Tag castle

We arrived in Ljubljana, Slovenia’s capital, three hours after departing Zagreb, the capital of Croatia. The train was a lovely design with six seats to a cabin with a sliding glass door. We had an extremely friendly Croatian lady in our cabin who was visiting Ljubljana to lay flowers at her family grave plot. The train ride went quickly and the customs officials were extremely efficient and friendly, and we arrived without incident.

Once in Ljubljana, however, things took a nasty turn. The information center at the train station gave us a map and a “good luck!” wave as we walked out the door. It felt a bit odd at the moment but we set off with our bags in the direction indicated on the map towards our hostel. After a grueling walk (our bags now way around 50lbs each) we arrived in the embassy district to discover the map was wrong, and we were now in the outskirts of town without local currency to take a cab or bus, and with no idea where to go. I sat on the ground and took off my bag. A cat jumped out of the bushes next to me and sat on my lap, cheering me up, while Mike consulted the map from the info center and compared it with the already miniscule and incomplete map in the Lonely Planet book. There was nothing to do but attempt to follow main roads until we found signs for old town, and then ask around from there.

The walk was made more humorous by the sheer ridiculousness of it. Mike had his large backpack on his back, which has a red shell on it for waterproofing. On his front he had a smaller backpack that also had a plastic red shell, he looked like a man smashed between two giant ladybugs. I had my pack, and my camera bag and our books in my arms, so that between the two of us we had not one free hand. Perhaps because of our pathetic appearance, we were approached by two travelers who suggested we go to their hostel. Seeing as we had no other option whatsoever, we followed their apt directions and arrived in time to grab two bunk-beds in the 6 man dorm. The dorm had a kitchenette, so we dropped our stuff and went across the river to the shop to grab some fresh veggies to cook with our seemingly endless supply of ramen. Other tenants came and went as we ate, warmed up, and enjoyed the hostel’s atmosphere.

The next morning we walked around Ljubljana in the rain. For us it is hard to imagine any country in Eastern Europe without rain now. We walked up the hill overlooking the city to the Ljubljana Castle, parts of which date from the 15th century. We expected an ancient, Dracula-like castle shrouded in mist and mystery, but were shocked to find a very modern structure that has obviously been erected over the older buildings. In one of the towers there was a modern art exhibit, which was so confusing it left us a bit rattled. There was a chair in the corner which you could sit on while a screen before you showed a spiraling hole, as if you were always falling but never reaching the bottom. Across the tower was a TV showing a play of an old man positioning models to paint them, but never quite getting it right. In the center of the tower was a chandelier which had been lowered all the way to the floor so you were looking down on it. We didn’t stay long in the tower, obviously, but once we mounted the steps in the adjacent building we found another art exhibit full of neon nude women petting various animals. We followed signs to a National Geographic exhibit to find a basement room filled with pictures of animals in yellow frames, rounding the corner we found a circular room filled with lights shaped like worms that glowed just brightly enough to make it extremely creepy. We left the castle after that.

We saw several of the city’s highlight sites, including the dragon bridge and the Franciscan Church, all of which were enjoyable. Our train left at 3:20am. We would arrive in Venice, Italy, at 7am. No matter how we try to resist night transportation, the logic of it always outweighs the discomfort it comes with and we jump right aboard!

We took the night train from Sofia, Bulgaria, to the Serbian capital, Belgrade. We arrived before the city had fully awakened at 6am and had to wait for the luggage storage room to open at the train station before we could stash our bags, change our Bulgarian currency into Serbian cash, and have a quaint, train station breakfast. It was raining when we arrived and, in Mike’s words, “this is exactly what I thought Eastern Europe would look like, rain and all!”

We set off towards Old Town with a general plan of just walking around until we spotted something of interest. The rain came down heavier and heavier until the town was shrouded in a grey haze. In old town we set our sights on the Kalemegdan Citadel, which has withstood some 115 battles over the past 2300 years. As a direct result, the city itself has been razed to the ground over 40 times. Today the interior of the citadel no longer houses terrified people, but a lovely park complete with modern art and extensive seating. It looks out over the junction of the Danube and Sava rivers, which explains why it was such a contested area in antiquity. We stumbled upon the citadel’s military museum and decided to venture inside.
The military museum was a bit confusing since nothing was in English, but it did beautifully outline the entire history of former Yugoslavia in metal recreations of armor, wooden ships and uniforms. After walking through the maze of artifacts for over an hour, we came across the “modern era” section which included bits of an American stealth fighter shot down in 1999, complete with the captured pilot’s uniform and tactical gear, as well as a dangerous amount of weaponry. Outside the museum there was a row of brightly painted tanks, exploded ordinance, and cannons. Some of the military equipment was apparently very rare, and extremely overused, giving the citadel a sad and somber feeling.

We walked back into Old Town to find the national museum, but it was under construction so we wandered around the downtown alleys looking at the elegant shops and busy cafes. Belgrade’s bohemian street, once known for its relaxing and low-key atmosphere, is now a busy cobblestone lane stocked full of tourist trap T-shirts, overpriced pubs and quaint but expensive eateries. We slipped across the cobblestones in the downpour and walked around Old Town for several hours before heading to the train station.

There was no train Sarajevo, so we found a bus that would leave a bit later in the night. We bought bus tickets for the night bus, something we swore we would stop doing since it was exhausting. Nevertheless, traveling by night means at least we are not spending money on accommodation for the day! We ate dinner in town and walked around in the rain snapping pictures of bombed-out buildings that had been left as monuments to former wars, and gazing at the beautiful architecture of the city. As the sky turned dark we returned to the bus station and were amazed to discover we would be on a double-decker bus to Sarajevo, and our seats were on the top, in the very front row!

Shopping

Having arrived in Istanbul at 11:00pm, we were a little out of luck for transportation. We waited for the Metro and then took the trolley and after a long walk ended up in old town, where we were covered in sweat from hauling our 50lb packs all over town. We checked into the Sultan Hostel and crashed in the 30 bed dorm, which was full of the sounds of people sleeping on the inside, and people partying and drinking on the outside.

In the morning, we all awoke at 5am and bolted out of bed to the loudest call to prayer. The Aya Sofyia and the Blue Mosque, as well as countless smaller mosques in the area, all sounded off at different times between 5 and 6:00am, ensuring no one could stay asleep. We got out of bed and tiredly ate breakfast and planned out our day. We walked around and looked at the mosques, although a bit grumpily considering the wake up they had given us. In the afternoon we toured the Spice Bazaar and the Grand Bazaar, both of which far exceed their reputations. They were full of people screaming, “welcome to Istanbul, where are you from, friend?!” and trying to sell us anything from carpets to T-shirts to bananas to live leeches that clean your dirty infidel blood.

We had kebabs for every meal in Istanbul, so we grabbed a few for lunch near the Bazaar and walked around the Hippodrome and the Cistern before exploring Old Town’s back alleys and quaint little village-like streets. The day flew by quickly, as did the following day while we did laundry in the hostel, wrote in our journals and lazed around on the roof-top terrace overlooking the straights.

The next day we did a tour of the Palace overlooking the straights, which was unbelievably beautiful. However, we saw a few artifacts in the “treasury” that were a bit questionable. A hair from Muhammad’s beard, as well as one of his teeth. A sword from the prophet Daniel, and an arm (encased in gold) from the prophet John. Also swords from various other prophets (whom I didn’t know were armed) and various artifacts from the dome of the rock (which I didn’t know was that small) and a sundry other things that left us shaking our heads in wonderment and disbelief. We walked out and turned to one another and laughed. The highlight had been the staff of Moses, made of wood, that has somehow survived to this day. We probably missed out, but we skipped the harem, which they were charging an extra 15TL to see.

Our first few days in Istanbul were magical and flew by quickly, but it had been a while since we had been in a city, and we were shocked by the amount of people in the city and the craziness of the traffic.

Stalin's Head

Gori is a relatively small town nestled against a weak river with a small fortress resting on a hill in the center of town. Once the fortress served to protect the residents, now it is a minor attraction; the primary attraction in town is the Stalin Museum, built next to the remains of the home where Stalin’s mother and father lived with him for the first several years of his life.
We jumped off the bus from Tbilisi in downtown Gori, and went about finding a place to leave our bags so we could explore the town. Hotel costs were ridiculously high, but we knew of a home-stay that had bad reviews, but at least two beds available. We found the home-stay and dropped our belongings before searching for food.

We found one of the most amazing restaurants on the planet, I’m sure you’d agree. It was run by several men who also owned the place. Inside there were no decorations, just a bar with a marble counter-top and several tables you could stand around. The menu was only in Russian, but as one of the owners spoke a bit of English, he helped us order. “Plate of meat or plate of hotdog meat, or plate of cow meat.” We ordered plat of meat and were shocked when he slapped down a metal plate full of pork ribs, perfectly cooked. We gulped these down with our “plate of bread” which was a whole loaf of wheat bread. The only thing to drink on the menu was beer, and he made sure our cups were never empty. There were no women in the place, and all the town’s men had gathered for their ‘plate of meat’ and beer, and were happily bunched in groups all around the room chatting. Everyone was happy and introduced themselves, and the owner called an English-speaking friend on the phone to talk to us about Gori. When it came time to leave (after much beer and meat) they refused all payment attempts and invited us to climb to the church with them in the morning.

In the morning, needless to say, we were unfit to climb to a church of any sort. We pulled ourselves out of bed with so much effort and found that the home-stay was of disgusting quality, with damp beds and dirty walls—easily the worst place we’ve ever slept. We cleaned up and then climbed up the hill to the top of the fortress to look around. Gori is a small city, but a quaint one, and the view from atop the castle was well worth the early-morning hangover climb. We had a quick breakfast on Stalin Ave before heading to the Stalin museum. A group of four Marines from the USA were ready for an English-guided tour, so we tagged along. We were rushed from spot to spot, and all of us exchanged glances when she skipped a whole room called “collectivization.” It was a mixed-bag of history and lore, but some of the items from his personal collection were interesting, and the well-preserved home his parents raised him in has since been cased in marble outside the museum for all to see.

Having had enough of Stalin, we dropped by the “man bar” but our host from the night before was nowhere in sight. We waved at the patrons we recognized, and wondered if they ever left the restaurant at all. At the bus stop, we easily found the marshutka to Bjormi, and I fell asleep on the back bench of the van while a Georgian military kid in front of us played American music for our entertainment on his cell phone.