Two Dishes But To One Table

Bosnia Trip (V)

IN HERZEGOVINA
When Bosnians hear you're American they give you a thumbs down and then say "Bush bad".  They sometimes partially retract this with a "Clinton good" addendum.
Another thumbs-up is given  for mentioning the name Tito, as in Josep Broz Tito.  Even better, show some image.   When I showed my Tito shirt in a bar, a 55 year old woman came over to kiss me on both cheeks.  She then showed me that her Nokia cell phone had the leader’s face on it as a screen saver.

A few days later, near the southern town of Stolac, I saw I-T-O in 20 foot tall letters on a mountain.  "Where's the missing T?" I gestured.  "Chetniks," the bar owner said," Chetniks dynamite." 

Stolac was 'cleansed' in the war and later riots occurred in 1999 because of the returning population of Muslims.  When I visited Stolac (pronounced "Stolats") on Sunday all seemed peaceful, even buccolic, although some healing of the populace is still ongoing.  In front of the bus station I saw a tearful reunion, two friends giving each other a big, long hug.  The bar owner who was giving me a tour of the square in his limited English narrated, "That man, Serb.  That man, Muslim.  Friends."

In more war stories, later that day, back in Mostar I chatted with a deli owner.  She said originally she was born along the river Drina but came to Mostar in the war.  "Walking.  Mountains.  Ten days.  Many Chetniks," she lamented.   

Bosnia Trip (IV) - Coming to the bridge in Mostar.

POSTED FROM BOSNIA-HERZEGOVINA
I promise not to write a bunch about  a war that has been over since 1995.  But...
Having arrived in Mostar, a wrecked city and site of the bridge tragedy of 1993, I have to say I feel like an ass.

All these years I was sad about Mostars awesome bridge,  destroyed so spitefully.

But the take-home lesson have learned here is that this whole place was smashed to bits.  Viciously smashed.  And not just smashed but the streets were ruled by  man-to-man house to house fighting.  The evidence is everywhere.  Most of the houses are STILL  peppered with hundreds and hundreds of bullet holes, even on the inside ceilings.  You can/t believe how much many rounds must have been discharged here.  Did you ever read about Stalingrad Russia in WWII?  It is the same here.  Mostar lived through an awful hell.   The bridge was the least of it.  The misery must have been unbelieveable.  And to what end?   Ask me  why I am a pacifist.

Oh  sons and daughters of Mostar!  There/s no more shooting in 2006, but Mostar is still messed up:  the West side of the river is all Croat, complete with its own checkerboard on the door police cars.  The East Bank is all Bosnian.  One son of a friend pointed out, "The only place in this town where Croatians and Muslims mix are the (excellent) disco clubs by the bridge.  There, nobody cares." 

The nationalistic logic is all still in place for an encore.   

Innocent, open ended question:  how is our nationalism in America different from the nationalism in the Balkans?

Bosnia Trip (III)

STILL IN SARAJEVO, BiH

I started the day alone but finished it packed hip to hip in a van of Italian idealists. Their charity mission in Bihac finished for now they had come to Sarajevo to see some things. Five boys, three girls, they invited me into their already packed hippy van. "We call it the Pussy Hunter."

We hit the gypsy market behind the hyperMart. What can you buy in an open field gypsy market? No charming souvenirs, that is for sure. "This is just an open air hardware store", I noted to one Italian girl. "Then you should look in the last alley," she said, "it is very gypsy." Indeed, every vendor in that part of the market was not so much merchant as pack rat. I went to one that seemed to specialize in scavanged electronic fragments. "Got an adaptor for this?" I gestured. (I had come on a vacation in Europe with no way to plug in my camera or PDA battery.) A 17 year old boy dug in his pile and came up with an adapter that looked good on one end but bad on the other. Two other gypsies came over to analyze the situation. We ended up with one guy producing a hacksaw, the other a pliers, and after 10 minutes and considerable swearing we had a workable adapter, albeit a little rough and electrically exposed around the edges. "Wow. Safety first," noted one Italian companion.

Overall the market was a field of toilet tanks, wrench sets, salvaged rope, pirated software, muddy phonograph records, tubs of tile adhesive, homemade booze in soda bottles, abandoned shoes organized by size filled with snow, washing machine eviscera. Some Italians got inexplicably engrossed with an antenna vendor. Better reconnaisance ability for their Pussy Hunting efforts? One bought the roof sign from a taxi. I bought a Serbian high school chemistry text.

Later we all drove out in the Mystery Machine to the tunnel in a field behind the airport, a significant siege site related to the war. Now a historical site, complete with guide and short video introduction, Sarajevans could only enter and leave the city through this homemade thing, a hand dug project, one km long, completed in 4 months. The tunnel passes under the airport runway, an unporotected no mans land during the seige of Sarajevo, the only way to bring in potatoes, mail, bullets. Before going into the tunnel we watched life in Sarajevo during the war, showing Snipers Alley and much more, a seemingly endless tape of vicious rocketing, shelling, sniping and phosphorous bombing "highlights" from 1993, a greatest hits of the JNA efforts to make the capitol of Bosnia part of Greater Serbia. It was Shock and Awe but from the recipients point of view, a vastly superior Army doing their best to "spread freedom" and "maintain resolve", Balkan style.

Bosnia Trip (II)

Thoughts on my BHai Brith missionary neighbors next to me in Sarajevo...

Dogpile never subsumed Google. I dont think BHai Brith will subsume Christ/Muhammed/Krish. In each case the original version has plenty of punch.Interesting to see that the BHai are so evangelic though.

Sarajevo! Are they here to prey (pray?) on the weak? Two of them are from Australia, one is from Sweden.All are young, cool, attractive.

Bosnia Trip (I)

The Rewards of Traveling Alone...

 

Today the trip started out as nothing but rough spots. All kinds of things happened that would bring down a group of travelers. Traveling alone, though, none of it was all that bothersome and in the end it was a great day.

 

This morning started out with setbacks.

 

Setback: Rainy day after New Years, most things closed. Damp fog and penetrating chill.

Setback: On paper, the chosen destination, the suburb of Ilidza looks idiotic. It would expend energy soliciting a companion to set out for there.

Setback: The Tram (electric streetcar), though free for some reason, is also naggingly slow. Think crosstown bus. I could beat this bus on foot dragging a dead body. The suburb is supposedly 8 km away still!

Setback: Tram ejects me and I see the terminus is the BiH equivalent of a trailer trash town, 16 year olds cruising the numerous coffee bars, adults lingering in betting parlors. If there were snow on the ground I am sure someone would be riding a Skidoo up and down Main Street (which is technically not called Main Street but rather Butmirska Cesta). Everything indicates a community where there/s nothing to do but drink, although there are admittedly almost no bars, leaving it somehow as a place even worse, a community where therećs nothing to do but smoke cigarettes and order coffee. So I have a seat and drink two coffees for 75 cents each (cappucino!). I leave a 50 cent tip.

Awesome: The field behind the bus terminal appears to be smoking! Closer inspection shows clouds of steam because it is laced with steaming creeks carrying almost-boiling water from thermal springs. I get down in the creek and it is super hot, smells sulfurous, tastes – interesting. (Remember, nil by mouth.) Creek edges, stones and entrained shopping bag jetsom are all caked in white mineral rime. It is a water-based version of LA County/s LaBrea Tar Pits. Which I love.

Setback: I bought an honest to God map, not just a free one from the tourist rack. As a rule of thumb I think a map isnćt worth a damn unless it is too big too remember how to refold it. And with map in hand I realize Source of the Bosne River (my arbitrary destination) is 3 miles away and the sun is setting.

 

Setback: In the drizzle I walk in the wrong direction. Twice. It is now totally dark out.

Awesome: The path is some really well constructed tree lined tunnel, mature Plane Trees arching dramatically overhead. And there are beautiful old electric lights along it. They7re beautiful because they look 70 years old but at the same time, none are burned out. The path is rail-straight and goes to infinity, a trippy exercise in perspective that seems to indicate I am entering The Secret Garden, Narnia, The Mines of Moria. The absurdly texture free convergence to a vanishing point makes it look like I/m walking in a non-swirling version of the tunnel in Dr Who. Are my steps even taking me forward? I can/t tell; visually, nothing is changing.

Weird: I want to walk on dirt near cement path but I am too scared. Finally around 6:00 I arrive at the base of a dramatically huge mountain and see a dramaticallz huge sign – MINES. Orange tape. Skull and crossbones signs. I stay on path.

Awesome: I am feeling way out of New York. I am feeling like it is a vacation.

Awesome: The springs are neat. And even though it is pitch black the grounds are open. An unbelieveable amount of water is emerging from the ground. It is like a decent size river appearing straight out of a hole in the ground. Really dramatic – water is everywhere. From nothingness, a river springing fully formed, like children from Zeus*s forehead.

Awesome: Like a fairy tale, there is a big well lit house. No cars. No sign of life. If I enter will a witch put me in the oven? It is not scary (not like the mine field) but it is beyond hoping that there is anything welcoming inside. But what do I find?  At the back of a big banquet hall, a waiter. And a friend keeping him company. They are apparently sitting. Just smoking. Not even a backgammon board between them.  It*s pitch black out, there are no people within several miles, and they seem to exist just for me. So I have two beers. And I try my phrasebook. „How are you? What is your name?“

Awesome: And on the way back I meditate by chanting the number of streetlights I have passed, some cross between Walking Meditation and The Mindfullness of Breathing. It is a VERY high quality, forty minute meditation.

 

So it was a really great day and it is the first day of the trip.

And let me make the obligatory but wonderfully truthful remark that "Everything is really cheap in Eastern Europe."  I am going to have a hard time spending all the money I brought.

Bought today: a punk t-shirt with a warped photo of Tito.

 Some photos of where I walked today:

Photo.

More Photos.

More Photos.

Final Photo.

(Above photos are not by me, obviously.  Thanks to people who posted them.)

Home In Michigan for Ten Days

Back home,
Roadnames seem less arbitrary,
The clouds look just right.

I sniff the air as knowingly as a dog.

In Michigan nobody thinks I have an accent, nobody thinks Michael Moore has an accent.

The Rochester sunset was so arresting today I had to jump off my bicycle to stare at the shadows and light.  Too reverent to photograph it I instead sat for twenty minutes trying to memorize it, me motionless, mouth agape, studying the sky like a mushroom eater.

Can Portugal rock?

Portugal Airways (T.A.P.) plays an all-Portugese-language rock show on their in flight audio program.  The bands sing in Portugese.  Here's what some of the groups sounded like.
1)  "Santos e Pecadores" - Lots of cheap keyboards and Sting effects.
2)  "Badlover e Misteria" - Badministrytribute would be a better label.  Irritating WaxTrax flashback.
3)  "Loto" - Fake Pet Shop Boys.
4)  "Micro Audio Waves" - Nice.  Laurie Anderson with The Flying Lizards.  Crazy sprockets music.
5)  "Sam the Kid" - Balanced between hard rocking and power pop.  Somewhat chipper. 
6)  "Cla" - Sounds (improbably) like a cross between numbers 4 and 5 above!  Imagine the Dandy Warhols forced to play their songs on analog synthesizers built by the Residents.
7)  "Da Weasel" -  That French/Puerto Rican style of rap using lots of 12-string acoustic guitar.

Crete VI

In ten days I didn't see a single "Greek Fisherman's Cap".

Crete Trip V

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On this trip I struggled as usual with how to pack the least amount of things possible.  One mistake was only taking the shoes on my feet and not packing a backup.  They became sweaty and could never dry out.  By the sixth day they smelled so bad that I was trying to find Lysol in the Greek supermarket.  I couldn’t take them off in the car because everyone in the whole vehicle could instantly smell them. 
On the other hand, something I almost left at home came to massive utility: a music player.  Just as a cheap doughnut doesn’t fully come into it’s own without a cup of hot black coffee, a mixtape of tunes doesn’t fully bloom until heard in a lonely place.  The music device paid for itself several times over.  A trip, by songs:

1.    Tossing and turning with jet lag on a $10 bunk with people coughing and snoring nearby I unzip my backpack for headphones and soon am nodding out to the Minutemen “Don’t Use Shower.”
2.    Sitting alone on top of a dramatic 45-foot castle wall at night I find company in They Might Be Giants “Nightgown of the Sullen Moon.”
3.    Staring for long minutes at beautiful, iridescent algae, swaying with the surf (albeit with someone’s dirty syringe floating by) and I love it all the more for Tortoise “Tin Cans and Twine”. 
4.    All alone, post-shower, pre-night on the town, pogoing around the Greek bunk room like a fool with Mudhoney “Touch Me I’m Sick”
5.    Very zombied out with boredom, fatigued, passing through customs, but buoyed by GBH “Give Me Fire.”

The tuneage was a vital spice.  I really recommend never leaving it behind on long trips.  With the headphones, the most simple or banal scene becomes a compellingly juxtaposed audio-video experience.  A lot of the most Greek scenes had no music to accompany them since my range of music taste is not very broad (see above songs) but the things that were very Greek didn’t need my golden oldies.  Sheep clogging a highway, or soccer fans absorbed in the 4-0 loss of Olympakos to Newcastle, or pensioners taking an 8 AM coffee near the Ottoman pump house, or a crane operator trying to figure out how to pluck a sailboat out of the harbor without hitting the high voltage lines. . . none of this needs any more sound than it is already making.  On the other hand, I did enjoy the contrast of watching five mustachioed old men painting a small boat while I listened to the five members of Wu-Tang Clan proclaim “Shame on the Nigga”.  As they debated strategies for fixing the boat’s tiller all I could hear was “Hut one, hut two, hut three HUT! Old Dirty Bastard, live and uncut . . .”

Crete Trip IV (long)

During my ten-day stay I formed tentative impressions of three cities on Crete.  Such casual research will really tell more about the observer than the observed but I offer it here anyway.  Here is a comparison of three cities on Crete:
--Agios Nickolaus
--Heraklio
--Hania

AGIOS NICKOLAUS – THE VISTA
Not charming.  This is developed for tourism.  There’s nothing to tell me I’m not in Mexico or Cuba.  There is a dramatic lake in the exact center of downtown.

AGIOS NICKOLAUS – THE PEOPLE
The people are lacking flavor, kind of small town.  Bored teenagers dominate the scene.  This is the Peoria of Greece.  The former US Air Force Base left a crassness here.  They are accustomed to serving foreigners and it feels just like that: they’re serving you.  It’s not exactly pleasant.  Mass tourism stole something from this place.

HERAKLIO – THE VISTA
Pleasing, sort of old.  It immediately looks like the E.U. but with a Greek twist on everything.  Looks like modern Turkey.  Huge Venetian walls from 1500 AD ring the downtown.  The waterfront has many cannon emplacements for killing Turks and Genoans.

HERAKLIO – THE PEOPLE
Urban, lively, modern.  The intelligentsia are in the cafes.  The number of good bookstores is amazing; they could call Iraklion ‘the city of books’.  It’s obviously a university town.  This is the Toronto of Greece.  The paradigm is “we are almost Athens”.  Life is (for Crete) very fast paced,  i.e. the lunch siesta is kept to a strict 3 hours and then back to work.  They’ve entered the 21st Century (or at least the latter 20th) in a healthy, legitimate way.  They have self-respect and treat foreigners as peers.  Orientalism is just a leit motif, Brussels and the E.U. are in the air.  I think the #1 getaway for locals is a weekend in Athens.

HANIA – THE VISTA
Orientalism abounds.  Minarets are everywhere.  One minaret even still has its crescent moon on the peak.  Lots and lots of public benches.  Many old 19th Century statues of Greek Patriots.

HANIA – THE PEOPLE
Men of all ages finger their prayer beads.  The mood is Asiatic rather than European.  Though the town is large you half expect an occaisional donkey cart to appear.  Though reasonably modern, they retain their traditions and it makes them beautiful.  There is supposedly a University here but I think the “town” dominates the “gowns”, unlike in Heraklio.  The year feels like 1960.  These people understand the West and can do the Western thing but everything is underpinned by their intact Hellenic traditions.  I think the #1 getaway for locals is a weekend back in their village.

But are my impressions accurate at all?  I welcome feedback.

Because as a traveler in faraway places, perhaps I only see aspects of my own home.  This is the case in Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities.  There comes a point when Kublai Khan suspects something is fishy about Marco Polo’s tales of far away cities and he challenges Marco.

“There is still one city of which you never speak,” the Khan said, “Venice.”
Marco Polo smiled.  “What else do you believe I have been talking to you about?  Every time I describe a city I am saying something about Venice.”