I have no time to blog since I have been given 5 minutes on this computer in the middle of nowhere mountainville. I am ok. I am surviving. But I have had some rough days. Feet are holding up but are in bad shape. I am eating. But I am in mountains with a lot of up and down walking, some of it steep.
Spent last night in Dospat which is one of my favorite villages this whole trip. A village poised high with small windy lanes and crumbling houses from the 1500s. These mountains have scarecrows, abandonded gypsy carts, lots of dark forests, and animals. A fox this morning. I am still hoping for a July 31 finish. I have sorta promised my body this (YES, we are separate entities now). I control the mind, the stomach, the feet the legs, etc. I have to talk with each at different times in different ways.
I have also read all recent emails but once again cannot respond becuz of this computer. THANK YOU to all!!!! Very sorry for you CW. My thoughts are with you and the family.
A big shout to my friend Taylor who I think is still on his big protest walk against the Keystone Pipeline. He said my walk partly inspired him to leave Japan (and his pregnant wife, who supports him:YES!) to join the movement. I am thrilled. Good luck.
Must go now, arghhhhhhh. I need all good thoughts now. Thank you!!!!!
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Cinderella And The Storm
Last I posted I was about to enter mountain yellow roads in Albania. They proved to be beautiful and quiet. But the best part was that every time I went through a village the Albanians welcomed me with the widest open arms and hospitality. I had more more honks, hand-waves, ride offers, invites for beer, a coffee, food, a rest, water, conversation from the Albanians than from any other country thus far. They love Americans and they love to share their lives with others.
From Milot I went towards Burrell and that whole morning was hard to get anywhere because everyone wanted me to "come here". At one place in the mountains, a farmer and his son were bringing in an unbelievably overstuffed tractor of hay from the field. I went to make a picture and they invited me to the house for water. The son got me a glass then left me in the hands of the women while he and his dad went back to work. The mother and younger daughter spoke no english. But the older daughter did speak some and her name was Cinderella. I swear, that was her real name. CINDERELLA. They had me sit on the porch; it was very hot out. They got me cold juice. Then the mother brought out food: a bowl of fresh watermelon, grilled peppers, fresh yogurt, fresh tomatoes and cucumbers, homemade bread, and even a meat stew (of course I did not eat that). So sweet. And when I went to leave they packed up food for me to go.
At another point I passed a small roadside restaurant (the mountains are a summer refuge for folks living in the capital of Tirane) and had a plate of fresh caught river fish by a ten year old boy who served it to me. Small fish but delicious (with rice).
Water gushed everywhere so having fresh aqua was no problem in all that heat and climbing. The Albanians have made fountains along the road all throughout the mountains. And sleeping was peaceful.
Bulqize was not a very exciting place. It is nestled in a pretty valley but made ugly by strip mining and gravel pits. However, when I got to Shupenz things got really strange. Albania really is, in many ways (for lack of a better term. Not sure what the pc word is these days) a 3rd world country. In Shupenz I walked into town and everyone, and I mean everyone stopped what they were doing to watch me walk by. In the store the commotion stopped and all eyes were on me. The kids came out with "how are you", "what is your name" (those that have been to 3rd world countries know how those questions are asked incessantly by the children). Then I was even asked for money.
Animals butchered and skinned roadside, dust and garbage all over the place (no trash pick up). In an eatery the owners' elderly mother came up to me. The older women have usually avoided contact with me but not this one. She reminded me of my Polish great grandmother, Bopche. It was relayed to me that she thought walking to Turkey was no good, I should take a "macina" (machine....it's what the mountain people call cars). And when I left she gave me a kiss on each cheek.
I crossed into Macedonia late on Monday. Another weird border. Then I slept at a gas station in Debar (they had beds above it for 6 Euros a night) and took off for Izvor in the AM. Izvor, I was told, was not possible to get to by car along my proposed route. Both my maps showed it as a small but viable road. I actually skirted Manrovo National Park part of the way up; it was so beautiful. Then the pavement stopped and I could not find my way so I walked to Gari, a small village way up in the nook of a mountain. No one came out when I called several times so I blew my whistle. No one. So I went to houses and then some folks came out but still no one spoke english so it was difficult for them to explain things to me. Eventually, a grandfather and his two small grandkids grabbed walking sticks and walked me up a mountain trail until it connected with a larger one. This would be my "road" to Izvor. OMG.
And so it was, like being on a Ntl. Park trail way up in the mountains. It was quiet and lonely. I got to a junction and did not know which way to go so I chose the one that looked more like a road. I chose wrong. But I did not go very far when an ancient, rumbling truck plodding thru the forest came by with a load of logs. The driver told me to take the other road. It did not look like a road at all. But I listened and climbed further up. moments later, after a morning of evil, wicked, thunder ruptures bellowing through the mountains, a big storm came by. All I could do was cover myself in plastic under some trees and wait it out. I got cold. I was wet. And my trail became a river of mud and bogs.
I was on that trail the rest of the day, it never ended. I thought I was lost for sure. I did panic. My descent took forever until I eventually hit a small road....but no village. I sat on the road deflated and confused. About 15 minutes later a truck came so I waved him down to get clarity on where I was and where I needed to go. When he realized how hungry I was he opened up the back of his truck to reveal its contents: food and drinks that he was delivering to a tiny village in the mountains. He let me purchase what I wanted and then pointed to the direction I needed to walk. I'm not sure what happened but about 3 km down this overgrown, rock-filled paved road was the very tiny, hicksville village of Izvor. I do not know if I had been on the right "road" or not because in Izvor was a sign for Debar (40KM). But no one else knew of a paved road the whole way through the mountains and that sign looked ancient (as does most things in Macedonia so far. Talk about 3rd W! This place is falling apart. Crumbling. )
I have walked a yellow road through small places like Brod on my way to Prilep, where I am now. The walk through a valley of tobacco and wheat this morning was wild. It was 1910 all over again. Peasant workers in peasant-like clothing (women in babooshkas, aprons, skirts) hunched over picking tobacco leaves by hand and putting them in giant wicker baskets. I have learned these leaves are for Marlboro cigarettes. Yes, your Virginia tobacoo is grown in Macedonia....largest producer of tobacco for Marlboro.
Old homes are mud brick. Newer ones are red brick and all look half finished. Giant haystacks. Stray dogs in packs. Garbage, garbage everywhere. But lovely mountains. I have to say, Macedonia is not stacking up but Albania is a very tough act to follow. The folks here seem a bit colder and smile less. True, many do not speak english either which can make a difference.
From here I go to Kavadarci and then on another small road which connects to a red road down to Strumica and then the Bulgarian border. I have also been warned of the Bulgarian gypsies.
Three weeks left to walk. My body is holding up but I have to have conversations with it and promise it things to keep carrying on. I am growing tired but also maintaining myself even though I will admit feeling going in and out of THE ZONE. Now I really have my heart set on finishing and not too much else. Food is less appealing. But I am trying my hardest to not go over the edge or overdue things. I know the body is strong but also fragile. I am just recovering from blisters on both heals. A baby toenail has fallen off.
And I have passed the 100 day mark.
Not sure if Bulgaria will have email. Once I enter the rest of my roads (about 90 percent) to Istanbul will be white or yellow roads.
OK, I am ready to move on. Keep me in your thoughts. Until next time.
From Milot I went towards Burrell and that whole morning was hard to get anywhere because everyone wanted me to "come here". At one place in the mountains, a farmer and his son were bringing in an unbelievably overstuffed tractor of hay from the field. I went to make a picture and they invited me to the house for water. The son got me a glass then left me in the hands of the women while he and his dad went back to work. The mother and younger daughter spoke no english. But the older daughter did speak some and her name was Cinderella. I swear, that was her real name. CINDERELLA. They had me sit on the porch; it was very hot out. They got me cold juice. Then the mother brought out food: a bowl of fresh watermelon, grilled peppers, fresh yogurt, fresh tomatoes and cucumbers, homemade bread, and even a meat stew (of course I did not eat that). So sweet. And when I went to leave they packed up food for me to go.
At another point I passed a small roadside restaurant (the mountains are a summer refuge for folks living in the capital of Tirane) and had a plate of fresh caught river fish by a ten year old boy who served it to me. Small fish but delicious (with rice).
Water gushed everywhere so having fresh aqua was no problem in all that heat and climbing. The Albanians have made fountains along the road all throughout the mountains. And sleeping was peaceful.
Bulqize was not a very exciting place. It is nestled in a pretty valley but made ugly by strip mining and gravel pits. However, when I got to Shupenz things got really strange. Albania really is, in many ways (for lack of a better term. Not sure what the pc word is these days) a 3rd world country. In Shupenz I walked into town and everyone, and I mean everyone stopped what they were doing to watch me walk by. In the store the commotion stopped and all eyes were on me. The kids came out with "how are you", "what is your name" (those that have been to 3rd world countries know how those questions are asked incessantly by the children). Then I was even asked for money.
Animals butchered and skinned roadside, dust and garbage all over the place (no trash pick up). In an eatery the owners' elderly mother came up to me. The older women have usually avoided contact with me but not this one. She reminded me of my Polish great grandmother, Bopche. It was relayed to me that she thought walking to Turkey was no good, I should take a "macina" (machine....it's what the mountain people call cars). And when I left she gave me a kiss on each cheek.
I crossed into Macedonia late on Monday. Another weird border. Then I slept at a gas station in Debar (they had beds above it for 6 Euros a night) and took off for Izvor in the AM. Izvor, I was told, was not possible to get to by car along my proposed route. Both my maps showed it as a small but viable road. I actually skirted Manrovo National Park part of the way up; it was so beautiful. Then the pavement stopped and I could not find my way so I walked to Gari, a small village way up in the nook of a mountain. No one came out when I called several times so I blew my whistle. No one. So I went to houses and then some folks came out but still no one spoke english so it was difficult for them to explain things to me. Eventually, a grandfather and his two small grandkids grabbed walking sticks and walked me up a mountain trail until it connected with a larger one. This would be my "road" to Izvor. OMG.
And so it was, like being on a Ntl. Park trail way up in the mountains. It was quiet and lonely. I got to a junction and did not know which way to go so I chose the one that looked more like a road. I chose wrong. But I did not go very far when an ancient, rumbling truck plodding thru the forest came by with a load of logs. The driver told me to take the other road. It did not look like a road at all. But I listened and climbed further up. moments later, after a morning of evil, wicked, thunder ruptures bellowing through the mountains, a big storm came by. All I could do was cover myself in plastic under some trees and wait it out. I got cold. I was wet. And my trail became a river of mud and bogs.
I was on that trail the rest of the day, it never ended. I thought I was lost for sure. I did panic. My descent took forever until I eventually hit a small road....but no village. I sat on the road deflated and confused. About 15 minutes later a truck came so I waved him down to get clarity on where I was and where I needed to go. When he realized how hungry I was he opened up the back of his truck to reveal its contents: food and drinks that he was delivering to a tiny village in the mountains. He let me purchase what I wanted and then pointed to the direction I needed to walk. I'm not sure what happened but about 3 km down this overgrown, rock-filled paved road was the very tiny, hicksville village of Izvor. I do not know if I had been on the right "road" or not because in Izvor was a sign for Debar (40KM). But no one else knew of a paved road the whole way through the mountains and that sign looked ancient (as does most things in Macedonia so far. Talk about 3rd W! This place is falling apart. Crumbling. )
I have walked a yellow road through small places like Brod on my way to Prilep, where I am now. The walk through a valley of tobacco and wheat this morning was wild. It was 1910 all over again. Peasant workers in peasant-like clothing (women in babooshkas, aprons, skirts) hunched over picking tobacco leaves by hand and putting them in giant wicker baskets. I have learned these leaves are for Marlboro cigarettes. Yes, your Virginia tobacoo is grown in Macedonia....largest producer of tobacco for Marlboro.
Old homes are mud brick. Newer ones are red brick and all look half finished. Giant haystacks. Stray dogs in packs. Garbage, garbage everywhere. But lovely mountains. I have to say, Macedonia is not stacking up but Albania is a very tough act to follow. The folks here seem a bit colder and smile less. True, many do not speak english either which can make a difference.
From here I go to Kavadarci and then on another small road which connects to a red road down to Strumica and then the Bulgarian border. I have also been warned of the Bulgarian gypsies.
Three weeks left to walk. My body is holding up but I have to have conversations with it and promise it things to keep carrying on. I am growing tired but also maintaining myself even though I will admit feeling going in and out of THE ZONE. Now I really have my heart set on finishing and not too much else. Food is less appealing. But I am trying my hardest to not go over the edge or overdue things. I know the body is strong but also fragile. I am just recovering from blisters on both heals. A baby toenail has fallen off.
And I have passed the 100 day mark.
Not sure if Bulgaria will have email. Once I enter the rest of my roads (about 90 percent) to Istanbul will be white or yellow roads.
OK, I am ready to move on. Keep me in your thoughts. Until next time.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Greetings From Another World
Albania.
What a trip. It just keeps getting weirder and wilder. When I hit the town Tuvi, still in Montenegro but close to the border I thought, man, what am I walking into? It was so not like the rest of Europe. It was grittier, rougher, earthier, definitely more Middle Eastern-like. I have been to many poor parts of the world and this was but another page ripped from it.
On the way to the border the road got very quiet again. I had feared the red road, major border-crossing, to be busy but it was not. In fact, I skirted a National Park that reminded me of the Everglades with mountains. The frogs were a croaking. Then once I crossed the border it felt like another world, more litter, open sewers, burning smells of refuse....but a gorgeous new paved red road to the city of Shkroder. Light on traffic and a wide shoulder. My red road fear thwarted again.
The mountains were very pretty but the road had no shade. Walking on pavement in 90 degrees all day in open sun is tough. My surroundings changed again with nice, new modern homes all painted very whimsical colors. I was trying to figure out just what Albania was. Most of the day I could see Lake Albania to my right and the mountains (the Albanian Alps?) to my left. Not much to eat but I found enough to get by.
It was a long day to reach Shkroder, a much bigger town than I imagined from looking at the map. Maps can be so deceiving. This place was big, dirty, chaotic animals in the road, giant gashes in sidewalks, cafes filled with men only, vegetable squatters selling their produce laid out on the street, beggar women with their uncleaned children on alley corners, beat up transport vans running to and fro looking for another customer to fill a seat. I was now somewhere very new and different from the places I'd walked prior.
But I have to tell you it's only been two days now and the Albanians have proven to be the most friendly people this whole journey. They are real, genuine, down to earth. Folks have treated me with open arms of kindness as a welcome visitor to their country. Many speak english and I have seen an American flag flying next to an Albanian flag at several establishments. People have gone out of their way to help. A man today invited me to sit under the shade of his roadside shack to eat watermelon he was selling. Another man yesterday insisted I come to his shop and drink any cold beverages I wanted on the house. Even tonight, in Lezhe, (where I am) a cook was absent from the restaurant I went to. I was going to find another place to eat but a customer told me to sit. He went in the kitchen to help prepare me a good meal. People have honked their horns more, flashed their car lights and given me a thumbs up more than in any other place. Men in cement mixer trucks and families in their sedans. It's all such a weird amalgam of stuff going on and I still haven't wrapped my head around it all.
Today was tough though. The red road was much busier. I expected trials along my way to Macedonia and knew to endure some pain. It was inevitable. Everyone, and I mean everyone from Slovenia to Montenegro had insisted I do not go through Kosovo so my only other choice was Albania. Both routes had big cities to tackle and red roads to deal with. I was mentally prepared. Going through Albania has proven to be not as bad as I thought. But the heat, traffic, shadeless walking, the dirt and lack of amenities has worn me down. Tomorrow, a yellow road leading to the mountains will hopefully offer a respite from some of these challenges. I am excited.
A couple funny signs:
Today, a town here called PUKE
And a petrol station called Kastrati (all I can picture is a severed hose pumping fuel)
In Bosnia there was GLOBTOURS.
And BOSSGAS
Yesterday I had to see a dentist too. I bit into a banana in the AM hours and a filling got wedged in the fruit. So at nearly 8 PM I found a dentist still open. He agreed to help. What a sweet man. He was only to have one patient that day because the next day (today) he was going on a little outing. I was his fourth patient. Again, the Albanians go out of their way to help. Today my dentist passed me on the road as he headed to meet his friends at some lake. He stopped to say hello and take some pictures. And he laughed but offered me a ride knowing I'd refuse. The offer, however, was serious.
After the morning tomorrow I will leave the west side of this part of Europe and head EAST and keep going in that relative direction until I come to Turkey when I descend down to Istanbul.
But I MUST sleep now so it's off to beddy bye bye.
What a trip. It just keeps getting weirder and wilder. When I hit the town Tuvi, still in Montenegro but close to the border I thought, man, what am I walking into? It was so not like the rest of Europe. It was grittier, rougher, earthier, definitely more Middle Eastern-like. I have been to many poor parts of the world and this was but another page ripped from it.
On the way to the border the road got very quiet again. I had feared the red road, major border-crossing, to be busy but it was not. In fact, I skirted a National Park that reminded me of the Everglades with mountains. The frogs were a croaking. Then once I crossed the border it felt like another world, more litter, open sewers, burning smells of refuse....but a gorgeous new paved red road to the city of Shkroder. Light on traffic and a wide shoulder. My red road fear thwarted again.
The mountains were very pretty but the road had no shade. Walking on pavement in 90 degrees all day in open sun is tough. My surroundings changed again with nice, new modern homes all painted very whimsical colors. I was trying to figure out just what Albania was. Most of the day I could see Lake Albania to my right and the mountains (the Albanian Alps?) to my left. Not much to eat but I found enough to get by.
It was a long day to reach Shkroder, a much bigger town than I imagined from looking at the map. Maps can be so deceiving. This place was big, dirty, chaotic animals in the road, giant gashes in sidewalks, cafes filled with men only, vegetable squatters selling their produce laid out on the street, beggar women with their uncleaned children on alley corners, beat up transport vans running to and fro looking for another customer to fill a seat. I was now somewhere very new and different from the places I'd walked prior.
But I have to tell you it's only been two days now and the Albanians have proven to be the most friendly people this whole journey. They are real, genuine, down to earth. Folks have treated me with open arms of kindness as a welcome visitor to their country. Many speak english and I have seen an American flag flying next to an Albanian flag at several establishments. People have gone out of their way to help. A man today invited me to sit under the shade of his roadside shack to eat watermelon he was selling. Another man yesterday insisted I come to his shop and drink any cold beverages I wanted on the house. Even tonight, in Lezhe, (where I am) a cook was absent from the restaurant I went to. I was going to find another place to eat but a customer told me to sit. He went in the kitchen to help prepare me a good meal. People have honked their horns more, flashed their car lights and given me a thumbs up more than in any other place. Men in cement mixer trucks and families in their sedans. It's all such a weird amalgam of stuff going on and I still haven't wrapped my head around it all.
Today was tough though. The red road was much busier. I expected trials along my way to Macedonia and knew to endure some pain. It was inevitable. Everyone, and I mean everyone from Slovenia to Montenegro had insisted I do not go through Kosovo so my only other choice was Albania. Both routes had big cities to tackle and red roads to deal with. I was mentally prepared. Going through Albania has proven to be not as bad as I thought. But the heat, traffic, shadeless walking, the dirt and lack of amenities has worn me down. Tomorrow, a yellow road leading to the mountains will hopefully offer a respite from some of these challenges. I am excited.
A couple funny signs:
Today, a town here called PUKE
And a petrol station called Kastrati (all I can picture is a severed hose pumping fuel)
In Bosnia there was GLOBTOURS.
And BOSSGAS
Yesterday I had to see a dentist too. I bit into a banana in the AM hours and a filling got wedged in the fruit. So at nearly 8 PM I found a dentist still open. He agreed to help. What a sweet man. He was only to have one patient that day because the next day (today) he was going on a little outing. I was his fourth patient. Again, the Albanians go out of their way to help. Today my dentist passed me on the road as he headed to meet his friends at some lake. He stopped to say hello and take some pictures. And he laughed but offered me a ride knowing I'd refuse. The offer, however, was serious.
After the morning tomorrow I will leave the west side of this part of Europe and head EAST and keep going in that relative direction until I come to Turkey when I descend down to Istanbul.
But I MUST sleep now so it's off to beddy bye bye.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
The Dark Mountain
I am gonna keep this on the shorter side becuz I am on an ipad and am finding it doing weird things. Such is life in the third world. Or so it seems here in Montenegro, translated means, Dark Mountain. It's not really dark here and it is not really third world but there sure are a lot of mountains.
My time in Bosnia has ended. Oh the great divides in this broken up place. If it is confusing here in the Balkans for the locals imagine an outsider trying to get it. For example, in Bosnia I found myself in the mountains on my way from Mostar ( trying to reclaim it's former glory) to Nevesinje and in the middle of nowhere I came to a sign that read, " Welcome to the Republic of Srpska". Even Bosnia is a divided country. I thought I had entered the more Muslim part, especially after a man spat at me and called me satan after I had told him i was from the US ( I am now a Canadian living in Vancouver). But it turned out to be an isolated case....kind of. In Glacko a very nice man told me the locals in the area blamed the US for their problems. Somehow I had left the more Muslim part of Bosnia and was in a more Xtian and Orthodox part. I couldn't tell. Here in Montenegro there is no problem. They are super laid back and great people. But you can really feel the tension in Bosnia.
The mountains during my last days in Bosnia were excellent beauties. What a treat, so 'out there', so remote. Again, no food or water available and even a few more landmine signs. On one ridge flank an impossibly perched Moorish castle ruin sat on a thin fin away from mostly everything. It was one of my favorite castle ruins this trip. No doubt there were more but were destroyed in the civil war.
My goal was to leave Bosnia via a smaller border crossing down a white road. I was told I could find the road by going to this village, finding the bridge, crossing it, turning right, then left and going through the field. Those were my instructions and you know, they worked. But I was out there. And once I got to the border it was in nowheresville. I was super nervous. And then my worst fears became true: they would not let out. Border patrol told me it was a small crossing for locals only, not foreigners. I begged, I pleaded. I got teary eyed. Fortunately both guys were into my whole story. They looked at my map. One even picked up my bag to check the weight and went 'whoa'. They hemmed and talked with each other. Neither could speak english. Eventually, they held their hands over their faces ( I see nothing) and told me to go. But they would not stamp me out and they were not sure Montenegro would let me in. I held my breath and went forward.
The border patrol in MN was so cool. He was watching some Discovery channel show about the brain. He took my passport, scanned it, asked which way I was going ( coming or going) and stamped me in. YES! And for the next 40 miles I walked this super remote one lane road with nearly nothing but mountains and the occasional home. It was absolutely wonderful, so silent and still, a car maybe once an hour. And the people living back there were living it like folks had for eons. This one old man was walking down the road all in black with a huge sickle and he looked like death coming for me. His sickle was handmade and worn smooth from use. It felt like Appalacia meets sherpers from Nepal meets Eastern Europe. That road was a gem. There was one rock I sat on near a 3,000 foot pass overlooking a valley with panoramas of the mountains; I was in heaven. Just a few red roof homes nestled in this huge expanse, living the life of one with nature. All I heard was a lone bird in the forest, an ocassional distant cowbell and the wind blowing through the ripe flowering trees around me perfuming the air . I told myself I would sit there until a car came by. Seventy-five minutes later I left, no car had passed.
On my way to the capital, Podgorica, taking back roads, I stopped in Danilovgrad for food and met some wonderful guys. I will be in their newspaper tomorrow. The capital, as well as their second largest city, Niksic, were very small. It has been hard to find the city center. Niksic had three restaurants. Fortunately, a very sweet, young couple helped me navigate getting around. And to avoid a main thoroughfare route the husband took time from his day to walk several miles with me in order to get me on a small backroad that would parallel the busier road heading south. Here in the capital I saw a man riding a wooden cart with his horse down a main street. You get it, right? The people are proud to be Montenegrons but are embarrassed by what they lack. They are, however, trying hard to be a part of the EU. They have a little way to go. And so do I.
I am now down to 29 days. Tomorrow I cross into Albania, head south and then cross W to E from Milot to the border of Macedonia near Debar. I should be there in about 5 days. There is so much more to say but this will have to do for now. I am holding up. Got new shoes in Mostar. The heat has returned after a cool to coldish time in Bosnia. But the humidity is not as bad as Croatia nor are the bugs which were in swarms a few weeks ago.
Time to hit the rod again. I am super excited and motivated to DO IT.
My time in Bosnia has ended. Oh the great divides in this broken up place. If it is confusing here in the Balkans for the locals imagine an outsider trying to get it. For example, in Bosnia I found myself in the mountains on my way from Mostar ( trying to reclaim it's former glory) to Nevesinje and in the middle of nowhere I came to a sign that read, " Welcome to the Republic of Srpska". Even Bosnia is a divided country. I thought I had entered the more Muslim part, especially after a man spat at me and called me satan after I had told him i was from the US ( I am now a Canadian living in Vancouver). But it turned out to be an isolated case....kind of. In Glacko a very nice man told me the locals in the area blamed the US for their problems. Somehow I had left the more Muslim part of Bosnia and was in a more Xtian and Orthodox part. I couldn't tell. Here in Montenegro there is no problem. They are super laid back and great people. But you can really feel the tension in Bosnia.
The mountains during my last days in Bosnia were excellent beauties. What a treat, so 'out there', so remote. Again, no food or water available and even a few more landmine signs. On one ridge flank an impossibly perched Moorish castle ruin sat on a thin fin away from mostly everything. It was one of my favorite castle ruins this trip. No doubt there were more but were destroyed in the civil war.
My goal was to leave Bosnia via a smaller border crossing down a white road. I was told I could find the road by going to this village, finding the bridge, crossing it, turning right, then left and going through the field. Those were my instructions and you know, they worked. But I was out there. And once I got to the border it was in nowheresville. I was super nervous. And then my worst fears became true: they would not let out. Border patrol told me it was a small crossing for locals only, not foreigners. I begged, I pleaded. I got teary eyed. Fortunately both guys were into my whole story. They looked at my map. One even picked up my bag to check the weight and went 'whoa'. They hemmed and talked with each other. Neither could speak english. Eventually, they held their hands over their faces ( I see nothing) and told me to go. But they would not stamp me out and they were not sure Montenegro would let me in. I held my breath and went forward.
The border patrol in MN was so cool. He was watching some Discovery channel show about the brain. He took my passport, scanned it, asked which way I was going ( coming or going) and stamped me in. YES! And for the next 40 miles I walked this super remote one lane road with nearly nothing but mountains and the occasional home. It was absolutely wonderful, so silent and still, a car maybe once an hour. And the people living back there were living it like folks had for eons. This one old man was walking down the road all in black with a huge sickle and he looked like death coming for me. His sickle was handmade and worn smooth from use. It felt like Appalacia meets sherpers from Nepal meets Eastern Europe. That road was a gem. There was one rock I sat on near a 3,000 foot pass overlooking a valley with panoramas of the mountains; I was in heaven. Just a few red roof homes nestled in this huge expanse, living the life of one with nature. All I heard was a lone bird in the forest, an ocassional distant cowbell and the wind blowing through the ripe flowering trees around me perfuming the air . I told myself I would sit there until a car came by. Seventy-five minutes later I left, no car had passed.
On my way to the capital, Podgorica, taking back roads, I stopped in Danilovgrad for food and met some wonderful guys. I will be in their newspaper tomorrow. The capital, as well as their second largest city, Niksic, were very small. It has been hard to find the city center. Niksic had three restaurants. Fortunately, a very sweet, young couple helped me navigate getting around. And to avoid a main thoroughfare route the husband took time from his day to walk several miles with me in order to get me on a small backroad that would parallel the busier road heading south. Here in the capital I saw a man riding a wooden cart with his horse down a main street. You get it, right? The people are proud to be Montenegrons but are embarrassed by what they lack. They are, however, trying hard to be a part of the EU. They have a little way to go. And so do I.
I am now down to 29 days. Tomorrow I cross into Albania, head south and then cross W to E from Milot to the border of Macedonia near Debar. I should be there in about 5 days. There is so much more to say but this will have to do for now. I am holding up. Got new shoes in Mostar. The heat has returned after a cool to coldish time in Bosnia. But the humidity is not as bad as Croatia nor are the bugs which were in swarms a few weeks ago.
Time to hit the rod again. I am super excited and motivated to DO IT.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
War and Pieces
There is a song by the band, Depeche Mode, called People Are People. Some of the lyrics go pretty much like this: " what makes a man hate another man, help me understand. People are people so why should it be that you and I should get along so awfully".
I am not going to pretend to understand the ethnic differences or racial strife that caused this former large nation, Yugoslavia, to get busted up into little pieces. But I can tell you what I have seen and felt by walking through parts of it.
When I last blogged I was on my way to the national park. I had no idea I was going to be walking through the former frontline of the war in Croatia in a place called Saborsko. It was a village filled with crucifixes and bullet holes. There were hardened faces and amputees. It was quiet and not particularly very big. But it still carried a feeling. Later when I made it to the park, there in the woods was a sign for Plitvicka Jezera, and above it, another sign, oddly, that simply said BREATHE. And I could. All the trees and mountains and then those gorgeous lakes and cascades. It was the follow up to Saborsko I needed.
From the beauty of the park I continued past Homoljac and then a side road through Frkasic (say that fast 5 times, I dare you. Actually, I dare you to say it once!). It was there I had my first invite into someone's home, a very basic place where I was given water, cookies and a chair to sit by a very nice man who spoke not one stitch of English. But kindness speaks volumes and it is often the poor who give the most of what little they have. I continued on. This road ended up going high into the mountains and for the next several days I was on the most remote roads since my journey began.
Croatia is a beautiful country. I mean, drop dead gorgeous. It has much to offer the nature lover and I suspect within 5 years it will be a major vacation destination. There were many times through the country where I just stared in disbelief at the beauty and stunning scenery. A crown jewel. Some of my best camping has been in Croatia too. Desolate, silent spots with only the forest animals making noises in the night.
But there was nothing in those mountains. Nothing. No food, no water. So I was very happy when I knew I would be coming to the big (on a map) Donji Lapac. OMG. Imagine my shock when I felt liked I'd stepped into the late 19th century. Shepherds with their flocks, a family skinning a slaughtered sheep hanging from a tree in the backyard, men in straw hats with pitchforks making haystacks. There was a store there to be sure, but it had so little of anything. I had so wanted to sit in a cafe and eat a meal. Instead, I bought what I could and figured I would find better in Srb. Not a chance. The whole area was empty. It was wonderful walking, amazing views that kept me dazzled the whole time. But no food and very little water. And that is hard when the temps are in the 90s (they had been for a solid week) and humidity is high. It meant carrying a lot of water. And I gotta tell you, water is a walker's best friend and worst enemy. It keeps one hydrated, joints lubricated, head clear. But it is also the heaviest thing to carry and so it becomes a catch 22; one has to carry more water to quench the thirst but the extra weight makes the sweat pour harder and faster.
I climbed another mountain, slept under a full moon on a lovely high plain and figured I would get amenities at the crossroads to the red road (I was on a yellow road that felt very much like a white road), in Sucevici. HA! as it turned out that place had but one house! That was it. But my walk to Knin was jaw dropping spectacular following this ridge alongside a narrow valley. I put up with the thirst until it got so bad I had to beg when an infrequent car drove by. Nobody stopped, I'm sure they thought I was crazy. Finally I came to a habited place with water (prior to I walked through some ghost villages, war remnants).
Monday morning I crossed the border into Bosnia Herzegovina. Getting there through Knin meant going 40km out of my way because the police had told me the day before that I could not take the small mountain road which straddled the border to the border town itself. A whole extra day of walking. But the landscapes made up for it. On the way out there were a lot of destroyed homes, and left over destruction from the war. The mountain red road I was on was deserted. No one was crossing the border here. Imagine me walking into this forested area with very little action at the border patrol. They looked at me, then my passport and were quite surprised I was an American (the police in Croatia had stopped me several times also to "routinely see your documents" and were equally surprised).
It was a long climb up a mountain for many miles with incredible views, a really wonderful walk and well worth the effort. Storm clouds were brewing too. A sign? I made it to within 1 KM to the town of B. Grahovo, about 20 km from the border, when the rains started. Man, it came down. Hard! I ducked into a place I was told was a restaurant but looked from the outside like the second floor to a home. It was, however, a small place with only 4 tables and no one else inside but the waitress/cook. For the next 3 hours I ate while it poured outside.
The woman who was running the joint had a sad, sunken face. She watched the tv which aired some Bosnian movie while the jukebox played Bosnian music. None of it was too loud. But the jukebox flashed these lit pictures every few seconds of nature scenes, automobiles, and naked women. A family restaurant?
When the rain abated I had a look around the town. Oh my. Everyone had long, sad faces and I could see why. Poor Grahovo was in ruins and squalor. What looked like the former village center was in horrible shape. The municipal building was gutted. Homes collapsed, bombed. I was taking a picture of one building and a man on a bike came up and said it used to be a nice hotel. It was devastating. And very sad. And so went my introduction to Bosnia.
Now I was really scared where to pitch my tent; I had been careful for days and days. But I was lucky to find a spot in an off-road cinderblock cell covered with cow manure on the dirt floor. If the cows hadn't blown up then neither would I (although the walk out to the structure terrified me) . It rained and thundered more in the night. By morning there was just a dark gray, ominous sky with a COLD chill. I wore a coat and I walked all day. There was nothing again. No ameneities I should say. Each town on my map really didn't exist anymore. There were so many ghost villages, so many destroyed homes and buildings, so many bullet holes. For every new home I could see way back at the hill base, I saw a dozen places in ruin. It broke my heart. What these people have endured. The scars that can never heal. It was depressing. Oh, and the "mine" signs. The skull and crossbones markers all over the place. To think you cannot leave the asphalt and enjoy the countryside or your former home's land for fear of being blown up or losing your legs. This morning left a branded impression on me. Again, the things I am grateful for that others cannot enjoy.
In Crni Lug there was one tiny spot where an old man had beer and juice. A kind of cafe but not really. More like one little concrete block, dingy room with beer and juice. A trucker was in there drinking beer at 9AM. I asked for food, the old man said he had none. But within 2 minutes he came back with bread, green onions, tomatoes and homemade cheese (totally gross stuff). I was ordered to eat and eat a lot. It was hard getting the cheese down. But they were kind. They offered me a beer....no thanks. I offered to pay for the food. They refused. So I decided to buy a juice. I drank it and they would not let me pay for that either. I had been warned in Croatia to "be careful" in Bosnia because the people lost much in the war and I might be a target. But I was finding the Bosnians to be some of the best folks on this trip.
All day I walked through this sort of expansive valley with hills and mountains on both sides. The cooler temps and clouds made the lack of water available much more tolerable. Thank you. There was space to breathe too which was necessary amongst the ruins. One man pointed to me his destroyed father's home and his brother's too. The "Serbs" shot them up. Then I came to this long area that looked like a National Park. Just beautiful. But eeerily quiet and I knew. Nothing is here, no one, nothing, because the place is still full of mines. My suspicians were confirmed. I came to Celebic and things seemed a little different here. A home was being built and I went up the long drive to get water. A man who had "run away" was back with his family rebuilding. And so it was. He pointed out his window to a place where he said, "beyond there there are no more mines". The sun came out full on. And within a few miles there were fields being plowed, kids on bikes, new homes, flowers, color. And I could feel the heaviness lift. And it felt wonderful.
I walked through Livno this morning, a town with lots of life and very sweet people. There was a large grocery store so I could buy much needed food. And I bought a lot. Now I am on the shores of a lovely lake, which I believe is called Bisko.
I have caught myself a few days back starting to dream of the things I will enjoy when this walk is over. But I did not want to keep going there so I reminded myself that in (now) 35 days (I am projecting July 31st as my end date....a clean 4 months) it will be over and that sad notion reminds me to keep enjoying all aspects of this epic adventure, even the parts I am not digging too much anymore. My pants are tattered and faded with holes and a broken zipper ( not my fly), my shirt is fraying, my undies are ripped (all clothing lightweight and non replaceable on this trip so I must wear it). A tent pole has broke, my new pack has a few small tears and I am even feeling myself getting a little whacky which I am trying to keep at bay. I remember this point on my trip across the US. I am trying for better this time. (But I could not help dancing and singing in the grocery store to Billy Idol's "Dancing With Myself" this morning). I am feeling like a homeless man, very much. And I don't care too much really. It has become my norm. But I know this all comes with limits. I am not living in a destroyed village. I have not been through war directly. I can quit anytime if I want (fat chance...I'm going for broke baby).
I am off to Mostar. Time for new shoes. I still have a lot of miles to go. But by the middle of next week, my days left will be in the 20s. And before I know it this will all come to an end.
Time to enjoy what's left.
I am not going to pretend to understand the ethnic differences or racial strife that caused this former large nation, Yugoslavia, to get busted up into little pieces. But I can tell you what I have seen and felt by walking through parts of it.
When I last blogged I was on my way to the national park. I had no idea I was going to be walking through the former frontline of the war in Croatia in a place called Saborsko. It was a village filled with crucifixes and bullet holes. There were hardened faces and amputees. It was quiet and not particularly very big. But it still carried a feeling. Later when I made it to the park, there in the woods was a sign for Plitvicka Jezera, and above it, another sign, oddly, that simply said BREATHE. And I could. All the trees and mountains and then those gorgeous lakes and cascades. It was the follow up to Saborsko I needed.
From the beauty of the park I continued past Homoljac and then a side road through Frkasic (say that fast 5 times, I dare you. Actually, I dare you to say it once!). It was there I had my first invite into someone's home, a very basic place where I was given water, cookies and a chair to sit by a very nice man who spoke not one stitch of English. But kindness speaks volumes and it is often the poor who give the most of what little they have. I continued on. This road ended up going high into the mountains and for the next several days I was on the most remote roads since my journey began.
Croatia is a beautiful country. I mean, drop dead gorgeous. It has much to offer the nature lover and I suspect within 5 years it will be a major vacation destination. There were many times through the country where I just stared in disbelief at the beauty and stunning scenery. A crown jewel. Some of my best camping has been in Croatia too. Desolate, silent spots with only the forest animals making noises in the night.
But there was nothing in those mountains. Nothing. No food, no water. So I was very happy when I knew I would be coming to the big (on a map) Donji Lapac. OMG. Imagine my shock when I felt liked I'd stepped into the late 19th century. Shepherds with their flocks, a family skinning a slaughtered sheep hanging from a tree in the backyard, men in straw hats with pitchforks making haystacks. There was a store there to be sure, but it had so little of anything. I had so wanted to sit in a cafe and eat a meal. Instead, I bought what I could and figured I would find better in Srb. Not a chance. The whole area was empty. It was wonderful walking, amazing views that kept me dazzled the whole time. But no food and very little water. And that is hard when the temps are in the 90s (they had been for a solid week) and humidity is high. It meant carrying a lot of water. And I gotta tell you, water is a walker's best friend and worst enemy. It keeps one hydrated, joints lubricated, head clear. But it is also the heaviest thing to carry and so it becomes a catch 22; one has to carry more water to quench the thirst but the extra weight makes the sweat pour harder and faster.
I climbed another mountain, slept under a full moon on a lovely high plain and figured I would get amenities at the crossroads to the red road (I was on a yellow road that felt very much like a white road), in Sucevici. HA! as it turned out that place had but one house! That was it. But my walk to Knin was jaw dropping spectacular following this ridge alongside a narrow valley. I put up with the thirst until it got so bad I had to beg when an infrequent car drove by. Nobody stopped, I'm sure they thought I was crazy. Finally I came to a habited place with water (prior to I walked through some ghost villages, war remnants).
Monday morning I crossed the border into Bosnia Herzegovina. Getting there through Knin meant going 40km out of my way because the police had told me the day before that I could not take the small mountain road which straddled the border to the border town itself. A whole extra day of walking. But the landscapes made up for it. On the way out there were a lot of destroyed homes, and left over destruction from the war. The mountain red road I was on was deserted. No one was crossing the border here. Imagine me walking into this forested area with very little action at the border patrol. They looked at me, then my passport and were quite surprised I was an American (the police in Croatia had stopped me several times also to "routinely see your documents" and were equally surprised).
It was a long climb up a mountain for many miles with incredible views, a really wonderful walk and well worth the effort. Storm clouds were brewing too. A sign? I made it to within 1 KM to the town of B. Grahovo, about 20 km from the border, when the rains started. Man, it came down. Hard! I ducked into a place I was told was a restaurant but looked from the outside like the second floor to a home. It was, however, a small place with only 4 tables and no one else inside but the waitress/cook. For the next 3 hours I ate while it poured outside.
The woman who was running the joint had a sad, sunken face. She watched the tv which aired some Bosnian movie while the jukebox played Bosnian music. None of it was too loud. But the jukebox flashed these lit pictures every few seconds of nature scenes, automobiles, and naked women. A family restaurant?
When the rain abated I had a look around the town. Oh my. Everyone had long, sad faces and I could see why. Poor Grahovo was in ruins and squalor. What looked like the former village center was in horrible shape. The municipal building was gutted. Homes collapsed, bombed. I was taking a picture of one building and a man on a bike came up and said it used to be a nice hotel. It was devastating. And very sad. And so went my introduction to Bosnia.
Now I was really scared where to pitch my tent; I had been careful for days and days. But I was lucky to find a spot in an off-road cinderblock cell covered with cow manure on the dirt floor. If the cows hadn't blown up then neither would I (although the walk out to the structure terrified me) . It rained and thundered more in the night. By morning there was just a dark gray, ominous sky with a COLD chill. I wore a coat and I walked all day. There was nothing again. No ameneities I should say. Each town on my map really didn't exist anymore. There were so many ghost villages, so many destroyed homes and buildings, so many bullet holes. For every new home I could see way back at the hill base, I saw a dozen places in ruin. It broke my heart. What these people have endured. The scars that can never heal. It was depressing. Oh, and the "mine" signs. The skull and crossbones markers all over the place. To think you cannot leave the asphalt and enjoy the countryside or your former home's land for fear of being blown up or losing your legs. This morning left a branded impression on me. Again, the things I am grateful for that others cannot enjoy.
In Crni Lug there was one tiny spot where an old man had beer and juice. A kind of cafe but not really. More like one little concrete block, dingy room with beer and juice. A trucker was in there drinking beer at 9AM. I asked for food, the old man said he had none. But within 2 minutes he came back with bread, green onions, tomatoes and homemade cheese (totally gross stuff). I was ordered to eat and eat a lot. It was hard getting the cheese down. But they were kind. They offered me a beer....no thanks. I offered to pay for the food. They refused. So I decided to buy a juice. I drank it and they would not let me pay for that either. I had been warned in Croatia to "be careful" in Bosnia because the people lost much in the war and I might be a target. But I was finding the Bosnians to be some of the best folks on this trip.
All day I walked through this sort of expansive valley with hills and mountains on both sides. The cooler temps and clouds made the lack of water available much more tolerable. Thank you. There was space to breathe too which was necessary amongst the ruins. One man pointed to me his destroyed father's home and his brother's too. The "Serbs" shot them up. Then I came to this long area that looked like a National Park. Just beautiful. But eeerily quiet and I knew. Nothing is here, no one, nothing, because the place is still full of mines. My suspicians were confirmed. I came to Celebic and things seemed a little different here. A home was being built and I went up the long drive to get water. A man who had "run away" was back with his family rebuilding. And so it was. He pointed out his window to a place where he said, "beyond there there are no more mines". The sun came out full on. And within a few miles there were fields being plowed, kids on bikes, new homes, flowers, color. And I could feel the heaviness lift. And it felt wonderful.
I walked through Livno this morning, a town with lots of life and very sweet people. There was a large grocery store so I could buy much needed food. And I bought a lot. Now I am on the shores of a lovely lake, which I believe is called Bisko.
I have caught myself a few days back starting to dream of the things I will enjoy when this walk is over. But I did not want to keep going there so I reminded myself that in (now) 35 days (I am projecting July 31st as my end date....a clean 4 months) it will be over and that sad notion reminds me to keep enjoying all aspects of this epic adventure, even the parts I am not digging too much anymore. My pants are tattered and faded with holes and a broken zipper ( not my fly), my shirt is fraying, my undies are ripped (all clothing lightweight and non replaceable on this trip so I must wear it). A tent pole has broke, my new pack has a few small tears and I am even feeling myself getting a little whacky which I am trying to keep at bay. I remember this point on my trip across the US. I am trying for better this time. (But I could not help dancing and singing in the grocery store to Billy Idol's "Dancing With Myself" this morning). I am feeling like a homeless man, very much. And I don't care too much really. It has become my norm. But I know this all comes with limits. I am not living in a destroyed village. I have not been through war directly. I can quit anytime if I want (fat chance...I'm going for broke baby).
I am off to Mostar. Time for new shoes. I still have a lot of miles to go. But by the middle of next week, my days left will be in the 20s. And before I know it this will all come to an end.
Time to enjoy what's left.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Landmines and Mountains and Bears, Oh My
I have crossed the border into Croatia ( Sunday) and should be in Plitvicka National Park tomorrow. It will be a good place to ring in the summer solstice.
Slovenia was great, short and sweet. I found myself on some quiet, forested backroads and one that went through a Ntl Park. I camped next to a stream that cut through a rockface creating a natural bridge. It was very peaceful until about 3 AM when the frogs started croaking. One sounded as if it were saying, "Felix, don't do it!". It felt like I was in some B horror movie. My last meal was in a small village with nearly all consonants in the spelling of the name. The style of the food was local and my server had been to Cleveland before for a big Slovenian reunion. I got a bowl of fresh forest foraged mushroom soup, fresh picked greens from the garden out back, smoked then cooked salmon plus potatoes with leeks. The costs are half then they were in Italy so I could indulge. It sure beat the tunafish in a toothpaste tube I tried the day before. Hours later at the border, Babno Polje, the woman running the bar was making someone an ice cream sundae. I ordered a juice. She gave me a juice then poured me a shot of some clear spirits and insisted I drink it. I gave in and merrily walked to the border.
Croatia joins the EU on July 1 so I am one of the last to get passport stamps at this very unused border. The mountains on the Croatia side are much bigger and my first two days have seen some hefty climbing up and down. The slopes are steeper and the forests choked with tall pine and deciduous trees sometimes so impenetrable I could not even put two feet inside. They are home to wolf, lynx and bear and locals shudder when I tell them I sleep in the forest at night.
Croatia is so full of mountains and dense forests, it's a veritible lumberjack's wet dream. And those saws are going all day long. Homes have dropped timber in their front yards that they then splinter into jumbo wood piles; the winters must be long and brutal here. This place seems rougher around the edges. Some villages look Bavarian while others are recovering from the war. I am starting to see abandonded homes with bullet holes all over the walls. Some villages have dramatic statues, the one with the young man hurling a hand grenade sticks out. But there a flowers everywhere and people seem reasonably happy. I have been offered alcohol each morning as I pass someone's house too. Maybe this is how they learned to cope.
I now spend money called kuna. It is not cheap here. A couple place names I've walked through: Gorica, Crni Lug, Ravna Gora, plus a super forest road from Vrbovsko to Ogulin. I have to be careful now because there are leftover mines from the war. I knew to expect this but I was not entirely sure where to worry. Well, that day is here. Know that I will take all precautions to be safe, esp when camping at night. My maps aren't the best either but I'm making do with what I have. And with that I am going to go becuz i may lose this again....bad computer. ps: i have gotten recent emails but cannot reply from this computer for some reason. thank you.
this is not proofread.
Slovenia was great, short and sweet. I found myself on some quiet, forested backroads and one that went through a Ntl Park. I camped next to a stream that cut through a rockface creating a natural bridge. It was very peaceful until about 3 AM when the frogs started croaking. One sounded as if it were saying, "Felix, don't do it!". It felt like I was in some B horror movie. My last meal was in a small village with nearly all consonants in the spelling of the name. The style of the food was local and my server had been to Cleveland before for a big Slovenian reunion. I got a bowl of fresh forest foraged mushroom soup, fresh picked greens from the garden out back, smoked then cooked salmon plus potatoes with leeks. The costs are half then they were in Italy so I could indulge. It sure beat the tunafish in a toothpaste tube I tried the day before. Hours later at the border, Babno Polje, the woman running the bar was making someone an ice cream sundae. I ordered a juice. She gave me a juice then poured me a shot of some clear spirits and insisted I drink it. I gave in and merrily walked to the border.
Croatia joins the EU on July 1 so I am one of the last to get passport stamps at this very unused border. The mountains on the Croatia side are much bigger and my first two days have seen some hefty climbing up and down. The slopes are steeper and the forests choked with tall pine and deciduous trees sometimes so impenetrable I could not even put two feet inside. They are home to wolf, lynx and bear and locals shudder when I tell them I sleep in the forest at night.
Croatia is so full of mountains and dense forests, it's a veritible lumberjack's wet dream. And those saws are going all day long. Homes have dropped timber in their front yards that they then splinter into jumbo wood piles; the winters must be long and brutal here. This place seems rougher around the edges. Some villages look Bavarian while others are recovering from the war. I am starting to see abandonded homes with bullet holes all over the walls. Some villages have dramatic statues, the one with the young man hurling a hand grenade sticks out. But there a flowers everywhere and people seem reasonably happy. I have been offered alcohol each morning as I pass someone's house too. Maybe this is how they learned to cope.
I now spend money called kuna. It is not cheap here. A couple place names I've walked through: Gorica, Crni Lug, Ravna Gora, plus a super forest road from Vrbovsko to Ogulin. I have to be careful now because there are leftover mines from the war. I knew to expect this but I was not entirely sure where to worry. Well, that day is here. Know that I will take all precautions to be safe, esp when camping at night. My maps aren't the best either but I'm making do with what I have. And with that I am going to go becuz i may lose this again....bad computer. ps: i have gotten recent emails but cannot reply from this computer for some reason. thank you.
this is not proofread.
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Trans Slovenian Express
This country is smaller than it looks and I feel like I am breezing through it. Too bad too; it's so lovely. But with Slovenia comes my "downhill", third leg. If you look at a map, from Gibraltar to Andorra was upwards, Andorra to Slovenia was across and now from Slovenia to Istanbul is down. Of course it's not really down, there's still lots of mountains to climb, but there is an illusion looking at a map that allows my mind to think that I am just sliding down. I have, in fact, climbed my first mountain yesterday, the first in nearly two weeks. It was wonderful!
I've had time to absorb Venice more. Arriving by ferry from the islet into the San Carlos Square stop was like cruising right into an old master's oil painting. Up until this week I have only seen Venice that way, in fine art museums; the bulbous clouds, the baby blue, powder sky, the row of opulent old buildings in various states of life and decay and color lined along the lapping lip of the Grand Canal with all the boats in the water. Marvelous, simply marvelous. The only thing NOT in those paintings are the hordes of people. I knew to expect them in June. Everyone wants to see Venice. And who can blame them? But for me, Venice came most alive when it was deadly quiet....early morning.
My first morning in Venice I just strolled for hours before the shops opened. I walked the Rialto Bridge with no one on it. I went to the Jewish "ghetto" and got lost in the maze of lanes and streets and small bridges that makes Venice exciting. It is a city with no cars so it was perfect for me and my day "off" from walking. I still got to exercise but on a lighter scale.
The morning I left Venice was even better. Since I arrived in Venice with no reservation for a place to stay I just picked an area to scout for a bed since I was clueless about the city. The only direct ferry to Cavallina islet, my reentry walking point after leaving Venice, was from San Marcos Square so I decided to find a place there. The info center was no help so I asked around. And in a little-lane restaurant a waiter went to the building across and rang a buzzer to a friend. There, in an unmarked building, was a room in a kind of hostel/hotel/b&b that was nice, clean and quiet and priced just right. I stayed two nights. When I left on Tuesday morning it was early AM and I found myself in San Marcos plaza alone. It was incredible. Venice came to life in that still square. Slowly the dawn colors tinted the Doge Palace and the Basilica and the buildings all around. At the water's edge the pastels of morning light turned the place into magic. I shall never forget it.
However, I was glad to leave Venice. That whole "body shutting down" thing I last blogged about was wrong. My body was ecstatic to leave & start walking again. What it had trouble with was all the busy-ness. There is a trait I have. When I absorb too much info without the time to process it I go into automatic shut down mode. Which is why I was so tired in Venice. My body and mind couldn't take it all in. I have not been in such a big and frenzied place on this whole trip. To give you an idea: a few days earlier walking through a small place called Rolo, a young Pakistani man helped me with directions. That whole flat area between Parma & Venice is an economically troubled region so consequently land is cheap and there are communities of Punjabi Indians, Pakistani, some Chinese and even migrant African workers plus the older school Italian farmers that have been there for eons. This man was so excited to help me. He said, "I think you are the first American to come through Rolo". Most of where I am walking is like that. The people don't see tourists and neither do I. So the bombast of Venice threw me and my body into a tizzy.
I left Venice, walked through Cavallina, on the lagoon side of the island, and afterwards, hopped onto the smallest roads I could find because I could not deal with heavy traffic which exists all around Venice. I went through Cortellazzo, Torre Di Fine, walked atop levees that ran along rivers, hit a super cool back road where a guy had to open a gate 2 miles down the road in order for me to continue (he also left me a bag of fresh walnuts from his trees....very agricultural area:corn, wheat, veggies, fruit & nut trees). I went through S. Giorgio Di Livenza, Precenicco, San Giorgio di Nogaro, etc.
What I've been amazed with is how many older people are out & about on bikes and with no helmets. I am talking men and women in their 70s and 80s on roads with trucks and cars, some just doing shopping. The women are all dressed up in dresses or skirts and ride simple older bikes. I loved them all.
My last day in Italy was a bit tough. It was hot, at times the road was very heavy with traffic. When it is that way I feel very violated by each vehicle passing. It is like each one plows through me with a total disregard that I am a human being. I am pleased there has not been not too much of that kind of walking that I've had to do so far. I met a bicyclist who stopped to talk. He was an Iraqui man who lives in France. He had just bought the bike two days earlier after walking around (true wandering, no intended "goal"), for two years in the Middle East and eastern Europe. He was rail thin and said he got by on 30euros A MONTH which I found hard to believe. He ate discarded foods from stores and also camped. He seemed happy. He had a lot of enthusiasm for my walk too, to meet a fellow, like-minded road warrior. And I found it comforting to talk with someone who could understand where I was inside because this walking does change you.
Off the red roads I went to Turnaco on my way to Doberdo Del Lago when locals told me it would be way easier to go all the way north and then over to get into Slovenia. On the map that looked super long so I decided to go the map route. Well, guess who had to walk a whole lot of extra miles and up a steep hill onto a road that turned into a trail that splintered into several other trails to where I thought I was suerly lost? Yours truly. I was so mad at myself but the fact is- and I realized this later in the day- not every moment in life is a pleasant one, not every decision is the "right" one. As it turns out though, this one was a "right" decision. Sometimes, you just don't realize it until later, when it reveals it's charming secret.
At Doberdo I had to end up going north anyway to Marcottini and then from there I was told I had to still go further north because the border crossing from there was not open. I was hungry, hot, and disgruntled. Then, in the middle of nowhere, a restaurant appeared and I told myself, whatever it costs, I would buy myself a nice last meal in Italy. So I went inside. It was early so no one was eating inside. But the owner greeted me and asked me what I needed. I said FOOD! He told me the cook wasn't in yet but he would prepare me something "great".
The owner's name was Robert. He was so cheerful, so friendly, so wanted to help me. When he found out about my journey I was ordered to sign his guestbook. He told me to relax. He got me orange juice and then a frittata appetizer with pesto and then a huge, delicious plate of gnocchi. He told me it was on the house. He allowed me to shower in the basement, gave me water and a sandwich to go, gave me several hugs and congratulations for my journey. He kept asking, "what else do you need?"
What can I do to make this person feel good?
I was so touched, I cried. "You should be happy", he said. Oh, I was. I was very happy. But walking and being vulnerable as I am , also brings out emotions that don't always surface as easily. And they were out then and there. Robert was Slovenian but this restaurant was just inside Italy. It had been his parents' place and after his brother died (who I think was running it), Robert came back to give it a try. He deserves much success and I wish him all the best.
This day turned out to be a pivotal one for me. I will never forget Robert or that moment.
What can I do for you?
Weeks ago, during a torrential downpour with crashing lightening and thunder I sought refuge in a church. Some prayer circle finished and the nun came up to me and told me I had to leave the church. We opened the church doors and the weather was horrible. I asked her, "where can I go?" and she shrugged her shoulders. And with the biggest smile on her face she said, " I don't know. Out you go".
I will never forget her either.
Both of these people are teachers in my life.
To be or not to be.....that is the question.
I walked a few kilometers more from the restaurant & crossed the border very quietly into Slovenia late on Thursday. It has felt wonderful to be here. It is quieter, simpler, prettier. Yesterday I got to know the place a bit more. It's woods, then a small village, them more woods again. There are hills, the land is not flat. The mountains are all around. I went from Opatje Selo, where a man found it hilarious that I wanted to walk to Komen when he offered a ride. In Komen I sat with a young man under a cherry tree and he talked about the area. He was on break from restoring the gothic frescoes in the old church. Apparently a lot of treasures in Slovenia were decimated in the wars. Stanjel was very charming but Stjak was dreamy, perched high up in the mountains. The views of the Slovenian Alps were stunning. I could not take my eyes off them and spent a lot of the day just admiring the beauty. My camp last night was phenomenal with this vista of these majestic mountains and a superior valley below. The sunlight wrapped up all that nature into unbelievable beholdings.
I have a special affection for Slovenia because one of my favorite bands, Laibach, is from here. I've heard their music playing in my head all day today. Their heyday was years ago. They have always been controversial and the government, years ago, pushed them out of country because they poke fun of nationalism. But most of their work is parody. They have redone the whole Beatles, Let it Be record (except the title track), have covered Macbeth, a whole record of their own versions of National anthems for various countries, a disc called Jesus Christ Superstars and a disco, NATO record.
Today I have been though Vrabce, Senozece and now am in Postojna. The food is different, the language is very different, the prices cheaper, the feeling is a world away from Italy.
By Monday morning I should be in Croatia. I am heading towards the National Park that begins with a "P" and is famous for their lakes (map not handy). I saw pictures of it years ago and told myself, SOMEDAY. Well, that someday is soon. It is in the interior of the country near the north. I am not going to the coast.
Tomorrow begins week 12 (or as i now say counting in reverse, week 7). The countries are all smaller. I will go through them faster. In fact, it will be 9 countries during the rest of this leg. I have some trepidations about a few places further on but it's all just one day a time right now.
The Iraqui bicyclist I met told me Italy was so busy, the roads turmoil. That was the reason he got a bike, to get through it. He told me, once you get out of Italy and into Slovenia then "you are free". It has felt just like that.
I've had time to absorb Venice more. Arriving by ferry from the islet into the San Carlos Square stop was like cruising right into an old master's oil painting. Up until this week I have only seen Venice that way, in fine art museums; the bulbous clouds, the baby blue, powder sky, the row of opulent old buildings in various states of life and decay and color lined along the lapping lip of the Grand Canal with all the boats in the water. Marvelous, simply marvelous. The only thing NOT in those paintings are the hordes of people. I knew to expect them in June. Everyone wants to see Venice. And who can blame them? But for me, Venice came most alive when it was deadly quiet....early morning.
My first morning in Venice I just strolled for hours before the shops opened. I walked the Rialto Bridge with no one on it. I went to the Jewish "ghetto" and got lost in the maze of lanes and streets and small bridges that makes Venice exciting. It is a city with no cars so it was perfect for me and my day "off" from walking. I still got to exercise but on a lighter scale.
The morning I left Venice was even better. Since I arrived in Venice with no reservation for a place to stay I just picked an area to scout for a bed since I was clueless about the city. The only direct ferry to Cavallina islet, my reentry walking point after leaving Venice, was from San Marcos Square so I decided to find a place there. The info center was no help so I asked around. And in a little-lane restaurant a waiter went to the building across and rang a buzzer to a friend. There, in an unmarked building, was a room in a kind of hostel/hotel/b&b that was nice, clean and quiet and priced just right. I stayed two nights. When I left on Tuesday morning it was early AM and I found myself in San Marcos plaza alone. It was incredible. Venice came to life in that still square. Slowly the dawn colors tinted the Doge Palace and the Basilica and the buildings all around. At the water's edge the pastels of morning light turned the place into magic. I shall never forget it.
However, I was glad to leave Venice. That whole "body shutting down" thing I last blogged about was wrong. My body was ecstatic to leave & start walking again. What it had trouble with was all the busy-ness. There is a trait I have. When I absorb too much info without the time to process it I go into automatic shut down mode. Which is why I was so tired in Venice. My body and mind couldn't take it all in. I have not been in such a big and frenzied place on this whole trip. To give you an idea: a few days earlier walking through a small place called Rolo, a young Pakistani man helped me with directions. That whole flat area between Parma & Venice is an economically troubled region so consequently land is cheap and there are communities of Punjabi Indians, Pakistani, some Chinese and even migrant African workers plus the older school Italian farmers that have been there for eons. This man was so excited to help me. He said, "I think you are the first American to come through Rolo". Most of where I am walking is like that. The people don't see tourists and neither do I. So the bombast of Venice threw me and my body into a tizzy.
I left Venice, walked through Cavallina, on the lagoon side of the island, and afterwards, hopped onto the smallest roads I could find because I could not deal with heavy traffic which exists all around Venice. I went through Cortellazzo, Torre Di Fine, walked atop levees that ran along rivers, hit a super cool back road where a guy had to open a gate 2 miles down the road in order for me to continue (he also left me a bag of fresh walnuts from his trees....very agricultural area:corn, wheat, veggies, fruit & nut trees). I went through S. Giorgio Di Livenza, Precenicco, San Giorgio di Nogaro, etc.
What I've been amazed with is how many older people are out & about on bikes and with no helmets. I am talking men and women in their 70s and 80s on roads with trucks and cars, some just doing shopping. The women are all dressed up in dresses or skirts and ride simple older bikes. I loved them all.
My last day in Italy was a bit tough. It was hot, at times the road was very heavy with traffic. When it is that way I feel very violated by each vehicle passing. It is like each one plows through me with a total disregard that I am a human being. I am pleased there has not been not too much of that kind of walking that I've had to do so far. I met a bicyclist who stopped to talk. He was an Iraqui man who lives in France. He had just bought the bike two days earlier after walking around (true wandering, no intended "goal"), for two years in the Middle East and eastern Europe. He was rail thin and said he got by on 30euros A MONTH which I found hard to believe. He ate discarded foods from stores and also camped. He seemed happy. He had a lot of enthusiasm for my walk too, to meet a fellow, like-minded road warrior. And I found it comforting to talk with someone who could understand where I was inside because this walking does change you.
Off the red roads I went to Turnaco on my way to Doberdo Del Lago when locals told me it would be way easier to go all the way north and then over to get into Slovenia. On the map that looked super long so I decided to go the map route. Well, guess who had to walk a whole lot of extra miles and up a steep hill onto a road that turned into a trail that splintered into several other trails to where I thought I was suerly lost? Yours truly. I was so mad at myself but the fact is- and I realized this later in the day- not every moment in life is a pleasant one, not every decision is the "right" one. As it turns out though, this one was a "right" decision. Sometimes, you just don't realize it until later, when it reveals it's charming secret.
At Doberdo I had to end up going north anyway to Marcottini and then from there I was told I had to still go further north because the border crossing from there was not open. I was hungry, hot, and disgruntled. Then, in the middle of nowhere, a restaurant appeared and I told myself, whatever it costs, I would buy myself a nice last meal in Italy. So I went inside. It was early so no one was eating inside. But the owner greeted me and asked me what I needed. I said FOOD! He told me the cook wasn't in yet but he would prepare me something "great".
The owner's name was Robert. He was so cheerful, so friendly, so wanted to help me. When he found out about my journey I was ordered to sign his guestbook. He told me to relax. He got me orange juice and then a frittata appetizer with pesto and then a huge, delicious plate of gnocchi. He told me it was on the house. He allowed me to shower in the basement, gave me water and a sandwich to go, gave me several hugs and congratulations for my journey. He kept asking, "what else do you need?"
What can I do to make this person feel good?
I was so touched, I cried. "You should be happy", he said. Oh, I was. I was very happy. But walking and being vulnerable as I am , also brings out emotions that don't always surface as easily. And they were out then and there. Robert was Slovenian but this restaurant was just inside Italy. It had been his parents' place and after his brother died (who I think was running it), Robert came back to give it a try. He deserves much success and I wish him all the best.
This day turned out to be a pivotal one for me. I will never forget Robert or that moment.
What can I do for you?
Weeks ago, during a torrential downpour with crashing lightening and thunder I sought refuge in a church. Some prayer circle finished and the nun came up to me and told me I had to leave the church. We opened the church doors and the weather was horrible. I asked her, "where can I go?" and she shrugged her shoulders. And with the biggest smile on her face she said, " I don't know. Out you go".
I will never forget her either.
Both of these people are teachers in my life.
To be or not to be.....that is the question.
I walked a few kilometers more from the restaurant & crossed the border very quietly into Slovenia late on Thursday. It has felt wonderful to be here. It is quieter, simpler, prettier. Yesterday I got to know the place a bit more. It's woods, then a small village, them more woods again. There are hills, the land is not flat. The mountains are all around. I went from Opatje Selo, where a man found it hilarious that I wanted to walk to Komen when he offered a ride. In Komen I sat with a young man under a cherry tree and he talked about the area. He was on break from restoring the gothic frescoes in the old church. Apparently a lot of treasures in Slovenia were decimated in the wars. Stanjel was very charming but Stjak was dreamy, perched high up in the mountains. The views of the Slovenian Alps were stunning. I could not take my eyes off them and spent a lot of the day just admiring the beauty. My camp last night was phenomenal with this vista of these majestic mountains and a superior valley below. The sunlight wrapped up all that nature into unbelievable beholdings.
I have a special affection for Slovenia because one of my favorite bands, Laibach, is from here. I've heard their music playing in my head all day today. Their heyday was years ago. They have always been controversial and the government, years ago, pushed them out of country because they poke fun of nationalism. But most of their work is parody. They have redone the whole Beatles, Let it Be record (except the title track), have covered Macbeth, a whole record of their own versions of National anthems for various countries, a disc called Jesus Christ Superstars and a disco, NATO record.
Today I have been though Vrabce, Senozece and now am in Postojna. The food is different, the language is very different, the prices cheaper, the feeling is a world away from Italy.
By Monday morning I should be in Croatia. I am heading towards the National Park that begins with a "P" and is famous for their lakes (map not handy). I saw pictures of it years ago and told myself, SOMEDAY. Well, that someday is soon. It is in the interior of the country near the north. I am not going to the coast.
Tomorrow begins week 12 (or as i now say counting in reverse, week 7). The countries are all smaller. I will go through them faster. In fact, it will be 9 countries during the rest of this leg. I have some trepidations about a few places further on but it's all just one day a time right now.
The Iraqui bicyclist I met told me Italy was so busy, the roads turmoil. That was the reason he got a bike, to get through it. He told me, once you get out of Italy and into Slovenia then "you are free". It has felt just like that.
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