there are, are slow and very limited in destination. The buses are mysterious. I looked for one to take me to the south and had no luck whatsoever. I went back to the hostel and found out where I needed to go. There is a parking lot that serves as the bus station for long distance buses and I had to be there at 6:00am. I spent the day catching up on processing photos, planning future travel, relaxing, and then went to bed very early.

I found the muddy parking lot at ten to six. The 6:00 bus didn’t leave until 6:20 because there were only six people on board. For the best legroom, I took the seat next to the back stairs. The back door was even with the front of my seat and my feet stuck out over the stairs, so that I had to scrunch them back whenever anyone came in or out. This was a good spot for several reasons. First, the legroom. Second, the door was poorly weather stripped so I got fresh air. And third, the bus often drove with the door open as shown in this picture. This was very cool.

This was also a very good introduction to Albanian buses. This was a long distance bus that would take over eight hours. I would have expected a fairly direct route. Oh no. Not at all. We stopped at every street corner on the way out of town. If someone was standing or walking on the side of the road, the driver honked at them and the driver’s helper hung out the door asking if they were going in our direction. It took a good half hour just to get out of town. They wanted to fill seats and worked hard to do so. We even picked up school children at one point, taking them only about a mile. The bus was only eight euro to go a long way so I had no right to complain. Not about that anyway.

The first four hours were normal other than the time when the driver stopped, got out, bought ten kilos of potatoes, a watermelon, and a piece of sheet metal, all while everyone sat and watched him from the bus. We stopped for lunch in the mountains and it was nice. The last four plus hours were more exciting. Think about Christmas as a child…bear with me now…remember shaking your presents to try to guess what was inside? Now imagine if you were a tiny person inside one of those presents as it was being shaken and being violently banged against the sides of the box. That is what the bus ride was like. I have a bruise on my arm from slamming against the window frame so many times. It was exhausting on my neck muscles to keep my head from flopping around. There were times when I was completely lifted from my seat. Even better, we were on what I would have called a bike path, high on the steep mountainsides, where even the thought of two-way traffic seemed ridiculous, although, scarily, it happened. I questioned whether the driver had a healthy balance between his desire to be on time and his desire to continue living. There were times when, as I looked out my window, I was sure that the tires were somehow floating magically over the abyss because the road was nowhere to be seen. It was an exciting ride.

I have to say that the people in Albania are great. Everyone that I met was very friendly and eager to be helpful. The driver’s helper on the bus was thrilled to meet me even though he could hardly speak English. The people in the hostel were fantastic and intensely curious about American culture. The people in the stores were courteous. It was a nice change from tourist heavy places. And there is little crime, other than organized crime, in the country and I always felt safe.

At first I didn’t understand, why, in such a poor country, there are so many luxury cars. In Tirana I think the percentage is even higher than in the United States. There is a large organized crime syndicate that could account for some, but not that many. After talking to a few people I discovered that Albania is one of the main places that Europe’s stolen cars end up. So even though it is a poor country, they can afford to get around in style.

Day 266 Albania!

Oh Albania, land of mystery. It has not been that long since outsiders have been allowed in the country. What do you know of Albania? Hmmm? After seeing my illusions destroyed in other Slavic countries, I threw out any expectations of Albania. Getting there proved more difficult than I thought though.

I had to take a bus to Ulcinj, Montengro and then supposedly wait for a minibus to show up to take me across the border to Shkodra. When I got into tiny little Ulcinj, there were no minibuses to be seen and it was about 2:00 in the afternoon. I figured that if I waited around for an hour or two and then took another hour and a half to get to Shkodra and then wait for another minibus to go several more hours to the Albanian capital, Tirana, I may be arriving late at night in a city of which I have no knowledge. So I took a taxi. I bargained the driver down to 25 euro for what turned out to be a two-hour trip. Not a bad deal I think. I had to pay 10 more euro at the border for visitor taxes and I got my first look at the ubiquitous Albanian pill boxes.

Pill boxes are round, dome topped, concrete, mini-bunkers with a slit in the front and an open back. They are arranged in a line of sight formation with a larger command bunker thus eliminating the need for complicated communication systems. I saw these things all through the country and there must be hundreds of thousands of them. They are everywhere. I guess it is not surprising for a country that has been invaded so many times.

Upon crossing the border, my first impression of Albania was a strong smell of horse manure, pigs in the road, garbage, and half crippled old people. But that was just the first mile. After that, it was lots of garbage and road construction. I saw a large castle looming above Shkodra and would have liked to see it, yet the need to find a room for the night was more pressing.

In Shkodra I lucked out and was able to jump out of the taxi, walk across the street and into an already full minibus. The normal problem with minibuses is that they won’t go until they are full. I took the last seat and we were off. I was dropped away from the center of Tirana and it took me a bit to decide which way to go. There was a big roundabout and several ways looked promising. Fortunately, I picked the right way and ended up in the large central square, from which, I knew the directions to the hostel.

On my walk to the hostel I saw the last thing I expected—the giant smiling face of George W. Bush. On the pyramid-like exposition center, which children were climbing and sliding down, was a huge banner with the US and Albanian flags, and the oversized noggin of the president of my country. Despite this, I kept going to the hostel. The people at the hostel were very friendly and spoke some limited English. They did tell me that they were happy that Bush was going to be visiting the country next week. Apparently, the United States has been very good to Albania ever since Woodrow Wilson. Go figure. I had no idea. Albanians like us. Weird. The cleaning woman was so excited that I was from America that she went and found pictures of her daughter, living in Hartford, CT, and showed me all of them. They were not particularly interesting pictures as much as it was interesting to see how excited she was to show me. It was a fun experience.

One interesting thing about the country was the custom of hanging stuffed animals or scarecrow men on houses and buildings. The intention is to ward off the evil eye. The effect is a bit spooky as an outsider since even cute fuzzy cuddly wuddly stuffed bunny rabbits take on a whole new dimension after they have been exposed to the elements for a few months. Sort of a Stephen King dimension. And the scarecrow men are just plain spooky to start with. I was told that people don’t really believe it anymore and they do it out of tradition, much of like our “knock on wood” habit that is based on scaring away evil spirits.

On the advice of the very friendly hostel staff, I went to a traditional restaurant and had Tevé mishi which is a clay pot of braised veal and pickled onions. It was fantastic. I started with a Tirana Biere, tsatsiki, and toasted bread and finished with some Albanian raki, a grape spirit. I left with a happy tummy and a good buzz. There was a big jazz festival nearby that would have been good if I wasn’t so tired. I dropped early.

There is not much to see in Tirana so I intended to leave the next day. If only I could.

Day 263 Budva Montenegro

Heading south by bus, I considered staying in Dubrovnik with its imposing fortifications around the old city. Yet, I have seen many fortified old cities and I decided to pass. There is not much else to see in the city anyway. I missed the direct bus to Budva, Montenegro so I jumped on another bus to Herceg Novi just across the border. I had a bad realization once I got to Herceg Novi; I had no coin of the realm and there were no exchange offices or ATMs. The bus to Budva was 4 euro. I had Serbian, Croatian, Moroccan, and American money—no euros. I spotted some Americans (not hard to do) and talked them into being my mini exchange office. And then I was off again. It was nice when the bus pulled onto a ferry to cross the bay and I was able to get out and relax for a few minutes and admire Montenegro’s mountainous splendor. Arriving in Budva, I followed the directions to the hostel for 20 minutes and could not find it. I once again was expecting a sign. I pulled out my laptop and found the address right next me.

The Hippo hostel turned out to be one of the better hostels I have known. It is run by a nice younger couple who know the importance of atmosphere. The first thing was the half liter of welcome beer. Then David sat and explained the city with a map and made sure I could find what I wanted. There is a nice lush patio, big kitchen, a huge selection of movies, games, clean bathrooms, and free internet. And the market across the street has beer for ridiculously low prices, such as forty cents for a half liter and 1.80 euro for a two liter bottle.

David tipped me off to a great cliff diving site where you could jump 52 feet (16m) into the sea. I was excited. I made the trek, across three beaches and over jagged rocks and found the cliff. It was hard to miss with the big brass plaque saying that a 16 year-old had died at that spot by jumping into the mouth of a shark. It is some kind of Montenegrin joke because there are no sharks in these waters. Dave said that many people had chickened out after seeing how shallow the water looked. He said the water only looked shallow because of how clear it was. I took his word for it because I was looking down at a frothy white raging sea. I wanted to jump and waited fruitlessly for about an hour to see if the sea would calm. The problem was not in jumping. It was in climbing back up. The waves would have smashed me against the rough rocks. Besides, I was alone and that is never a good time to do something like that. Better to be disappointed than stupid. Bummer number one.

I couldn’t jump of a cliff…how about a mountain? I hiked to the next town to find the paragliding company that would drive me up to the top of the mountain and let me float all the way down to the beach. That is very cool, no? No. They closed up shop the week before and no one knew anything else. Bummer number two.

The next day, I went on the hostel led sea kayaking trip to the beach and cliff diving spot on the back of the nearest island. The water was still a little rough and the kayak people were not renting. We all took big four person paddle boats instead (they even had their own slide). It went well until we rounded the island to the open sea. The waves were much bigger. Then the wind kicked up hard. We decided to bail when we were almost to the beach because we never would have gotten off the beach in those huge boats. Going back turned out to be fun though. The swells were about 6 feet (2m) and the wind was blowing hard; so hard that we could not get the boat to turn toward shore. The wind kept it sideways no matter how hard we paddled and which way we turned the rudder. I had to jump in the water and turn the boats by hand. It turned out that the water was warmer than sitting on the boat and I spent most of the trip back playing in the water as the boat dragged me along. At least bummer number three wasn’t all bad with the exciting weather to make things interesting.

Budva is a great, cheap vacation spot and it is a shame I wasn’t having much luck. Three times of trying is enough for me to get the hint. Time to move on.

Day 262 Hvar Croatia

I had arrived on the Dalmatian coast and I had to head over to one of the main attractions, the island of Hvar. I opted for the cheaper and slower (two hour) car ferry for 6 euro to the opposite side of the island and then took a 15 minute bus to the city of Hvar. This little port city was once of great strategic importance with its protected harbor and guardian castle perched above. Now its smooth stone streets and filled with cafés and restaurants and gift shops and boat tour operators and of course, tourists. The bottle green water was very clear and it was difficult to resist. But I did. Hvar is not known for its beaches, just its rugged shorelines and plentiful natural beauty. I hiked up the hill to the castle, paid the equivalent of $3 USD, and saw the same as most castles: thick stone walls and a really good view. It had a small dungeon that was interesting at least. Being an inmate in a castle prison would not have been a good thing.

Even with sun block and my hat, I had gotten more than enough sun for the day. I headed back on the ferry and for the first time in nine months I had the traditional backpacker meal; pasta with a jar of pre-made sauce. I threw in some tasty olives and it was great (and cheap).

Day 261 Split Croatia

The only bus out of Sarajevo to the Croatian coastal city of Split left at 9pm and took seven hours. I figured I could sleep on the bus (I was really tired) long enough to hold me through the next day. That way I could save a little money by not needing a room for the night. The theory was good anyway.

The tram from the hostel to the bus station was crowded and with my backpack it would have been hard to make my way to the little ticket punching machine. I wasn’t going far so I wasn’t worried about the ticket check guys. Oops. Guess who was making their way through the crowd. They were very nice and very insistent that I had to pay a fine for not punching my ticket. The fine was 26.60 BAM ($18 USD) and I only had 12 BAM ($8 USD) and change. They said it was enough and took my snack money for the bus ride. So much for saving money.

The problem with the bus was that it stopped too frequently for breaks. Every two hours everyone got off to pee and smoke. And then there was the the loud thump from the engine, at which point the driver let the engine idle as we coasted down the mountain to a restaurant parking lot. I am not sure why there were three guys working on the bus, two drivers and a ticket taker, but they all pulled open the panels to the engine, in the aisle between the seats, filling the bus with noxious engine fumes, and proceeded to work on the engine. After 10 minutes they fixed whatever it was and we were on our way again. I was the last person still on the bus when we rolled into Split at 3:30am.

I walked to the tourist waterfront and waited for the sun to come up. First came lots of drunk and singing Italians that were making their way back from the bars. Then came street cleaning crews. And finally, the sun. Split has a pretty little old town that has streets that are more than a little similar to Venice. Venice is just much bigger and more maze-like. I liberated some wireless bandwidth from a local hotel and found a nearby hostel. Well actually, it was a lot of work to find it, because its tiny sign was on the door, which was standing wide open and out of view. The sign that was in view was for a hair salon. I went around and around and determined that that had to be it. The hostel was once again just a large apartment that was only barely converted. I can’t complain. He had no vacancy but found a mattress for me to sleep on, wedged in a corner. The place was overcrowded, but with free wi-fi, that was very fine.

Day 259 Sarajevo Bosnia

The people in Serbia acted a little strange when I said I was going to Sarajevo. I knew there were tensions without really knowing the full truth, which I was to soon discover.

It was a long bus ride that departed at 4:00 pm and arrived at almost midnight. I made an exception in this case for arriving late in a new city because the hostel offered to pick me up for free, not a bad deal for a 10 euro a night hostel. It was right in the center of town and the people were very pleasant. It almost made up for the overcrowded dorm, dirty and too few bathrooms, and lack of a kitchen. I slept poorly because of obnoxious people in the room. In the morning, groggy, I put on the cleanest and least wrinkled shirt I had and went down to breakfast. Breakfast was fascinating. Two hard boiled eggs, bread, feta cheese, a bowl of cold, blanched and sliced, cabbage, a small, sugar syrup soaked buckwheat-like pancake, and tea. It wasn’t bad, wasn’t good, but interesting.

I went on a tour around town that is organized by the hostel. First stop was the war tunnel museum where I learned the story about history of the Serb-Bosnian conflict. As the coalition of Yugoslavia fell apart, the Milosovic decided he wanted to make a great Serb-only state and that meant he had to get rid of the non-Serbs. He figured that the easiest way was through genocide. The Serbians invaded the army-less country of Bosnia, occupying 70% of it, and laid siege to the capital, Sarajevo. For four years, the Serbian army sat in the hills above the city and shot everything that moved. Men, women, children, everything. The world community did little to help. The UN made huge mistakes and ended up making many things worse. The tiny, water filled, war tunnel was the only way in or out of the city for years. Of the 300,000 people in the city, about one in five was wounded or killed. The nearby city of Sjbrenica was also under siege when the UN moved in, declaring it a safe zone. The Serbs moved in anyway, killing all 8,000 men in the city. The UN only moved the women and children out, they did nothing to stop the slaughter of the men.

It was at this point that I realized that my thoughtless choice of apparel that morning was not a good thing. I had put on my Belgrade, Serbia t-shirt. It was also then that the tour guide, a siege survivor, pointed out that, yes, maybe that wasn’t the best shirt to be wearing, and that if I had worn that the night before when there was a big football match, I very likely would have run into trouble. I felt terrible. Luckily, I had purchased a local shirt that morning and immediately put it on over the Belgrade shirt. Even luckier, it was the shirt of the winning Sarajevo team. I still felt bad about being so oblivious and ignorant of the local history. I felt like such a stupid tourist.

The city at street level looks pretty normal in most places. If you look up, like in the photo above, you see some of what four years of being shot at is like. Almost every building is riddled with bullet holes. You can see places where there were gun fights around doorways and windows where the walls are chewed up in very scary reminders of the all too recent war. You can see many places with the Sarajevo rose, mortar scars in the pavement that look flower shaped. Over the four years of siege, the Serbs launched a daily average of 370 mortar shells a day, often randomly. Apparently the battle scarred city is much better than it was 3 or 4 years ago, much of the damage has been fixed—looking at the buildings, that is hard to imagine.

I tried the local food, burek, a greasy meat or cheese pie, and found it very tasty. I have been eating way to much and have put on some weight lately, so I had to control myself. I am trying to eat only when I am hungry rather than eating because food tastes good, which kind of sucks, you know?

Day 258 Belgrade Serbia

Belgrade

My first experience with Serbia was good; I changed 100 euro and got 8,020 Serbian Dinars; I felt rich with a big wad of high denomination notes in my pocket. So they weren’t worth much…oh well, take the small pleasures were you can find them.

The hostel wasn’t bad, other than the outside of the dreary and dirty building that is. It was an apartment with three big rooms for beds, one bathroom (sans toilet), two tiny toilet/showers, a tiny common room, and a little kitchen. When I say toilet/shower, I mean exactly that—they are toilets with a hand held shower head next to them so you shower while sitting on the toilet. There was barely enough room in there to use the toilet let alone shower in there. At least using the washing machine, next to the dishwasher in the kitchen, was free. The two brothers running the place were happy to share the traditional Serbian plum brandy that they drank all night long. They didn’t like seeing people with empty glasses and were quick to refill for us. I calculated the rate of consumption with the time before I went to bed and decided that it was a major hangover in the making, and wisely switched to water. Besides, I kept losing at chess and I thought (mistakenly) that drinking less than my opponent would change the odds.

I wasn’t over impressed with the city in general. The rambling hilltop citadel was converted into an excellent park and is a great place to walk and relax. Not much to see though other than the military museum and it had a very unexpected effect on me. Now, I grew up wanting to be a ninja, played fighting games all my life, and have always had a manly fascination with weapons, but a few of things in the museum made me feel differently. There was one drawing of a guy with ropes around his ankles being pulled over a thick sharpen post, skewering him from the bottom through his neck, like a human shish kebab. The incredible human cruelty through the ages is disgusting. The big highlight of the museum are the bits of the American stealth fighter that was shot down by the Serbs. They are very proud of that. The other big thing is the bits of the cluster bomb that NATO dropped on them. They complain about how horrible the act was without ever mentioning why they were bombed. I'll get to that later.

The best thing in Belgrade is the Nikola Tesla museum (he was born there). Tesla was a frickin’ genius. He invented the AC motor among many other things. Much of the technology in our daily lives uses Tesla’s inventions. The museum had all sorts of cool machines like the one that has a brass egg (non-ferrous and thus non-magnetic) as a free rotor in an electric motor, causing it to spin like a top above a metal plate (you had to see it). The best part was the machine that generated half a million volts of electricity and made huge sparks. We all had a four foot fluorescent tube to hold and when the (deafening) machine came on, the tubes lit up like they were plugged in. Very cool and a little scary. Tesla had some wild ideas at a time when the world was not overly ready for them. As shown in the movie, The Prestige, Tesla transmitted electricity through the ground from Colorado Springs, lighting up a field of light bulbs 40 kilometers away. The only problem was the he was a genius in science, not business, and ended up dying poor even though other people made untold fortunes off his ideas. You can look up the Tesla Museum on the internet for more info.

Day 256 Zagreb, Croatia...zzzzz....Ouch!

The train to Croatia started badly. First we had to wait an extra hour to get on the train, and then, after about ten minutes of moving the train stopped for a long time. Someone had thrown themselves in front of the train ahead of us, committing suicide. It took a little over two hours to start moving again. I borrowed Chad’s book, the Alchemist, and read the whole thing while we waited. The book is about a guy that gives up everything to live his dream of travel ( and search for treasure). It was a great book and perfectly applicable to my life. It was one of those times when something comes into your life at exactly the right time. When we finally got to the Croatian border we had to unexpectedly get off the train and transfer to buses because of track work. It was not the direct route we had planned. We ended up getting into Zagreb late and couldn’t see any of the city.

When we did get out the next day, we were unimpressed. It has a nice produce market with a billion lovely strawberries, which is nice. It has a big cathedral, which is nice. There is a decent café culture (drinks only, no food?), which is nice. Other than that…not much. I did manage to twist my ankle stepping off a step onto uneven stones. It swelled up like a baseball and hurt like hell. I applied generous quantities of beer (internally) to help with the pain. Actually I held the cold bottles to my ankle when I wasn’t drinking them. Patrícia demanded to talk to Chad when we were talking on Skype and she asked him to go find some ice for me, which he did—thanks Chad. She still manages to take care of me from thousands of miles away.

The Dalmation coast of Croatia is supposed to be very nice so I will stop over there after I go to a few other countries. The country is stretched out and it will be easier this way.

Day 255 Surprise! Slovenia!

Was I ever wrong about Slovenia! It has “Slov” in the name and I had pictured an eastern block post Soviet country with lots of tractors, stout women, and bleak architecture. Instead, I found it to be a marvelous, technologically and design advanced, central style European country. It is far under-rated. The capital, Ljubljana, is a lively, beautiful city with streets filled with activity. The river flowing through the middle of the city, below the castle, is the center of the cafe social scene. There are huge produce and flower markets, a clothing market, craft and art vendors, food vendors, street performers, and many people making the city feel alive. There was even a life drawing event in the central square (people drawing live nude models). From the dragon bridge to the series of mannequins flying overhead, the city embraces public art, giving it a culturally rich feel.

Chad and I went to a traditional Slovenian restaurant to check out the local food. I almost had the Stallion steak. Instead I ordered the game goulash and the house beer. Both were wonderful. The goulash came in a little pot hung over a candle. I ladled the chunky game meat (?) and gravy over my bread dumpling and was once again impressed with Slovenia. Chad accurately sniffed out the blueberry nose of the beer while he was devouring his equally delicious turkey steak. We finished off with the local specialty, a huge piece of pastry with lots of things in it, like poppy seeds, cottage cheese, and other things I don’t know but wanted to eat more of. I had been snacking all day and that was a lot of food.

The next day I had to try a horse burger at one of the street vendors. It was almost as big around as my head and was only $3 USD. I liked it a lot (big surprise, I know) and found it to be more deliciously flavorful than regular burgers. I will never look at horses the same way again. I might make them nervous.

I don’t know why I had such a wrong image of Slovenia. It is a modern and charming country. Definitely worth revisiting.

Day 253 Innsbuck Austria

Innsbruck, Austria, is a former winter Olympic site and lovely little town. The golden roof on a house is listed as the current major tourist attraction, but I would disagree. The roof is nice, yes, yet the mountains are the big draw. The weather was perfect when I arrived and I planned on taking a few trams the next morning to the peaks looming over the city. I checked in to a great little hostel that was run out of a café. The room was huge and had a big curved couch and table in front of big bay windows. And as usual, the room came with a few hedonistic Austrailians to keep things interesting. They are great to talk with, but unless you like hangovers from hell, do not go out with them. Same goes for the Irish. I stayed in that evening.

I looked around the city a bit, took some pictures of the golden roof, ate some Austrian pastry, got a hair cut at an Arabic place, and bought groceries to make dinner in the hostel kitchen (spaetzel, speck, sauerbraten, and beer. YUM!). The next morning I woke up to rain…and the forecast was not good. So what to do? I had a great free breakfast (included with the room) at the café and then checked out and hopped a train to Slovenia. Luckily, I met Chad from Canada on the platform to Ljubljana, Slovenia and we became travel buddies for a while. Like most Canadians he was easy to spot; he had about four Canadian flags on his clothes, backpack, and hat. To be fair, he says that his family gave him those things with the flags on them rather than his choosing. The consensus among the travelers I have met is that most Canadians do not want to be mistaken for Americans. It is understandable, who has bad feelings toward Canadians?

Day 251 Zurich and Nice Little Leichtenstein

Geneva was French speaking and thus easier for me; Zurich is German speaking and much harder. I was only there for a few hours because I am eager to get out of Western Europe and into more different countries. Mind you, the train to Zurich was spectacular. I have seen some beautiful and big mountains before, but not like that. These impossibly tall snow capped mountains soar into the sky from lush green (and flat) valleys, often with too beautiful crystal clear lakes in them. Switzerland is worth visiting just to see the spectacular mountains and lakes; the big cities are a little too uptight. Although, I am told that the small rural villages are much better. I headed to Liechtenstein via three trains and a bus.

Liechtenstein, a tiny country and home of many rich people and private banking firms, surprised me. I was expecting something along the lines of a little Zurich or even Andorra. To my very pleasant surprise it is a lovely little mountainous country with semi-rural small towns and a castle perched just above. It felt warm and completely unpretentious. I asked for help finding a hostel at a small hotel and they clerk was very friendly and helpful without ever pushing his place on me. All the shop people were the same, warm and friendly. It was hard to not like Liechtenstein. The hostel was nearly empty and I had a room all to myself. It was during the week and all the bikers, skiers, hikers, and other outdoor sport people had not arrived yet. There is not much to see there other than the natural beauty of the mountains, but it is a great place to be outside and get some exercise. One night was enough and I was off to Austria again, via two trains and a bus.

I was tempted to buy the 40,000 euro Patek Philipe watch I saw in a store window, but I passed. What

Day 250 Geneva Switzerland

The change to Geneva, Switzerland after Brasil and Italy was dramatic. Life is much more exact here. Everything is clean, orderly, functioning, and controlled. Not that that is bad, I have merely gotten used to a much more relaxed style. For example, I walked up to a crosswalk here to stand with some other people, waiting for the light to change, and with no traffic on a narrow street, everyone still stood there waiting for the signal. Italians and Brazilians, on the other hand, will practically walk out into highway speed traffic without much thought. Geneva has the highest quality of life in all of Europe according to a recent survey. I can believe it if you are an uptight person. It could be a great place to live if you want everything to be perfect and you want to lead a nice orderly life. I have gotten used to a more relaxed existence and I like it.

In the marina of the crystal clear Lake Geneva there is the hard to miss Jet of Water fountain. It is only a single jet of water shooting straight in the air. That doesn’t sound like much except it goes 460 feet (140m) in the air, pumping 132 gallons (500 liters) a second! I saw it from the plane and the size didn’t make logical sense because it was so disproportionate to everything around it. The lake is huge, cold, and beautiful. The scenery is very nice.

I will leave tomorrow for Zurich and then Liechtenstein. I am not optimistic about Zurich being any more comfortable or less expensive than Geneva. I am eager to get to the Baltic states and save some money. Additionally, Swiss food is not helping me stay skinny. It was not my fault that I bought a large multi-pack of oh-so-delicious chocolate bars; they made me do it. Damn Swiss.

Day 249 The Amalfi Coast

It is Sunday and the Gino Sorbillo’s is closed. It would have been the perfect thing after spending the day seeing the Amalfi coast. Oh well, I had a great dinner of pasta with pumpkin that Giovanni made.

I took the train to Salerno, nice water front park, not much else to see. From there I took a bus to Amalfi. I was not prepared for the view from the bus. It was unbelievable. The Italian coastline is gorgeous. My first reaction was that I have to return with Patrícia. It is so incredibly beautiful and romantic. Every twisting mountainous corner of the road revealed more postcard perfect views. The water far below was azure blue, every valley had a cove with a lovely beach, the houses clinging to the rugged mountain sides all looked liked magazine houses, lemon orchards, and oh my…it was almost too beautiful. I have to go back with my lovely Patrícia and stay in one of the many little hotels dotting the coast, rent a scooter, maybe a boat...

Amalfi lived up to its reputation but the problem is that the cruise ships stop there and the city caters to the cash rich hoards that fill the streets with clockwork regularity. Positano was equally tourist heavy, yet slightly more attractive. The best part was the coastline itself. I found myself gasping at how beautiful it was.

Another bus took me to Sorrento, touristy yet more sensible and much bigger. The local football team won some important game and the streets were gushing with team spirit and an ungodly amount of noise. Convoys of fans cruised the streets in cars and scooters waving huge banners and flags, blowing whistles and horns, and showing off some impressive vocal cords. It was an entertaining chaos.

I was on my way back to Napoli when I was kissed by an Italian guy on the train. I started talking to Favio, a 28-year-old Italian criminal lawyer, about the train destination and then we kept talking. His English was only a little better than my Italian. We managed to have a good conversation anyway, causing him to miss his stop. He was very excited to talk to me and when he left he kissed me on both cheeks. It was my first time; I felt honored and just a little less like an outsider. I would never have thought that I would have good memories of being kissed by a man on a train. Life is strange.

Day 248 Pompei and Its Assailant

Max, Jeff, and I took the train to Pompei this morning. There is some kind of national celebration and the entrance is free today. The city was buried by the volcano Vesuvio about 2000 years ago and was only started to be uncovered in the last 150 years. Walking through the good sized city felt very different from other ruins I have been to. Pompei is so well preserved it feels like a city with real streets, sidewalks, houses, shops, ancient signs, mosaics, and frescoes. It was hard to believe how old it is. I was particularly struck by many of the streets with food stalls that have beautifully preserved L-shaped marble tiled counters with inset pots for food. They were set up exactly like a modern deli counter. Another fascinating part was the brothel. The entrance hall still has the graphic picture “menu” on the wall from which customers could choose. The remarkably well preserved frescoes in one structure, the hall of mysteries, were amazing. All through Pompei, I had a hard time getting the age of the city to correlate in my brain with what I was seeing. It was very cool. The picture is of one of the guys that were buried by the volcano.

After a morning in the endless streets of the ancient city we went to see its assailant, Vesuvio. We took a shuttle (16 euro including the 6.50 park entrance fee) from the train station up the mountain to the trailhead, maybe 100 vertical meters below the rim. The steep trail was covered with loose volcanic gravel and made for slipping feet as we went. One of the dynamics of a group of men is that no one wants to be unmanly and be the first to stop for a rest on the way, so we were all very manly and strode confidently straight to the top, never vocalizing the throbbing complaints of our leg muscles as we passed lesser people clinging to the railing and gasping for air. Peering into the vast caldron we were impressed before the free tour guide told us that the original volcano was actually the much larger rim still visible circling the base of the existing peak. The huge volcano we had climbed was only a cone inside of the much more massive one that destroyed Pompei. The amount of material that came off the original is mind boggling; it was beyond immense.

Day 247 Pizza of the Gods

Giovanni had indicated on everyones map the best pizza place in Napoli, Gino Sorbillo’s. Gino’s grandfather invented the calzone. It would be a cold day in hell before I would leave Napoli without trying it. We went early (seven of us) and that was good because the place filled up fast. At three euro for a margherita and 6.50 for a loaded one, the unusually cheap pizza seemed incongruous with the expensive looking interior. After watching for a while, I realized that they made their money on sheer volume. This wasn’t merely a cheap pizza place, this was going to be really good cheap pizza.

The pizzas that came to the table were huge, ultra thin crust, incredibly delicious. They were far and away the best pizzas I have ever had. Amazing!!!! The calzone were fantastic too. I could not get enough and ate way more than was necessary. I could not help myself. It was hard to stop. Knowing I would not be able to come back before I left the city made me a little sad as I reluctantly walked out the door. Outside, there were 50 or 60 people clustered in the tiny cobble stoned street waiting to take my place.

That was some damn good pizza. I was so eager to go eat the pizza I completely forgot to bring a camera. Sorry.

Day 247 Jellyfish Stings and Other Things

It was 7:00 in the morning and I had been up late eating, drinking, talking, and listening to Giovanni and others play and sing songs (so many talented people). It was a great time except I may have had too much of the mineral water bottle wine that Giovanni provided. Let me explain. I didn’t see it, but there was a place downstairs that would fill up plastic 1.5 liter mineral water bottles from a large vat of wine. It was a little too easy to drink and maybe a little too plentiful and now my head was fuzzy and my bed was feeling too comfortable to leave. But, I had to get up if I wanted to catch the ferry to Capri.

I went with my new Canadian friends Max and Jeff and almost missed the ferry. We left in a rush and didn’t avail ourselves to Giovanni’s hospitality and I ended up having overpriced coffee and an industrial pastry on the ferry and that didn’t make my already queasy stomach feel any better. The rocking of the ferry helped even less. Fortunately, I survived long enough to see the lovely postcard view of Capri emerge from the morning mist.

We met up with seven more people from the hostel on the ferry and decided to pool our buying power for a boat tour of the island. We had our choice of paying 19 euro for a tourist packed boat over to the blue grotto, so we could then wait for 2 hours on said boat before we could go into the grotto, or we could rent a bigger boat for two hours for our group to all the way around the island, visiting many other grottos, but not the blue grotto, for only 15 euro a person. We went for the latter of course and were very pleased with our choice. Our squat, leather skinned boat captain, had 700 years of family history on the island and was quite adept at maneuvering the boat well into grottos that seemed much too small for us to fit. He pointed out every rock formation that looked like something—that one looks like the virgin Mary, that one looks like an African elephant, and so on. Some were obvious others were a stretch. He also showed us the island homes of the Ferrari family, the king of Sweden, and other rich/famous people with too much money. In some of the grottos you could hardly put your hand in the water without touching one of the millions of jellyfish; this did not bode well for swimming later.

We got off the boat and hiked from the marina up the mountain to the actual city of Capri. At the top of many series of stairs we emerged into the surreal world of cruise ship tourist land. The overpriced shops and restaurants were teeming with middle-aged and older camera laden trinket shoppers. There were of course some high end shops for the people with serious money, yet most places sold the standard overpriced mementos. We took a detour down a side alley and found a much more interesting winding path through a residential neighborhood with lovely gardens and lemon trees close enough to the outer wall that a person could “borrow” one of the deliciously scented fruits. I know what you are thinking. I did not steal a lemon. But I did take a photo of someone stealing a lemon.

We had enough of the city and headed back down to the beach. There were a number of people there but for some reason no one was swimming in the clear blue water. An inspection of the water confirmed, that yes, the jellyfish were here too, not in the same numbers, just here and there. Finally we saw a few people swimming and they neither screamed nor twitched convulsively, so we headed in too. I touched one swimming in the shallows to see how the sting felt; it didn't seem so bad, it just burned a bit. The water was warm and beautiful. After everyone got stung and/or cuts on their feet from the rocks we had had enough. One girl got stung on her thigh and had long and painful nasty looking welts. We told her that peeing on it to deactivate the stinging cells of the jellyfish only works if it is someone else's pee but she would not go for it, so she had to wait it out for about 4 hours. Max tried it and said it worked great (his own pee), I did not get stung badly enough to warrant urinating on myself (oh darn!). The rock puncture wound on the ball of my foot was more on my mind.

We headed back to Napoli with suntans, sunburns, and the great travel memory of getting stung by jellyfish on the island of Capri.

Day 246 Napoli and the Best Hostel in the World

Napoli (Naples) is hectically busy, dirty, chaotic, and currently in day three of a garbage strike, I love it! The dark and narrow streets are filled with tiny shops, restaurants, people, cars, and scooters, scooters, scooters. The challenge for motorized vehicles is to go as fast as possible in too little space without either hitting someone or something. How it works is that you drive very fast, honking every time you are coming to a corner or people are in the street, only slowing down if you get really close to someone. The Neapolitan definition of really close is about 6 inches or less. There were many times I was worried about my foot getting run over. Once you get used to the local comfort level for close passes it is kind of fun.

The reason I love the city is that it feels alive and real. The combination of great architecture, great food, bustling streets, dirt, crime (mafia central), and large amounts of charm and style makes it feel balanced, unlike too perfect places such as Monte Carlo and Andorra.

My hostel, called Giovanni’s Home, lives up to its name. Giovanni greeted me in the hall as I came up the stairs and would not let me check in until after we ate lunch. We went out on the rooftop patio with a few other travelers, and I ate a fantastic seafood risotto, washing it down with a nice white wine while we chatted away the early afternoon. Then, relaxed and very comfortable, I was amazed when the corner pastry shop delivered a huge selection of fine pastries for dessert. After about an hour and a half, he brought the check-in process to us, giving us maps and personalizing them for us, showing the best routes and explaining the sites, how to get to other cities, where to avoid, and so on. He took the time to make sure that everyone got what they wanted. This is typical for Giovanni. The mornings start with very good coffee and often freshly delivered pastries, if you are around for lunch and dinner, Giovanni makes sure you are fed. His charm, warmth, and humor creates a communal atmosphere where people want to sit around and talk and trade stories. It is the best hostel that I have ever been in. I was not the only one that felt that way—his place was ranked as number one in the world out of over 10,000 hostels by Hostelworld.com. His rating was 99% and the next closest was 89%. If you go anywhere near southern Italy, you have to stay with Giovanni; it was one of those great travel experiences I will never forget.

Day 245 Vienna Austria

I was thrilled to get off that plane. I had about eight hours to kill in Vienna so I took the train into town to see the Danube. It was raining lightly, and I didn’t take many pictures, nor did I buy anything other than food (Strudel, yum!) Maybe I was too tired, but German seemed to be much more of a foreign language than any others I have run across, except Arabic. In Latin based languages I can figure out some words based on similarity—not German. Since I was only going to be here on a layover, I didn’t study any German and the few words I do know are almost worthless. And they have impossibly long words here that are very intimidating and almost seem silly long. Between the language thing and being exhausted, I felt more helpless than in other countries. I was not in the mood to make an effort to see the sights, which will have to wait for another time. I am flying to Rome now and all I want to do is eat and sleep like the dead.

Day 243 8 Months Out

This was my day long companion yesterday, my yerba mate gourd. The ritual of mate is can be simple or complicated depending on to whom you speak. I opted for the easier, toss in the mate and add hot water method. Since the gourd is small and it is sipped slowly, you have to have a thermos of hot water with you all the time. Not a big deal and if you are serious about it, they make special mate water bottles in carrying cases. I also went for the simple and inexpensive gourd and straw ($5) instead of buying one of the very beautiful and expensive silver decorated versions.

My initial reaction to the stimulating effects of the mate was completely unlike that of coffee. I like the flavor and drank quite a bit reasonably quickly, yet I didn't get the caffeine jitters. I guess the best way I can describe it is by saying it is like being light headed but not absent mindedly so. It was a weird feeling. I didn't feel overly alert either. I just felt weird in a good way.

Today marks 8 months on the road. I feel like I have seen an incredible amount of things, and also nothing compared to what I have not yet seen. In any event, my decision to travel was one of the best decisions in my life. I love it. I am having more fun than should be allowed, my outlook on the world is expanding everday, and best of all, I met an incredible woman that makes me very happy. Some days I cannot believe how exciting my life is now compared to what it once was. I took a chance giving up my previous life and now I am living my dream.

Life is good.

Day 238 Four Days, Six Kilos of Meat in Buenos Aires

Buenos Aires--home of tango, leather goods, pasta, yerba mate, and meat, meat, meat. Since we had only a few days because of Patrícia’s new job, we bought a package deal for flights, hotel, transfers, and tour. This was good thinking because we did not have to figure out any of the logistical details I normally have to deal with and we could enjoy exploring right away from our luxurious five star hotel right in the Centro area, half a block from the middle of the main pedestrian shopping street, Florida. The Claridge Hotel, built in 1946 was splendid in atmosphere and service. For someone like me who is so used to doing everything for myself, five star level service is something to be experienced.

We went to a tango show at the place all of her relatives recommended, Senor Tango, and while the show was spectacular and impressive, it was also spectacularly touristy. The production was highly refined and very elaborately choreographed, including indigenous pan flute playing, Indians on horses, many sultry and passionate tango dances, singing, and musical numbers. They did a couple excellently accurate renditions of Moulin Rouge, the movie, songs with the full production values. The cost, including a nice dinner with wine, champagne, show, and hotel transfers was only $70 USD a person. Not too bad for five hours of entertainment and food.

We quickly discovered that Argentineans have a very different idea of portion sizes. Everywhere we ate, the pasta or meat was enough for several people, while the accompanying vegetables and sides are afterthoughts at half portions or less. It was all about the meat. I believe the saying, “when in Rome, do as the Roman’s do,” so I did my best and I think I ended up eating half a cow in four days. I wouldn’t have done so if it wasn't really good. I can’t imagine trying to be a vegetarian there. Peculiarly, they are also famous for pasta, stemming form some kind of Italian immigration in the past.

I had to buy a yerba mate gourd and metal filtering straw because over ninety percent of the country’s population drinks the stuff. It is one of those must try travel experiences. The gourds are decorated with silver/fake silver and are available everywhere. And I mean everywhere. I don’t think I was ever more than 50 meters from someone selling them. Apparently, you fill the gourd with the ground up and dried yerba mate plant, fill it with hot, not boiling, water, and sip it all day long, refilling it with water up to about ten times before the mate is used up. The list of health benefits is long and largely unsupported by empirical evidence, but that many people can’t be wrong. Can they? Okay, so they can be, but I am going on trust here. I kept missing the mate service in the hotel so I will try it back in Brasil.

All those cows cut up and charred for consumption leaves a whole lot o’ leather. Which explains why almost every shop sells leather coats/products and every other shop makes them. Not surprisingly, the prices are very good with that much competition. I couldn’t resist buying a cool, heavy jacket for riding my scooter. It was half or less of what I would have paid in the US and when Patrícia, smiling seductively, told me how manly I looked in it, I had no choice but to buy it.

We are leaving wishing we had more time to do more than just touch the sights and flavors. It will have to wait for another time. Now its back to Brasil for a bit before I head to Europe again.