Kere's Landsphere

2009-12-22T11:16:00.000-08:00

Nostalgic for Sin

Whenever I have a chance to visit Hong Kong, I always look forward to the night. It’s not so much that Hong Kong has a great nightlife or anything. Rather, the aesthetics of the city undergo a transformation. The city becomes awash with lights. The towering skyscrapers flash and pulse like overgrown industrial fireflies, and the streets are bathed in the flickering cadence of thousands of neon signs.

These neon signs distinguish the character of Hong Kong’s night. Most are Technicolor beacons for restaurants and hotels, enormous electric Chinese characters hovering in the dark like bloated lexical ghosts. But the signs that catch my interest most are those that glow upon the streets of Wan Chai: the neon lights flickering above the ubiquitous girlie bars.

Wan Chai has a sordid history. It was a place of unspeakable tortures conducted upon the Hong Kong populace during the Japanese occupation of World War II. Later, and perhaps more famously, it became a hive of prostitution for American GI’s serving in the Vietnam War, as illustrated in such movies as The World of Suzie Wong. As a result, the name evokes images of immoral debauchery.

The Wan Chai of today is a much more mellow place. Many upscale foreign restaurants and bars crowd out the few straggling girlie bars, and one is more likely to encounter young Australian college students reveling upon the streets there than sailors looking for illicit sex. There are, of course, scores of prostitutes crawling the streets and discos there, and there are still girlie bars where scantily clad Phillipinas beckon customers into their sundry dens with pleas of, “Just one beer.” Yet, these girls of the night conduct their trade without much verve. They seem only to be going through the motions, like underpaid actors at some theme park delivering the same boring lines and motions night after night. They are but relics of a time when their trade was perhaps something more illicit, more exciting. And the neon signs buzzing above them are reminiscent of a disappearing time, like motel signs on Route 66 or the northern terminus of the Las Vegas strip. Wan Chai serves only as a slowly dying reminder of a time now dead; a time when, unlike today, cheap sex was actually considered immoral.

We live in a time after God, a time after such outdated notions of good and evil. In today’s social climate, the pursuit of casual sex is the norm, advocated to preteens on MTV and practiced unquestioningly by anyone under 40, single or not. American TV, the social barometer for the world’s conservative conscience, no longer seeks to educate the populace against adultery, doesn’t even try to question it, but merely uses cheap sex as a pretext for drama and situation comedy. Accordingly, the average party-goer not only goes to bars in pursuit of a one night stand, but is almost certainly guaranteed it, as much as they are guaranteed an overpriced Cuban beverage or a hangover the next morning. If any concerns arise in accord with these endeavors, they have only to do with extricating one’s erstwhile bedmate as soon as possible the next morning before breakfast, with perhaps a passing thought given to minor inconveniences like STD’s. Certainly, nobody questions whether or not casual sex is right anymore. It’s a physiological compulsion that belongs beyond morality, like eating or pissing. To confuse sex with morality is a confusion of the weak-minded or elderly. If nothing is immoral anymore anyway, how could something so natural as sex be? Animals do it, right?

And yet, perhaps, we as a world society have come to feel a pang of remembrance for those simpler days when morality governed our actions, and when sex was something actually considered taboo. Perhaps some miss the guidance, the structure those days provided. Perhaps others might feel some theological crisis. Yet, I suspect, even more just miss the thrill. There was a thrill to casual sex that existed before, a thrill that today’s libido-driven young partiers cannot know. To engage in something one “should not” do (providing the word “should” has anything to do with righteousness anymore, rather than probability) carried with it a timbre of excitement that only enhances the joy of something already stimulating. A secret, illicit pleasure, after all, feels more exciting simply because one believes it is more rare, and thus one is more special for the doing of it. Yes, it is my impression that we are entering into a time when people are nostalgic for sin.

And this is the appeal of Wan Chai. Like revisiting Disneyland as an adult, or revisiting the guilty pleasure of sugary children’s cereals for breakfast, there is a factor of nostalgic excitement one experiences walking down the streets of Wan Chai. Witnessing the miniskirted prostitutes smiling their young sickened smiles beneath lazy eyes caked with makeup, pupils abuzz with the pre-digital glow of the cartoonish neon signs blazing above (cartoonish indeed – one even promotes an image of that 1940’s cartoon idol Popeye!) one is taken back, back to a time when one was told – and even believed – that sex was naughty, and a time when one felt excited at the telling. Wan Chai allows one to recall how it felt to feel bad about sex, and the guilty joy that came from that badness. Of course, like the oversweet sensation of Captain Crunch on one’s tongue, the joy is short lived, replaced instead with a feeling of bloated nausea and, ultimately, boredom. It takes maybe two minutes before one turns to the Australian bars instead (after all, why would one in this day pay for casual sex when it is proffered even more liberally at any other bar in town, and for free no less?) Yet, for those two minutes, one feels like a kid again. Nothing like the sight of a coquettish, bored, and ultimately redundant prostitute to make you feel as though you have been catapulted back to a simpler time, a time before the fall of good and evil.

It’s enough to make you think: monogamy, why not?

2009-12-05T11:04:00.000-08:00

Vera

I have had cause of late to reconsider this blog. When I first started it, my idea was to create a kind of travelogue, an arena to share my travels with all and sundry, written with a vague photo-journalist voice muted with friendly distant soulless blog-speak. I deliberately decided to bleach this blog clean, keep it untarnished with any possible traces of my own personae. Why? Because, as the events of my life have shown me clearly, nobody really wants to know the real me: the dark and brooding thoughts that sometimes cloud my mind, the unconventional hopes and desires that sometimes offend and disturb the more normal (sane?) of my associations, the random philosophical ramblings that leave people walking away and shaking their heads with either pathetic empathy or frustrated annoyance. I am the proud possessor of a lifetime legacy of having pushed those closest to me away. Hence, I decided, to leave myself out of my blog. Better just to give you pretty pictures, no?

But then, I must ask, why should I do that? Why should I do that? Anybody can google info on Greek holidays, and probably learn much more than I could describe from my own limited excursions. Is that the purpose of my existence, and is that how I choose to utilize the internet, this dumping ground for each of our own personal self-eulogies? Is this how I want to be remembered: some random bland traveler?

I have decided then to share the real me, the real thoughts that flitter through my torpid brain. I may as well expose the heart of myself for posterity; even if I am remembered badly, i will be remembered.

But, at the same time, I don't want to be solely self-serving. I am thankfully past the immature stage of my life where all my thoughts are about myself. Thus, I would like to inaugurate this new phase of my blog by introducing you to one of the most special, inspiring, and beautiful people in have ever known: Vera.

I met Vera in Moldova several year ago. she immediately captured my attentions with the sheer force of her intrinsic beauty. But then I got to know who she is beneath the skin, and I was overwhelmed by the sheer force of her character. Obviously, Vera is an extremely beautiful woman, but she defies the stereotype by possessing a heart and soul that are definitively compassionate. Vera is a supremely caring individual who always puts others before herself. indeed, while many of her countrypeople choose to leave Moldova to seek their fortunes in a country that is not so poor and corrupt, Vera chose to stay and struggle through the hardships of the Moldovan lifestyle, all so her daughter could know her family. Vera is, moreover, a thoughtful and intelligent individual, who reads voraciously and pursues her ongoing education with vigor and enthusiasm. Vera is, without question, one of the most outstanding individuals I have ever met, and a great source of inspiration for me personally. She reminds me of the importance of compassion, selflessness, and a life devoted to higher ambitions than self-serving good times. She is a gorgeous woman who could use her natural gifts to catapult her towards a life of material accumulations, but she lives instead just to make her daughter happy and to edify her own character. she reminds me, with the example of her life, how beautiful really is humility and selflessness. It is a lesson I sorely have needed to apprehend in my own life, and I am thankful to have such a dear friend as Vera to look to and remember what is really important. She is one of those rare women who, though amazingly beautiful outside, is actually more beautiful inside, and thus I - just as anyone who knows her - cannot help but love her.

So, I celebrate Vera. She inspires me to better myself with the example of her life, and I think of her often when I am feeling overwhelmed by self-pity and remember that, really, what oneself feels doesn't matter anyway, not compared to how those in your life feel because of you. I strive only to adhere to this principle, and I thank Vera - and those like her whom I have known: my mom, Ana, and many more - who always put the needs of others before their own. Thank you all for living life properly, and reminding me that there is a better way.

2009-10-03T20:30:00.000-07:00

Guilin

My brother Matt came to visit me here in China last week, and this proved the perfect opportunity to go explore Guilin. Guilin is an area made famous by these tall pillars of stony mountains that shoot up into the sky from about the winding Li River.

The town itself is pretty nice, if a bit too concrete, but provides the perfect staging area for a trip downriver to Yangshuo, a popular backpacker/hippie destination. So, after navigating the hassles of hiring a boat (we missed all the big lumbering cruiseboats and so had to charter a speedboat, which actually was only a bit more expensive and got us to Yangshuo much faster) we headed to Yangshuo.

Once there, we enjoyed a couple smaller river trips on long bamboo rafts, hiked up a mountain to see "Moon cave", and otherwise made touristy fools of ourselves.

The whole area is beautiful and peaceful, a welcome calm compared to the big city vibe of Hong Kong and Shekou. You feel like you're living in one of those old Chinese scrolls with the tall mountains rising from the clouds. Can't wait to go back!

2009-10-03T08:20:00.001-07:00

Hong Kong

I have just moved to China, which is both a good thing and a bad thing. One of the marks on the bad side of the list is that blogspot is blocked in China! Yes indeed, the Chinese authorities are afraid of their populace being exposed to any ideas beyond those dictated by the government itself. After all, if people began using their own sense of judgment to decide the veracity of what they are being told, then the Chinese people might begin thinking for themselves! And no self-respecting communist regime wants that.

Despite the whole censorship thing, however, my little spot in China - Shekou - is a pretty nice place to live. Full of restaurants, bars, and shopping malls! Plus, Hong Kong is only an hour away by ferry. And thankfully, I can blog in Hong Kong! Thus, what I am doing now.

So, I give you pictures of Hing Kong! Hong Kong is just fantastic. A bustling metropolis that buzzes with character. It has shopping, night clubs, wierd little streets full of stores filled with wierd dried up things, adn awesome dim sum! It's such a cool place - what am I doing here typing? I'm gonna go out and enjoy Hong Kong! :)

2009-06-04T06:28:00.000-07:00

Spring Break in the Balkans

As I'm leaving this intriguing peninsula with its mountainous terrain and rather obliquely developed cultures this summer, I decided to use spring break as an opportunity to try and cover as much of it in one go as I could. Hence, I rented a car and endeavored to explore seven countries in nine days. As the roads in the Balkans are notoriously hazardous - single lane alleyways of torn asphalt weaving around gaurdrailless mountaintops with rumbling semis around every bend - the trip was as harrowing as it was adventurous. But thanks to Red Bull and my Ray-Bans, I finished the loop in more or less one piece. Let me share...

The trip began in Podgorica, Montenegro where I unhappily reside. The first leg of my journey was to Belgrade, Serbia. I decided to go by train since you can just park your car on the train, sleep overnight in a sleeping car, and wake up in the morning refreshed and ready in drive - in theory at least. Though the sleeping berth was relatively painless, and the border guards awoke me at night with only a mild degree of disdain for my non-Serbianness, the car had been parked on the train backwards. Though this could easily have been due to the simple ineptness of the Montenegrin rail staff, I somehow suspected that it was a punitive act against me. There had been in Podgorica, the evening of my journey, the biggest event in recent Montenegrin history: Italy was playing soccer against Montenegro in the Podgorica stadium. The rail staff was, then, irked by me for disturbing their great cultural moment by actually making them come to the train station and do work. Heaven forbid. Yet, though backing the car out of the train was an exercise in frustration, I made it out with nary a scratch, ready to begin my voyage.

As Belgrade really is a city for the night (some of the best clubs in the Balkans are there) I didn't see much point in sticking around. Thus, as soon as I was carbound, I kept on going, northwards to the Romanian border. Once there I had a choice: the long scenic route through the mountains, or the quick flat route through the plains. Momentarily forgetting what part of the world I was in, I chose the mountain path. This was, if not really a mistake, at least a gaff on my part. Mountain routes in the Balkans translate to treacherous winding lanes where one spends the entire journey, not appreciating the pretty scenery, but clenching the steering wheel white-knuckled as one weaves around slow, lumbering trucks into the other, oncoming lane of traffic, generally avoiding countless head-on collisions by mere inches. Fortunately, I picked up hitchhikers to make the time go by. Yes, already on the first day of my trip, I was going nuts.

Fortunately, the route I chose did take me through some very nice parts of Romania. My first stop was in Sibiu, a very pleasant mountain town replete with old buildings and a grand public square. I stayed long enough to buy a fried fish burger and then hit the road again.

I drove all evening and through the night, then, until I reached Bucharest. the road took me into a really spectacular valley in the Transylvania mountains, an experience I was not able to enjoy too fully as it grew dark. I am almost inclined to return to Romania just to spend more time in these mountains - they really are breathtaking.

Finally I made it into Bucharest. Now, having lived in Moldova, I thought I knew Bucharest reasonably well. I knew which hotel I wanted to stay in and the general highlights of the city. I was not, however, prepared for what an insane place Bucharest is to drive in! Imagine a grid system, and then imagine the exact opposite, and that's Bucharest. After driving around for a couple hours I finally made it to my hotel, at 2 in the morning, and slept loglike.

the next day I was able to enjoy Bucharest more properly. I met my friend Tanya, one of my old students from Moldova, and she and her friend showed me the sights and sounds of the city. The amusement park was a delight (though not really as life-threatening as those in Moldova, sadly) and the Chinese food was, at least, not typical Balkan fare. Good times!

In the car the next morning I was torn between heading north to Moldova or south to Bulgaria. I allowed fate to make the decision for me - as I couldn't figure out the roads anyway, I just drove along one until it dumped me out of town, a direction that wound up being south. Bulgaria it was, then.

Bulgaria was really a pretty nice country, and one I am sorry to have missed for all these years in the Balkans. Not having learned my lesson well enough the first time, I again decided to take the long and mountainous route through the country. This road, happily, took me through the town of Plovdiv. With a picturesque castle set high above a valley, Plovdiv was a scenic spot to take a break.

By evening I had arrived in Sofia. Another nice city, Sofia, boasting wonderful architecture, very nice restaurants, and another insane road system. Worth a trip!

After a nice night in Sofia enjoying the local folk music at what was perhaps the strangest club I've ever been in (Rows of tables set up banquetlike with musicians on stage that occasionally came down to stand in what seemed like an empty fountain so that the waitstaff could through fistfulls of napkins on them while the crowds jiggled their hips on the tables to the music) I was all set to begin my voyage. next stop: Macedonia.

Now, I had fully intended to stop in Macedonia. However, two factors prevented my doing so. One was the elderly hitchhiker whom I picked up just across the border who, it turned out, wanted a ride to the exact opposite end of the country. The other factor was the road. Though Macedonia is one of the most mountainous countries in the Balkans, this road I got on was amazing - so wide and comfortable and smooth. I just couldn't get off it, mesmerized as I was by blinding speeds upwards of 80 km/hr. I just wove along this strip of exotically unpocked asphalt, allowing my hitchhiking guest to prattle on in his language (Bulgarian, I think) like a radio without dials. eventually, I deposited him in his little village, wherein he tried to offer me an electric shaver for my troubles (I politely declined) and that was Macedonia. Next: Greece.

Northern Greece was really the main objective of this little voyage. The hundreds or thousands of kilometers before this was just prelude. So, I slowed the rate of my lightning tour and really let myself enjoy the remainder of my trek.

My first night was in Thessaloniki. This is a thoroughly modernized town that has yet managed to keep its ancient history preserved and incorporated into the terrain of its daily life. The town's most famous monument is the White Tower, but I was most impressed by a strip of ancient Greek ruins that cuts through the city's center, around which many young punks and alternakids hang out and eat crepes. Tres cool, especially for the Balkans.

After a nice time in Thessaloniki, then, I headed along the coast to Mount Olympus. Mount Olympus was something of a pilgrimage for me, mired in my classics studies as I fancy myself to be, and thus I was ready to be inspired by the sense of holy mystery that had conjured to the minds of Ancient Greeks so long ago the notions of Zeus, Hera, Athena and the like. Of course, I had learned on my last trip to Greece last summer to be circumspect of such ambitions. The era of the ancients has long been subsumed by other epochs in Greece's history. Yet, coming to Olympus, I was rewarded with such a sublime and spectacular mountainscape that I could truly understand how it had given rise to such timeless myths. The mountain is a series of jutting and falling peaks, collected about hidden chasms and ravines, the entirety of which was obscured in blanketing puffs of cloud. Olympus was a mountain that truly seemed to reach the heavens.

At Olympus' base I stopped at a singular collection of ruins at a site called Dion. Though these ruins were slighter in scale than those in Athens or Delphi, what made them really stand out was how they were incorporated together with the natural beauty of the area. Small streams trickled between the columns, and flowers bloomed at the feet of the statues there assembled. Dion was magical.

If you look closely, you can even see minnows in the pool

I then drove towards Olympus. Along the way I was struck by an amazing sight: just as I reached the mountain, fields dotted by thousands of the most colorful and exotic flowers I have ever beheld. I spent a good hour just running amongst the flowers, letting them pose for my camera.

Happily intoxicated by floral beauty as I was, I continued to roam about Olympus, enjoying the playground of the gods.

Sadly, it came time for me to leave this fantastical mount. I waved goodbye to the Olympians on their nest and drove on.

That evening I reached Meteora, and after a night's rest at a very homely hotel I was able to explore. Meteora is another incredibly scenic sight in Northern Greece. Enormous rocks serve as roosts for a number of small monasteries built upon their craggy bluffs. One can feel the appeal of climbing these boulders in order to transcend the earth and all its worries, to just hide amongst the clouds and consider God.

After scaling the heights of the monumental boulders for a morning, I was ready to continue my trip. After coursing through the mountains (some of which were high enough to be wrapped in clouds and blanketed in snow - dangerous if beautiful combo for driving) I arrived in Zagori National Park. This was a pleasant enough escape that boasts quaint little villages scattered amongst a number of pretty, if ultimately unimpressive mountains. The one natural feature of Zagori that is really exhilarating, though, is the Vikos Gorge, a frighteningly deep canyon that falls quickly away to a distant trickle of a river far below.

After driving about Zagori I then headed down from the mountains and headed for Albania. I made it through the border that night, picked up another hitchhiker (I must have accrued some seriously good karma from this trip, eh God?) and made it to Gjirokaster that night. Gjirokaster, in addition to an impossible name, also boasts a fascinating fort atop its hilly peak. In the morning I could see the misted valley stretching far and away below as I visited the fort and took in its sights, most especially an old NATO plane that had crashed there and was thought, in the heyday of Albanian panic, to be the precursor to an invasion. Ah, Albania! At least your paranoia has left us with all those cute little bunkers dotted across your hillsides.

The subsequent drive up to Tirana was one of the most beautiful I experienced on the entire journey. So beautiful in fact that I came down with a massive case of dizziness and nearly drove off a cliff. Woo-hoo!

That evening I made it to Tirana, where I got to see my good friends Travis and Amy. We wandered about the city some the next day. That weekend, Tirana was setting up for a big to-do to celebrate the fact that Albania was poised to join NATO. Quite a big leap from the days of freaking out over NATO planes with engine trouble. The banners declared that it was a "miracle of democracy." Well, that might be stretching it. Still, pretty cool.

Finally, after spending time in Tirana, I was poised for the return trip to Montenegro. Another beautiful drive through the floral-coated mountains, this time replete with all those cute little bunkers. The trip was, though exhausting, a great way to explore this corner of Eastern Europe, my accidental home - frustrating and spectacular as it has been - for the past four years.

2009-05-07T06:37:00.000-07:00

Moldova: Aftermath and Easter

The burnt parliament building

The recent riots in Moldova have been largely forgotten by the media, if they were ever reported in the first place. While a voting scandal of this magnitude and the subsequent burning of a national parliament building in any Western European country would have been headline news around the world, Eastern European countries - and little Moldova in particular - are largely ignored.

This is very unfortunate, as stability in Eastern Europe is essential towards realizing stability for all of Europe and normalizing relations between Europe and Russia. Sadly, from what I saw when I visited Moldova at Easter, the degree of corruption perpetrated by Moldova's governing communist party has entrenched the country in a legacy of poverty, depression, and hopelessness that will affect Moldova for years to come.

The mood in Chisinau, only two weeks after the demonstrations, was one of dour depression. Everyone seems to have given up hope. As my friend Corina put it, "We're tired of fighting anymore." many of the discos were closed or empty, and talk of leaving the country was on everyone's lips.

Why this feeling of hopelessness?

Allow me to recount the events of the demonstrations, including the details provided by the people I talked with. Several weeks ago, Moldova had parliamentary elections. In previous elections, the communist party had often won most of the votes. One reason cited for this has to do with the elderly. Older voters remember how, during the days of the USSR, they were guaranteed a monthly income. These days, now that capitalism reigns, the elderly are given small stipends (often about $60 a month) by the communist party. While this is not enough to live on, it is still a system of making an income that the elderly are familiar with. thus, they vote for the communists out of a sense of security and nostalgia.

Unfortunately, despite giving the elderly pocket money, the communist party has done nothing else good for Moldova. The president of Moldova, Vernon - a former KGB member - is a renowned crime boss whose son has stolen a number of successful Moldovan companies by planting false criminal evidence in their homes and making them flee the country. Additionally, the Molovan government under communist rule has a record of stealing funds given to the country by various NGO's, the members pocketing this money for their own ends. Essentially, the communists a re nothing more than a gang of criminals who use Moldova to further their own greed.

The Moldovan people have long known this. Indeed, government in Moldova has never been very efficient, not since its liberation from the USSR. However, at this last election, people hoped for a change. the recently elected mayor of the capital, Chisinau, is not communist, and many people thought that the rest of the country would also turn away from the communists as well. People hoped that the elections would at least give them a voice calling out for change.

Unfortunately, the communist government stifled this voice.

The accounts of voting fraud committed by the communist party are legion. Thousands of dead voters apparently rose from their graves to vote communist. People living abroad in Italy and Romania (many of whom left to work abroad because the communist party has made life in Moldova so difficult) apparently all voted communist on their absentee ballots. Communists even came into hospitals for the mentally ill and made them stamp "communist" on the voting forms. The acts of fraud are so flagrant, clearly the communists did not try to hide the fact that they had stolen the election. They just didn't care that anyone knew. They just wanted power, by any means necessary. As a result, the communists won over 60% of the vote, enough to allow them to rewrite the constitution.

Although Moldovans traditionally value peace and often do not stage demonstrations when confronted by political corruption (a tenancy the communists were probably banking on) this year the Moldovans decided to protest. Thanks to Flickr and Facebook, a call went out amongst the young and angry to rise up and protest. Thousands of Moldovan youth heeded the call and demonstrated against the communists before the parliament building.

Unfortunately, the communists were ready for them. As media interviews and various blog entries have proved (like this: http://savemoldova.blogspot.com/2009/04/comunist-conspiracy.html) the police hired people to act as instigators of violence. The instigators embedded themselves into the ranks of protesters and became violent, throwing rocks at the parliament building (placed there, some have said, by the police as well) and then looting and burning the building as well. many of the younger, more excitable members of the crowd joined the instigators and began attacking the parliament building as well. After all, when one sees others acting with justified outrage and violence, it is hard not to get caught up in the passions of the moment.

Another view of the Moldovan Parliament

Unfortunately, the police had laid their trap well. As soon as the violence started, the police swooped, arresting people indiscriminately - those who were engaged in the looting and those who were just standing in the crowd as well. Even in following days, using photographic evidence, the police came barging into university classrooms to arrest those who had been at the demonstrations. People were tried and sentenced without lawyers present, and several were killed during the interrogation process. Even while I was there, some parents still had no idea where there children were or if they were still alive. There were, of course, subsequent plans for demonstrations. One was attended by older Moldovans to show their solidarity with the young and disprove the communist's notion that the riots were merely acts of teenage rebellion and not to be taken seriously. But, as people were still afraid of the instigators, many did not show up to the demonstrations and the protests ended. The streets swarm with police, and - though everyone says "Down with the communists!" in private, few dare to make these feelings public. No one else wants to be arrested, tortured, or killed.

Not surprisingly, none of the instigators (who can be seen on the front lines in photographs taken of the event) were ever arrested, despite how many non-violent protesters were.

Of course, despite the facts, the communists have made up their own story. They claim that it was Romanian spies who hired the instigators. As a result, Moldova dismissed the Romanian ambassador and closed off diplomatic ties with Romania. As the communists have largely been bedfellows of Putin's Russia, despite the fact tat the majority of Moldovans are ethnically Romanian, this was clearly a maneuver to ally Moldova more strongly with Russia. However, Romania retaliated as well. Romania announced that it would grant a Romanian passport to anyone whose grandparents or great-grandparents had been Romanian (which would include anyone whose family had been in Moldova while it was part of Romania in the period of Moldova's independence from Russia in the early part of the 20th century)and that the passport could be processed in mere weeks.

Not surprisingly, many people I talked to while in Moldova either planned or entertained the idea of getting a Romanian passport and leaving the country. It's not that they do not like their country, but after a lifetime spent putting up with a corrupt government and the consequent poverty and lawlessness in the country, most people have just had enough. They are ready for a better life, and are convinced that they will not have it as long as they stay in Moldova. Sadly, they are probably right.

An orthodox church on Easter

People standing before the church on the night of Easter

Enjoying a delicious Easter meal

So, my time in Moldova was bittersweet. I saw great friends and had fun nights dancing at the discos and drinking good Moldovan wine and cognac. The weather, too, was fantastic. Springtime, and Easter especially, is traditionally a particularly pleasant time in Moldova. The trees and hills in the countryside are adorned with flowers and blossoming trees, and everyone is excited by the promise of warmer weather ahead. Easter, too, is a special occasion, where people go to church all night, stand and listen to a sermon, and in the morning the priest comes around and blesses the baskets of food the people have brought with them with sprinkled holy water. Afterwards, the people take the blessed food home and have a huge family feast. It should be a happy, familial, and joyous occasion.

Sadly, this Easter, joy was in short supply in Moldova.

On the right, selling Easter Bread for the holiday. On the left, evidence of the new swarms of police everywhere in the city.

2009-04-15T06:31:00.000-07:00

A More Cultured London

This is a follow up to my previous, similarly belated post on my New Year's trip to London. My lethargy is dissipating with the rise of Spring, apparently.

Now, usually when I go to London I manage to visit the Tate Modern and the National Gallery, and this is about the extent of my cultural intake. Otherwise, I'm drinking it up in pubs and bars; shopping at Camden Market; making a pig of myself in Chinatown, on Indian food, and on fish and chips; and otherwise being a total hedonist. And, on this trip I did all these things as well. But, I did manage to make my trip slightly more cultured this go around.

Museums:
The Tate Modern hosted one of the better installations in the turbine hall that I've seen, namely a rather creepy, sci-fi installation by Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster called "The Unilever Series." This installation consisted of, amongst other things, grossly oversized objects, some representational and some not, that seemed to play at the edges of one's child's subconscious and hearken one's most primordial fears. A large copy of a cat's skeleton, a strange amorphous assemblage of iron-wrought blobs, and a massive, spiderlike sculpture that soared to the heights of the space bespoke of wonder-slash-terror with just the right edge of mystery and playfulness. Fun exhibit! They also had a fantastic Rothko exhibit, including the series of works usually on the permanent display that are best seen in dim light.

"The Unilever Series"

At the Saatchi Gallery there was a very interesting exhibit of new Chinese Art. Perhaps it's the oppressive nature of contemporary Chinese culture that inspires so many young Chinese artists to break out and express themselves through art. Some of the works were truly original and inspired, leading me to believe that China may be on the forefront of the new wave of contemporary art. (Though I wonder how much of that art can actually be seen in China itself!)

Theater:
I've never actually seen a play in London before. I had really been missing out! I saw two productions this time, each of which was breathtaking and had a stellar cast.

The Royal Shakespeare Company offered a magnificent production of "Hamlet," starring David Tennant and Patrick Stewart! Now, not only are these two men incredibly gifted actors, but as a sci-fi fan myself I was utterly thrilled to be able to see both these actors perform live. Now, for the longest time, David Tennant had been out with a back problem. But one day I was walking by the theater and found out he was back, playing the lead role of Hamlet! Without hesitation, I chose to wait for hours at the stage door in the hopes of gaining a return ticket (the play was, unsurprisingly, sold out). Gladly, I was not disappointed! I had a wonderful seat for what was a wonderful play. No, a superb play! No, a... Let me just put it this way: After seeing this production of Hamlet, I felt like I never wanted to see another dramtic thing ever again, the acting was all so perfect.

David Tennant after "Hamlet"

However, I did see another play, namely Drury Lane's production of "Oliver!" The selling point for this production was that it starred, in the role of Fagin, Rowan Atkinson! Mr. Atkinson easily stole the show, his Mr.Bean-esque brand of humor muted but still inspired enough to capture every scene he was in. I saw this production with my mom, which was quite special since she has always loved "Oliver." We even reserved a table at intermission to have dessert! The production itself was top notch. I will surely see more plays next time I am in London!

Mom enjoying dessert at "Oliver!"

Pub Crawl:
Now, a pub crawl may not seem like a very cultural outing, but it all depends on where you go - and who you are with! One of my hosts, Richard Chinn, is something of a self-made expert on London's history and was kind enough to take me on a tour one day of some of the most historic pubs in London. Most of these were found on the East End, an area once renowned for its criminal element though now becoming completely yuppified. It was fascinating to go to these places and imagine what this part of London once was like: boats from distant lands crammed together against the shores of the Thames, criminals and cutthroats swaggering about the crowded, dirty streets, and justice - in the form of hanging judges who strolled leisurely down the river, tried and hanged their suspects, and then moved on - was really very interesting. Plus, beer! Here are some of the places we stopped on our crawl:

The Prospect of Whitby, dating from 1543

Inside The Prospect of Whitby

The East End/Docklands today - once it was a lot different!

The Town of Ramsgate, another of Hanging Judge Jeffrys' favorite establishments, located right where the gallows used to be in fact!

The George, where legend tells (or at least my guide) that travelers a la the "Canterbury Tales" would begin their pilgrimages. Even Charles Dickens used to drink here!

My host enjoying a hot cider at The George

And now for something a little different:

That's the new and "improved" Intrepid Fox, once a punk rock landmark in Soho, now relocated and - well - just not the same. Ah, the more things change...

One thing that makes London great is the incredible variety of things to do there. One can go for the clubs or the galleries, the shopping or the history, and never run out of new experiences. It's a destination worth going, not just for a visit, but for a lifetime.

I was sad to leave London, but can't wait for my next trip!

Flying back to Montenegro

2009-04-13T06:31:00.001-07:00

Chisinau's Burning! My Perspective on the Moldova Riots

As many of you know, I spent over two years in Moldova. While the country certainly had its problems, I found my time there to be quite rewarding. I made many wonderful friends and was rewarded with a unique insight into what is a fascinating culture in many ways. The recent outbreaks of riots following the elections, in which the communist party won over 60% of the votes - by most accounts, fraudulently - was, for me, at once surprising and wholly expected.

Since gaining independence, Moldova has remained controlled by the rich and elite. To say the country is corrupt is an understatement. Corruption defines nearly every aspect of life. Schoolteachers regularly expect bribes as a determination of children's grades, and the police seem to exist solely as an institution for bullying and money-taking.

By and large, the rich and powerful - since the fall of the USSR - have been members of the Russian speaking minority. They maintained their status since the fall of the Soviet Union and have strived to maintain that status ever since. Worse, the Russian minority holds to the view that they still belong to some avante guarde of Russian imperialism. They seem to believe that, so long as they stay true to the "motherland" and keep Moldova as Russian as possible (which, to them, means being communist) that some day Russia will reward their efforts by embracing Moldova once again and bringing the country back into the Russian fold. To this end, most of the media - controlled of course by Russian nationalists - is in Russian or, worse, from Russia itself. Hence, a Stalin/Putin communist mandate is driven into the minds of the population, even in the most remote of villages. For the Moldovans, then, to elect the communist party is expected. The communists control the media, which means the communists control what many Moldovans think and believe. It was, then, no surprise that the Moldovans elected the communists into power yet again. What was surprising was the backlash against these results.

The protests and demonstrations in Chisinau were the first of their kind in this fledgling country. Thousands of youths stormed the streets, some of whom even became violent and ransacked the parliament building. The question is not: Why did they do it? The reasons are self evident. The communist party manipulated the votes, registering thousands of dead people's names to bolster the numbers of votes they received. When elections are so clearly manipulated, it is quite common for the population to rise up against the State and demand justice. No, the question here is: Why now? The thing is, this is certainly not the first time that the communists have rigged the votes. As noted above, corruption is rife within Moldova, and this is certainly true within the election process. No one would be surprised to learn that the elections were handled unfairly. Indeed, it would surprise people more to learn that the elections had been fair. So, the Moldovans certainly did not protest because of the novelty of a corrupt election. What, then, was the cause? Why did they protest this time and not in previous elections, protest so strongly in fact that the demonstration became a riot?

First of all, it should be understood that, in the past too, people were angry at the communists and were often disappointed by the election results. Here, by "people" I mean those who are educated and intelligent enough to see beyond the Russian propaganda of the media and who have a more worldly outlook. These people, although they live in a small and rural country, are by no means a minority. for the most part, these people are citizens of Chisinau where approximately one quarter of the country's population lives. By "people", too, I do not mean only Romanian-speaking people. While Romanian-speakers are generally more antagonistic towards the communist party than their Russian-speaking counterparts, there are plenty of Russian-speakers who denounce corruption and want to live in a fair and free Moldova. So, by "people" I mean simply those Moldovans who are aware of what is going on in their country and are tired of the corruption in their government. These people have long been fed up with the depression, corruption, and poverty that prevails in their country and want a change, a change that they know the communist party will not give them. Indeed, as communist president Voronin often stands in the way of progress, pocketing state funds and allowing Moldova to remain depressed to better serve the interests of his Russian masters, the communist party seems to stand in the way of progress. So, for many years, people have been unhappy with the communist party and have been disappointed every time they won the elections. So, again, what changed this time? Why this time did people take to the streets in protest?

For one thing, Moldovans had recently begun to believe that change was in the air. In the last mayoral election in Chisinau, non-communist Dorin Chirtoaca was elected to the seat in what was a surprising - and welcome - break from the normal course of corruption that prevails in the country's politics. This was seen as a sign of hope for many Moldovans. They believed that, finally, the people's voices were being heard and that the country was moving away from the communist ideals of the past. For the communists to have won such a surprising majority of the election this time around, then, was a shock. Many assumed, even if the communists did win, they would win by a much smaller percentage than in the past. After all, one quarter of the country had elected a non-communist mayor. For the communists to win over 60% of the votes, then, was seen not only as an obvious sign of corruption, but as a slap in the face of the progress many Moldovans were anticipating. Their hopes, which they had been waiting for and counting on for so long, were dashed by the communists. It is no surprise, then, that after these elections the Moldovans were even more angry than before and were perhaps more willing to take to the streets. They had, after all, proved that their votes could matter with the mayoral elections, and they were not about to have that recent change in fortune taken away from them now.

Another reason for why the protests happened this time had to do simply with the possibility for organizing such a protest. As noted above, for a long time the media has been controlled by the communists in Moldova. Certainly, the media would do nothing to help organize such demonstrations. However, these days - as with much of the world - Moldova is better connected. Online sites such as Facebook and Twitter were responsible for rallying many of the protesters together, and cellphones were used when internet service was cut off. The recent expansion in internet and cellphone access by Moldovans allowed them something they never had before: a free media by which to share information and call for action together. Of course, it is no surprise that the communist government continues to block Facebook and other sites. The government knows it is in the wrong, and wants to oppress its people and the truth as much as possible in order to maintain its corrupt, illegitimate power. To this end, the communists and their Russian masters present ridiculous excuses for what caused the recent protests. For example:

* Romania incited the riots in order to take over the country [“We know that certain forces from Romania masterminded these riots,” President Voronin said, according to the Interfax news agency. “Romanian flags which were planted on state buildings in Chisinau prove this.”] As a refutation to this claim, see http://savemoldova.blogspot.com/2009/04/comunist-conspiracy.html

* That some insidious masterminds had manipulated the Moldovan children against their own country [“The organizers of the worst crime in the history of the Republic of Moldova are again preparing to use our children to stage riots in the government’s office on Friday and Sunday,” Prime Minister Zinaida Greceanii said.]

* That President Obama of the USA organized these protests [according to Russian political scientist Aleksander Dugin]

These excuses, of course, are all nonsensical accounts meant to detract from the real issue at hand: the Moldovan people are tired of being treated as second class humans, not only by the rest of the world, but by their own government, and they are not going to stand for it any more.

And this is the real reason why the protests happened now: because the sentiments of the Moldovan people had finally reached their boiling point, and the Moldovan people are not going to take any more. And this is why, ultimately, no matter what the communists do they cannot hold onto their power much longer. They can't blame the young and turn the country's sentiments against them. (In fact, after the protests, high school and university teachers were all forced to sign a document saying they would prevent students' protests. In response, a crowd of 3,000 older Moldovans showed up to protest in Chisinau on Sunday. This is clearly not a generational issue.) They can't close the borders to Europe and cut off the internet, because these actions will do nothing to curb the sentiments of the people living in Moldova. And they cannot blame the outside world - Romania or Ukraine or the USA - because the only reason the Moldovan people are sick of the communist party is because of the corruption within the communist party itself. The Moldovan people, long regarded as peaceful "cows" who would take whatever suffering they were given, have finally risen up. And there is nothing that the communist party can do now about it, and no matter what propaganda they spin or what oppressive measures they take, the communists' days are numbered.

These protests happened, as protests everywhere always happen, because the Moldovan people have spoken: They will not take the lies, corruption, or incompetence of their government any longer. They will rise above.

2009-04-08T07:02:00.001-07:00

England's Lake District

Meeting my mom by the Tower Bridge

I have once again fallen behind in my posts. Fortunately - or perhaps not - it was a rather lackluster winter and I don't have to much to report. I did, however, manage to make it to England to see my mom and brother. Now, usually when I visit England I just stay in London. This is a fine thing, by my reckoning. Why not spend as much time as posible in one of the most exciting, cultured, and historic cities in the world? However, this time I managed to venture beyond London's city limits and took a road trip with my mom and bro up to the very lovely Lake District.

Mom and Matt planning the trip in a pub the night before leaving

Thanks to the time of the year, the sun hung low in the sky from dawn til dusk. As a result, the lighting was phenomenal - great for taking pictures. Additionally, a permanent frost clung to the grass and the trees, giving everything a silvery gleam. Early morning was the most beautiful time, as the lakes remained placid like mirrors reflecting the rolling hills. But throughout the day, the countryside remained lovely and picturesque.

After driving through the lake district for a time, we came upon the famed Hadrian's Wall. this was a massive wall built across England by the Romans to keep out the Scottish horde. Nowadays, the wall is less dramatic than it surely once was. Nevertheless, it remains a significant landmark on England's terrain.

Views of Hadrian's Wall

We also came across a nice stone circle. The legacy of the druids prevails!

Stone Circle

After trekking through nature we drove through Newcastle in the evening. I was impressed by the brown brick architecture and the soaring bridges in the city. Really, a very interesting place.

Newcastle at night

We spent that night in Durham. I went out in the evening to a few of the clubs in town, this being a university town and so buzzing with several bars and clubs. A couple of the places were actually pretty nice, though I was surprised to see that the girls there ventured out on the cold, blustery evening in nothing but the shortest of dresses. Sadly, I was not able to keep any of them warm myself ;) The next morning we wandered about the town, saw one of the last Woolworths in England shut its doors forever, and and were able to see the towering Durham cathedral.

Durham cathedral

Closing Woolworths

Driving back we passed through York and managed to see the cathedral there. the highlight, however, must have surely been the Sunday Roast we enjoyed on the way out of town. Nothing better than a Yorkshire pudding in York!

York cathedral

Sunday roast!

All in all, it was wonderful to experience more of the UK with my family. If you get a chance, experience the placid calm serenity of the Lake District for yourself!

2008-12-17T07:44:00.000-08:00

Bosnia and Herzegovina

My last trip this summer was to Montenegro's neighbor(s?) to the West: Bosnia and Herzegovina. I went with my dear Ana, she who was good enough to take care of my deceased Phantom while I was gone in Greece. Anyone who is willing to find a pet cemetery that will bury your cat while you are out of the country truly must have a heart of gold! This is the litmus test for goodness. Anyway, it was the least I could do to take her on an adventure to Sarajevo by way of Mostar, and this we did one adventurous weekend.

The drive to and from Bosnia and Herzegovina from Montenegro is really fantastic. The whole way there and back, one winds through mountains and canyons, beside rivers and lakes. The mountains themselves range from arid and rocky to forested and nearly tropical, and each kilometer of the road greets you with new and fabulous spectacles of natural beauty.

Our first stop in Bosnia and Herzegovina was in the town of Mostar, named for the high, elegant bridge ("Most" in the local language) that spans the river and connects the city's halves. Even when the river was low (as it was then) intrepid divers plunge from the bridge into the water below, making for an interesting sight. But it is the architecture and winding alleys of the little town that makes this place truly special.

After a brief stop we continued on to Sarajevo. Sarajevo is a beautiful town nestled into a small, tree-lined valley. The modern visitor, however, is immediately reminded of the wars that transpired here. It is creepy to see a place, wonder why it looks familiar, and then recall that one had seen that same city burning with plumes of smoke on CNN. Though the city has been largely repaired since then, the over-spilling plots of gravestones that mark the city and the valley's walls are enough to remind one of the tragedy that had transpired here.

Despite the echoes of the past, however, Sarajevo is a beautiful, lively, and intriguing town. It certainly feels more oriental than Montenegro, as the towering minarets and bazaars of the old town make one feel the lingering presence of Ottoman influence in the region. Whether ambling through shops selling hookas or thick embroidered carpets, or otherwise enjoying the Muslim culture through visiting a mosque or drinking at a small tea shop, one feels as though transported from Europe to the Middle East.

Our stay, indeed, was too short, but the weekend quickly drew to a close. Our return trip was just as scenic as the voyage there, and passing through Montenegro were able to appreciate the canyons and mountains of this country more. Altogether, my venture to Bosnia and Herzegovina was an ideal way to round out the adventures of the summer.

2008-12-16T07:38:00.000-08:00

Delphi

My final destination on my tour of Greece was a place I had been most looking forward to seeing: Delphi. I had always found the legends surrounding Delphi to be fascinating.

In pre-Olympian times, the site was a place of worship for the Earth Goddess Gaia. Legend tells how the site was protected by Gaia's child, a mighty python named Pythia, that was killed by Apollo when he commandeered the site for his own worship. Following this, oracles at Delphi were said to be able to channel the voice of Apollo after becoming intoxicated by fumes from a fissure in the earth, fumes released perhaps by the decaying body of Pythia himself.

Greek rulers would often come to Delphi to ask the oracles questions of the future. Even Alexander the Great went there before conquering the whole of his empire. Leaders would build temples, tripods, or storehouses for offerings at Delphi and soon the site became riddled with temples, a theater, and even a stadium.

The visitor of today has a wealth of archaeology to explore, with most of the temples reconstructed and ready for the meandering tourists who venture this way. The museum is similarly well-developed and full of elaborately detailed friezes and statues. Above all, however, the site itself - a cedar-dotted terrain of mountains and cliffs falling sharply away to the rivers and sea below - is truly breathtaking. Even if there were no mystic oracle here, one can see why the Ancient Greeks would have chosen this spot as a place to build a temple to worship the Earth Mother.

For me, this was an ideal place to make my last destination in Greece. I was able at least to lose myself in Hellenic antiquity and imagine what the Greece of Homer and Plato must have truly been like: a Greece of severe beauty, timeless legends, and the impending judgment of the gods.

2008-12-12T07:21:00.000-08:00

Mykonos

The unwary reader of Lonely Planet may get the impression that Mykonos' days as the hotspot for Greece's party goers is on the wane. Such a reader may decide to live it up on Ios instead of Mykonos. Such a reader, however, would be very disappointed.

Mykonos remains a hub in the Cyclades for anyone yearning for Dionysian fun and with money to burn. It bears some of the best nightculbs in Greece - indeed, in Europe - with star DJ's spinning their technotronic hypnosis day and night. For anyone wanting to sleep and enjoy a relaxing, quiet time in the Greek Isles, Mykonos is bad. For anyone wanting fun, however, Mykonos is good.

Sadly, when I first arrived, I was in the category of those who wanted quiet. My credit card debacle was still frustrating me and I was down to my last available Euros. So, destitute as I was, I chose to spend my first (and, originally planned, only) night on the island at an isolated camping ground on the far side of the island from the buzz of the central town. This place, called innocuously enough "Paradise Beach" would be a place for me to collect myself before making my tired way back to the mainland and, from there, back up to Montenegro.

I was in for a shock. Paradise Beach was one of the most insane spots on the island, with hundreds of hormone and alcohol addled young revelers partying and making wild all night long at the ultra-loud, ultra-hip, and ultra-expensive central, open air club. My plans for quiet were dashed. I was also frustrated to learn that there were no tents for me. So, trying to escape the noise and fervor of the club, I dragged my sleeping bag out to the beach and, with the cheapest bottle of wine I could find, tried to drink myself to sleep. However, the music nagged. It was, in fact, very good techno, and the party-goers' energy infected me. So, eventually, I spent some of my last euros on the entry fee and went to the club. After a few hours dancing and drinking I stumbled back to the beach and slept by the surf, awaking the next day to the heat of the beach and the dull warmth of my hangover.

Sleeping by day after partying by night on Mykonos

That day I was supposed to leave Mykonos. I took my belongings and waited in the town for my ferry. While I whittled away the hours I went through my belongings. This is when I discovered that the reason my back card hadn't been working was because, stupidly, I had been trying to use my old one. the one that had expired two years ago. I was speechless when I found my proper card in my bag, inserted it expectantly into an ATM, and received the boon of fresh, copious, delicious cash. My fingers trembling with fund-filled joy I went on a buying spree. New clothes, new sunglasses, a new cellphone, a ticket to leave the following day from Mykonos, and a cozy room in the center of town with an actual bed and shower. Heaven. Pure heaven.

Scenes in Hora

That night I went wild. I danced and drank at downtown's Space Club and ogled the girls dancing on the stages there. Then, at night, I went to one of the late night discos: Cavo Paradiso, allegedly the 3rd best club in Europe, but I couldn't really tell why - just hundreds of Italians, a swimming pool, quiet music from a lame sound system, and cold girls. The view was nice, though.

Space Club

Cavo Paradiso

As dawn broke I made my way back the hotel, rested an hour or two, and checked out. I was feeling good, happy, refreshed. But of course - as always happens at times like this - tragedy struck. I went online and found out my wonderful, dear, beloved cat Phantom had died while I was away. Feeling that empty feeling of bereavement that accompanies loss, I went to Paradise Beach and watched the waves. I was feeling melancholy, listening to the slow moan of the surf, when suddenly music erupted behind me. An impromptu party exploded at one of the cafes. Although I was sad, I decided to put off greiving for tomorrow. I grabbed a bloody Mary and joined the dancing throngs. On Mykonos, you forget your troubles.

Paradise Beach

Sunset

2008-12-08T08:13:00.001-08:00

Naxos

Although the modern sailor upon the Hellenic seas need not worry of Scylla and Charybdis, this is not to say that the waters are always calm. In summer especially, Poseidon seems bent upon churning the waves. Of course, he is doing this only so that he can sit back and laugh at the hundreds of stranded backpackers who - as a result of the now canceled ferries - throw themselves in shock and horror at the overwhelmed ticket officers and try to finagle their ways onto anything with a hull. Thick clots of tired and frustrated travelers beat their breasts in the finest tradition of Greek tragedy as they whinge their woes of transportation unrealized. This was the scene that met me when I tried to leave Santorini.

It was with some luck that I managed a boat to my next destination, Mykonos, that day. It would take longer than originally planned, but there were two unexpected bonuses to this redirection. First, I met again a number of fellow backpackers whom I had met earlier in my voyages, and second the ferry made a brief stop on the island of Naxos.

Naxos, though a central island of the Cyclades, was reputed to be quiet and uneventful, so I had given the island a miss on my itinerary. I soon came to appreciate, however, how nice these quiet islands are and Naxos in particular! I disembarked with a couple fellow Americans (one of whom was actually Greek American, and so had greater access to the country through her language abilities) and explored the main town. It was a very charming place with small winding alleys and quaint shops. The three of us bought bread, olives, cheese, and house wine for an impromptu picnic.

This we shared at the Temple to Apollo, the sun god.

I really liked this temple. rather than an enclosure to a god, this temple serves more as a Japanese Torii. It enframes Apollo's chariot as it advances its fiery course at sunset into the sea, and thus serves to honor the god directly. I certainly enjoyed this opportunity to take a quiet break with food and company and worship the sun, and appreciated yet another beautiful Greek sunset. Shortly thereafter, the ferry was ready to leave. I felt more refreshed than I had the entire journey thus far in Greece, and was thankful both to Poseidon and Apollo for making the circumstances turn out as they did, allowing me the opportunity to pay proper respect to both sea and sun.

2008-12-04T07:39:00.000-08:00

Santorini

Santorini is one of the most beautiful islands in the Cyclades, and perhaps one of the most unusual islands in the world. The island had been dominated by a massive volcano until it erupted. The result of the eruption was that the center of the island sank down into the sea, leaving a massive caldera around the crescent-shaped remnant of the island's outer half and leaving the tip of the magma-covered volcano to remain exposed above water as an island in the center of the island's new bay. The breathtaking white cliffs have become dominated by a surge of real estate development, and now the crust of the island's cliffs are peaked with hundred of beautiful white and blue houses which glitter with lights at night. As much of the caldera faces East, sunsets are a momentous event on the island. Clearly, a place of such sublime beauty deserves to be on the itinerary of any Greek traveler, and certainly was on mine.

Santorini is also, I would say, where things really started to go downhill for me during my Hellenic voyage.

Everything started well enough After being proved my relative geriatricness on Ios I was looking forward to spending some time around an older, more distinguished set of revelers. I reserved a nice hotel near downtown and was all ready to enjoy 4-wheeling by day and partying by night on the island. The ferry ride had been smooth and offered great views of the island's cliffs as we approached, and I had even befriended a couple of nice Australian girls. I was ready for fun. Unfortunately, as soon as I stepped foot on the island, things went immediately wrong.

getting off the ferry

I went first downtown to rent a 4-wheeler. It was then that I learned that my credit card had stopped working. No reason why, just stopped working. Of course, when you're on an island and your credit card is your one source of monetary replenishment, this is bad news. I had maybe 200 euros in my pocket and had no idea how long that could last me in expensive, touristy Greece. I could only spend one night in my hotel and could not afford a 4-wheeler. Even that was a disappointment as the power went out that evening and I could not even take a shower before heading out that night in Fira, the center of urbanity on Santorini. I watched the sunset from the town's walls and, later, allowed myself one drink at a lively pub. I met the Australian girls, but after it was clear I had no money with which to buy them drinks they soon parted from my company. Dejected, I went back to my dark hotel room and planned for the next few days.

Fira, before sunset

Fira, after sunset

Fira's architecture

A drink with the Aussie girls

My next course of action was to find the cheapest place to stay on the island. This I found in the small settlement of Perissa, on the island's more hum-drum West side. I found a camping ground and rented a holey tent for only 8 euros a night. I feasted on cheap spanikopita and gyros during the day and spent some time on Perissa's sandy, but painfully windy, beach. I tried to climb the mountain to the ruins of Ancient Thira nearby, only to find they were closing (at 3:30 no less!) It was not a winning day. That evening I went to Oia, where the best sunsets are supposed to be found. After a nice meal of moussaka and house wine I tried to get a good view of the sunset, but everyone was absolutely packed with tourists. I would up following some Australians around a treacherous bit of cliff, through a deserted and crumbling building site, and onto a promontory that offered excellent views. We had wine and had some fun with photos. I tried to go back with them but, unfortunately, their tour guide would not let me on the bus. I never saw them again, and went back to my dark and dirty tent to drink cheap ouzo and forget the day had happened.

A church in Perissa

A view of Perissa

Moussaka and wine!

The architecture of Oia

One of the crazy Aussies in Oia

Enjoying wine and an Oia sunset

After this, I decided to throw caution to the wind. I decided that I should try and enjoy myself at least a little while I was on this island. So, I rented a 4-wheeler. This was fun! I was able to tool about the little island wherever my will would take me. I sped back up to Ancient Thira before closing first, and enjoyed the awesome views from there. Afterwards, I checked out the black sand beaches of Kamari and then the red sands of the island's southern beaches. In the evening I bought some moussaka, house wine, and baklava from a small restaurant (sadly, not as delicious and even more expensive than the night before, but oh well) and sought out my own, perfect sunset spot. This I found, in an undeveloped wasteland just south of Fira. There was no one around, only stray dogs, and yet I found a spot on the cliff's edge that offered me views of the entire caldera, the volcano in the middle, and the sunset. Despite being perhaps the best place on the island, I was all alone there. I enjoyed my dinner and the sunset in solitude, at once depressed and energized by my intrepid discovery.

My 4-wheeler. Vroom!

In Ancient Thira

A view of Kamari beach

An even better view!

Red beach

Views from my lonely lookout at a Santorini sunset

The next day, I left Santorini. On Santorini I faced hardships, loneliness, and dashed expectations yet again. But, at the same time, I learned to reappreciate how I as a tarveller can rise above these obstacles and still make my travels into adventures.

2008-11-21T06:45:00.000-08:00

Ios

One of the most captivating epics of Ancient Greece is, of course, Homer's Odyssey. In this, Odysseus makes a long, harrowing voyage across the Aegean Sea, encountering a cyclops, sirens, evil witches, and other fabulous adversaries on each island at which he stops. The reader of this tale, then, would expect the Aegean and all its islands to be a treacherous zone of the world rife with danger and adventure.

Well, aside from the danger of spending all your money on the over-touristed and over-developed islands of the Cyclades, there aren't too many hazards the modern Odysseus faces. Once again, then, my expectations of Greece carved from my classical education were entirely misdirected. Well, at least somewhat - there were plenty of "harpies" on these islands :)

My first stop on my island-hopping jaunt about the Cyclades was the island of Ios. Ios was described in Lonely Planet as a party island for the young and cheap. Well, I can confirm that I felt, for the first time in my life, old. I was squeezed on all sides by 18-20 year-old Italian youths as I tried to meander down the few tight, narrow alleys that define the island's hot-spot. I went into a few bars and clubs, but came to realize, soon, that people-watching on the alleys was far more entertaining than actually going into the clubs.

I realized the next day that avoiding the area altogether and enjoying the island's beaches, windmills, and churches was far more rewarding. The bars and clubs were best left to the young and cheap.

2008-11-19T06:53:00.000-08:00

The Temple of Poseidon

On the southern tip of the Balkan peninsula, monitoring the sea since ages past, stands the Temple of Poseidon. As I understand it, the Athenians had originally deliberated between choosing Athena or Poseidon as their iconic god. When they finally chose Athena, and built the Parthenon in her honor, the Temple of Poseidon was built here to appease this watery deity.

Legend holds, too, that this is the spot where the father of Theseus had stood and waited for Theseus to return from his encounter with the Minotaur. The father had requested his son, if he should return from the encounter successfully adn alive, to fly a white flag on his ship upon his return. However, Theseus - axcited from his victory over the Minotaur - forgot his father's instructions. Upon seeing his son's ship returning with no white flag waving, Theseus' father committed suicide on this spot.

The site of the temple of Poseidon, then, is rich with Ancient Hellenic history, and is a beautiful and secluded spot of raw natural beauty as well. Thus, the Temple of Poseidon provides one with all that the Acropolis lacks: the opportunity to immerse oneself in the history of Ancient Greece and feel oneself transported back into the classical world. Hence, I truly enjoyed my trip to the Temple of Poseidon.

I was also lucky to meet an Uzbek woman who turned out to be a famous theater actress in her home country. We enjoyed a very nice dinner of Greek salads and appetizers back in Athens and discussed the finer points of acting. (It has always interested me how actors can infuse their own, real emotions into a part in order to bring a higher level of reality into the role.) As Ancient Greece was the birthplace of modern theater, I found this encounter to be quite serendipitous. All in all, a very welcome break from the modern hustle of Athens.

2008-11-17T06:58:00.000-08:00

The Acropolis

The Acropolis is the icon of Greece. It towers above Athens, drawing the eye to the timeless and ancient temples that crown its peak. The Acropolis is, quite literally, the pinnacle of Ancient Hellenic culture, mythology, and thought. Any trip to Greece must include a trek to this infamous peak.

Unfortunately, in summer at least, the Acropolis is also perhaps the most densely populated locale in all of Europe. I was fortunate to have visited early in the morning, and even then the queue stretched halfway down the hill. By midday people were lined for hours waiting in the sweltering heat for a view of these old, well-stacked rocks. Even when you finally gain admission and can mill about within the confines of the Acropolis itself, the hordes of tourists makes the experience less than enchanting. It is impossible to stand in wonder at these monolithic temples and imagine yourself a denizen of Ancient Athens, as I so like to do when I visit ruins of the ancient world. The screaming hordes too quickly break one's reverie, and the steel scaffolding forming an armature about the Parthenon does nothing to help the illusion of antiquity. Even photography is an exercise in patience. One must stand and wait for untold minutes to catch a snapshot with fewer than ten people in the foreground. Even then, one's memorial photos of the Acropolis look like some other family's vacation photos.

Eventually, I gave up trying to take decent photos of the temples on the Acropolis and took advantage of the splendid views of Athens the Acropolis provides.

Ultimately I came to realize that the best sights, however, were to be found amongst the visitors to the Acropolis themselves. I don't know if this is a new worldwide trend or if was happening only in Greece, but some of these girls were wearing shorts that were just short! I don't mean to come off as a pervert or anything, but oh my god!

So, if you can't take a photo around the crowds, make the crowds the subject of the photo. In Greece, as I soon came to realize, it is not the icons of the past that one should occupy oneself most with, but the revelers of the present.

2008-11-10T07:28:00.000-08:00

Going to Greece

One of the reasons I took a position working here in Montenegro was the country's close proximity to Greece. Since studying the classics at St. John's for my BA, I have longed to set foot in the Acropolis and the Ancient Agora and follow the paths twined centuries ago by such great thinkers as Homer, Plato, Socrates, and Aristotle. I yearned to touch the earth and smell the sea and, thereby, perhaps glean from the natural surroundings the germs of inspiration for the fantastic creatures of Greek myth. Being in Greece, I hoped, would give me insight into the aesthetics and culture that had given rise to one of the most inspired civilizations of all time. Hence, when the opportunity came this past summer to take a long vacation, I was anxious to visit Greece.

Well, as typically happens when one sets his sights so high, I was bound to be disappointed. Walking on the Acropolis, one feels too inundated by the insane number of crowded tourists glutting every vantage point to begin to imagine how the place may have looked during times of antiquity. On the other hand, Greece is a thoroughly modern country and Athens boasts a variety of shops, restaurants, and nightlife. Just so, while skipping by ferry from island to island to take in the tourist sights or carouse the nights away at some of the best nightclubs in Europe may not recall the epic voyages of Odysseus or Achilles, the opportunity to be hedonistic, materialistic, and tanned is not altogether a bad thing. Ultimately, Greece was not what I had hoped it would have been, and perhaps deciding to live in the Balkans just for the opportunity to enjoy the overpriced and overtouristed sights of modern Greece may have been a foolish decision in retrospect. Still, it was a summertime adventure, and at least the photos turned out well. Look forward to several future posts chronicling my tour of Greece.

In this post, I show you Montenegro by plane and Athens by night: the first day of my adventure.

2008-11-07T06:43:00.000-08:00

Albania

Podgorican apologists are quick to point out that one of this "city's" advantages is that many desirable destinations are close by. While I would eschew the notion that being able to leave a place in any way makes that place at all more desirable, I must confess that the close proximity of mountains, sea, and neighboring country's cities is indeed a boon. Indeed, there are a number of cities one can (and indeed, to keep any vestigial sanity, must) escape to in order to forget about the limited possibilities in Podgorica that are not too far away, and one of these - and perhaps the most easily reached - is Albania's capital of Tirana.

It is a direct, if bumpy, road from Podgorica to Albania. The road can be somewhat dangerous. Cows, tractors, bicyclists, and pedestrians amble beside the international thoroughfare while hurried, careless, and often insane Albanian drivers whiz by (a situation which, sadly, resulted in the death of one tractor-riding farmer by the hands of some rather self-important and thoughtless businesspeople, as perceived by your humble blogger.) Nevertheless, the promise of an actual city - with a modern-looking downtown, movie theaters, bowling alleys, nightclubs, and international restaurants - makes the harrowing trip to Tirana more than worth it.

On the road to Tirana

Sights on the international highway

Personally, I am blessed with good friends in Tirana as well: Travis & Amy, and Dotti & Ron, teachers at the school there whom I met during curriculum writing in Seattle and Yemen. Through them I have met many other kind Albanians and international teachers. thus, whenever i am feeling down and lonely (as is oft the case in Podgorica) I recall that I have friends in a proper city close by. I rent a car, and can spend a weekend enjoying Albania.

My good friend Travis, with some of the cool graffiti of Tirana

Amy and Dotti in central Tirana

It is unfortunate that many Montenegrins themselves do not take advantage of the sights and activities to be found within the borders of their neighbor to the south. In addition to Tirana, Albania boasts fantastic mountains, wonderful lakes, and splendid beaches on the southern Ionian coast. However, there is a rift of animosity between the Montenegrins and the Albanians. Kosovo is part of the equation. Montenegrins are convinced that the Albanians have an evil, long-term ambition to spread out and consume the whole of the Balkans like a human fungus, just as they perceived happened in Kosovo. It is too bad that Montenegrins can't see past their racism. Albania is certainly a wonderful place to experience.

The old fort at Kruje

Tourist trinkets for sale in Kruje

A child at an amusement park in Tirana

2008-11-06T07:57:00.000-08:00

Kite Beach

Much of my time this past summer was spent on the 12 km. stretch of sand south of Ulcinj, Montenegro, called simply "Veliki Plaza" (Big Beach). And on Veliki Plaza, few places were more relaxing and cool that Kite Plaza.

Veliki Plaza is blessed with winds that constantly blow against the shores, creating ideal conditions for kite surfing. There were several operations that conducted kite surfing schools. One of these, and the one that had the coolest set-up, was the Russian-run Kite Plaza. Many days were spent swinging gently in the hammocks there, getting slowly buzzed on beer or wine, and watching the elegant dance of the kite surfers as they leaped and frolicked upon the waves.

Although I didn't learn to kite surf myself, I have every intention of learning next summer. Sadly, Kite Plaza itself was practically demolished by jealous local police who claimed the owner had overstepped the boundaries of her lease (ah, the thuglike bureaucracy of Eastern Europe) but surely the winds will blow and the kites will soar next summer as well. Maybe I'll see you upon the waves!

2008-10-21T06:34:00.000-07:00

Boat Trip!

One of the most lush adventures I had this summer was a boat trip I took with Emil, Youlia, Martin, Ivan, and a host of other Russian hedonists. The beautiful Montenegrin coast, the jubilant company, and a spectacular sunset made this excursion a definite summertime highlight.

Of course, like all good things, the trip did not start off very well. Originally, we set sail on Martin's catamaran sailboat. A very cool ship, piloted by a very cool guy. Unfortunately, the trip didn't last long. After about an hour we had to stop, as one of the propellers had spun off! A little impromptu scuba diving turned up nothing, so we had to turn around and putter back to port. Bummer.

The boat that did not sail

The view from Martin's boat, just before the propeller flew off.

we spent that night at Ivan's apartment. Now, at this point, I was ready to give up and turn tail and go home, because Ivan lives - and I kid you not - in perhaps the dirtiest hovel of a home I have ever experienced. Pictures cannot do justice to the reek. We tried to cook dinner, but found we were lacking in basics like knives, salt, oil, etc. (I had to use an overturned utensil drawer as a cutting board.) Well, nothing a little well-deserved wine couldn't fix. After a night "sleeping" on the floor, my towel draped about me, we set off to rent a boat the following morning.

I took a little swim while Emil looked for a boat, to check out the view! ;)

It took a little doing, but Emil finally located a very nice boat with a nice crew to take us out around the coast until sunset. (Thank you Emil!) At first I was feeling a bit shy as everyone was speaking Russian. But, as the alcohol began to flow and the spirits were raised high, we were all laughing and swimming and acting like a bunch of goofballs together.

The boat!

We may have been partying a bit too heavily. One girl started behaving very risque. She would always stumble before my camera and pose for my pics!

Eventually, the captain of the baot got in on the action too :p

One girl had to get off the boat, she was feeling so ill. That caused a bit of chaos as we sailed to the jetty in Petrovac, a big tourist center where people were fishing and dining and swimming.

Once the craziness had subsided (or at least became steady) we were able to enjoy the climax of our trip: a spectacular sunset. Again, pictures cannot do justice to the vision of that gorgeous orange bloom sinking gently into the azure sea and the boat's own frothing wake.

As dusk shadowed the sky we returned to port, exhilerated and exhausted from our wonderful boat trip.

2008-10-16T07:14:00.000-07:00

River Rafting

One of the last adventures I took with Angel while she was here this summer was a river rafting excursion up in the northwest of Montenegro. (Actually, the rafting starts in the "no man's land" between Montenegro and Bosnia-Herzegovina!) The drive up there, along the Tara River Canyon, was perhaps the highlight of the journey. The terrain around us was beautiful: towering verdant cliffs around the azure ribbon of river twining in the canyon below. It was also surprisingly cool and misty for the summer, which gave everything the edge of fantasy.

Although the river rafting istelf was not particularly exciting (no really big rapids to speak of) it was nevertheless an aesthetically rewarding experience. I didn't take my camera with me on the raft, but if you can imagine being in the bottom of the canyon looking up, observing the towering cliffs glide gently by as we rowed and drank beers in turns, you might be able to imagine the experience.

On the return trip we passed through roads taht went through labyrinths of tunnels carved directly into the cliffsides of the mountains around us. Afterwards, we stopped at a famous church set into the side of a mountain, a very popular pilgrimage destination in Montenegro.

All in all, though the whitewater rafting itself was not terribly exhilarating, the excursion itself was one to remember and a welcome break from the hedonistic beach life of the rest of the summer.

2008-10-15T07:04:00.000-07:00

Return to Rijeka Crnojevica

As difficult as the name is to pronounce, I couldn't stay away long from this locale of tranquil beauty. This time, together with visiting friend Angel, Youlia, and Emil, we hired a puttering motorboat to take us down the winding river and between the looming verdant mountains. It was a relaxing and sublime experience for all.

Despite the awesome beauty of the place, though, I believe the aesthetics of the area were eclipsed by the beauty of our companion Youlia. Thank you, Youlia, for gracing my summer with your exquisite presence!

2008-10-10T06:19:00.000-07:00

Lovcen

Lovcen serves, not only as the highest peak in Montenegro, but also as a tomb to ... okay, must show my dumb-foreigner colors here, but I'm not really sure to whom. Someone really special to the Montenegrins, though, apparently. The tomb sits within a large, statue-guarded structure complete with eternal flame, statue of a man with an eagle on him, and about 200 knee-busting steps. So, whoever this Montenegrin Ozymandus was, somebody put a lot of work into boxing up his corpse.

Regardless of the lack of historical context, however, I found the trip to Lovcen be quite exhilarating. I went together with my visiting Moldovan friend Angela, Emil and Julia, and two new friends Martin (from Sierra Leone) and Ivan (from Russia).

The drive there, through the mountains and farms of rural Montenegro, offered great views, serene mountain climes, and the opportunity to buy homemade cheese, smoked ham, and honey wine. The views from the top of the tomb, however, were the "highpoint" of the trip. You could see all the way from Skadar Lake to the Adriatic Sea.

Driving down, we descended along a steep, windy road to Kotor, thus offering unparalleled views of Kotor Bay. All in all, a magnificent experience, and a great escape from the heat of Montenegro's summer.

2008-10-03T03:24:00.000-07:00

Rijeka Crnojevica

Despite the tangly awkwardness of the name, Rijeka Crnojevica is perhaps the most beautiful place in all of Montenegro (which, with the country's mountains, rivers, canyons, and coast, is really saying something.) Perhaps the best way to enjoy the serene beauty of the place is by kayak, which fortunately I was able to do this summer.

I accompanied one of the family's from school, brought along my friend Stephanie, and enjoyed a leisurely cruise between the verdant mountains down the lily-pad-laden river. Enjoy the pics!

2008-10-02T07:03:00.000-07:00

Budva Beach

This summer, as the temperature rose and the rains stopped falling here in Montenegro, people swarmed in droves to the beaches along the coast. Seriously, I don't know where all these people came from. There are only 600,000 people in Montenegro, but the beaches were always packed from sunup to sundown, June through August. I suppose a lot came from other countries. I met quite a few Serbians and Russians this summer on the beaches. You can always tell the foreigners: they are the ones that are actually enjoying themselves, not just posing about trying to look like they know what they are doing as the Montenegrins are want to do.

One such foreigner, in addition to myself, was my (sort of) friend Angel from Moldova. She came down for a couple-weeks visit, which allowed me the excuse to get out of crummy Podgorica and show her the country. Indeed, Montenegro is not bad in the summer, as I was lucky to discover. Our first stop: Budva beach.

Budva is a nice town with an historic old town and some nice coastline. Though the beaches are dirty and packed, coated in small stones rater than sand, it is still a very convenient and pleasant beach side destination from Podgorica. And if you can squeeze past te crowds hoarding the beach, you can enjoy the sea, too!

2008-09-23T07:50:00.000-07:00

Kayak Race

It's been a while since I posted. One could safely assume, with the downcast demeanor I've maintained in my previous blogs, that I have finally collapsed under the weight of my depression, dragged my weary self to the nearest precipice, and offed myself. Happily, however, I can assure you this is not the case. To my great surprise I discovered that Montenegro is a great place to be in the summertime. The weather is hot and rain-free, the beaches are inviting, and the influx of vacationers makes for more fun to be had in this otherwise rather boring country. As a result, I had many interesting encounters this summer. Hopefully I can catch you, my dear reader, with all my adventures.

I start this new chapter of my blog, then, with some pictures of a kayak race at the local "Niagara Falls" (A spot on a nearby river that bears no real relation to the actual Niagara falls except that, well, there are some waterfalls there.)

I had befriended one of the members of the Montenegro Kayak Club and was able to join them for this outing. The kayak club keeps a concrete shack filled with a ramshackle collection of old, scratched, outdated kayaks at the banks of the river in Podgorica. the fact that they have managed to assemble so many kayaks in an otherwise kayak-free country is a testament to the industriousness of the club's members, as much as the willingness to brave moving water in these decrepit boats is a testament to their skill and bravery.

The race itself was a simple affair. A couple kayakers at a time would compete against each other until the fastest male and female were determined and awarded. But the opportunity to get out of town, paddle in some boats, and enjoy the scenery at "Niagara Falls" was the real reward.

2008-06-12T08:40:00.000-07:00

Matt and Kere's Trip Across Montenegro

After meeting in Dubrovnik, Matt and I took the opportunity to explore my country-of-residence, Montenegro. Although we traveled in the country only for 3 1/2 days, we were able to see quite a lot.

DAY 1
Our first stop upon entering the country was Kotor, a very picturesque town with an impressively preserved old town along the stunning Kotor Bay.

Afterwards, we made our way by bus to Podgorica, where slept in my cat-infested apartment.

DAY 2
Although we woke up late, I had the peculiar notion to rent a car to see more of the country. We were able to check out Skadar Lake, a few ruins, some towns along the coast, and ended our day at a traditional restaurant near Podgorica.

Images around Skadar Lake:

An old fort on the lake:

The small town of Virpazar:

From the winding road high above the southern coast of Skadar Lake:

A grove of ancient trees near the lake. Nobody else seems to like them, but I feel like I'm in an enchanted forest here:

The ruins of an old Medieval town, with cathedral, and sheep:

Matt on the beach of Ulcinj, where we stopped for lunch and watched the locals cruise up and down, back and forth, along the 50 meter-long beachside road again and again:

In the traditional restaurant:

DAY 3:
Our third day in Montenegro was spent exploring the seaside town of Budva, a small but bustling town that sports both an old town and a popular beachside:

Day 4:
Though we were to leave for Belgrade that day, we managed to walk out along the Moracha River to the Roman ruins outside of town. Afterwards, we stopped off for an infamous Montenegro burger!

So, all told, we manged to do a lot of sightseeing in Montenegro while Matt was here. Though Montenegro doesn't sport much of a dynamic social scene, the natural beauty and the ruins abound. Come visit so I can give you the next 3-day tour!

2008-05-29T09:20:00.000-07:00

Matt's Visit to Dubrovnik

It would be inadequate to say that my brother Matt's visit to the Balkans was a relief. Indeed, after having spent the last number of months here in perpetual, agonizing solitude, having any visitor was a blessing. Of course, having been in isolation for so long, my social skills have deteriorated to the point that I tend to gesticulate, grunt, and whinge more than speak, so it probably helped that my first visitor was family - anyone else would have been hard-pressed to forgive my social ineptitudes. Still, my brother was certainly pushed to the limit of his patience with my annoyances. Hence, I express my utmost gratitude to Matt for both rescuing my sanity with his visit and forgiving my lunacy while he was here.

Views of Dubrovnik

Our first visit as we toured the Balkans together was Dubrovnik, Croatia. Being one of the largest and most scenic fortified old towns on the coast, Dubrovnik stands out as a tourist hot-spot. Fortunately, we were there before the mass influx of tourists overwhelmed the city. We enjoyed ourselves by walking the walls, swimming on the beach, and drinking beer. We really lucked out by getting a couple rooms right next to the old town, overlooking a small harbor and operated by a sweet old lady who spoke nary a word of English, the arrangement finagled by her car-salesman-esque nephew.

The Beach

Our Rooms:
The view

Where we were, just behind the boats

Personally, for me living in the boring hinterland of Podgorica, what I enjoyed most about Dubrovnik was the plentiful, delicious seafood and the presence of a surprisingly bustling nightlife. Matt, however, wasn't so impressed. Of course, he had points. The seafood was often frozen (despite the city being on the sea) and the nightlife venues were full of annoying tourists and held not a candle to the quality of such venues London has to offer. I suppose maybe I am just desperate.

Matt, thoroughly disliking the nightlife

More his style: a beer on the pier

This underlying desperation was certainly evinced by my two most momentous instances of the whole Dubrovnik experience, which the reader will note make me seem rather pathetic. The first of these moments was when, sitting on the highest wall overlooking the city of Dubrovnik, I was accompanied for an ambrosial minute by what has to be the most gorgeous Australian backpacker on the planet. Yes, it was only a few words exchanged, and yes I'm sure I totally creeped her out, but the fact that she sat next to me was utterly brilliant. The second of these moments occurred when, passing a bevy of young ladies in the evening, one of them jumped from her group and asked to have her picture taken with me. I share the photo only sheepishly, aware fully of my idiot grin. But that this lovely girl selected me to grace with her smile, that she pressed against me and gingerly brushed my shoulder with her hand, was an instant of redemption for my beleaguered, insulted, and un-appreciated soul - living in Montenegro where the girls don't talk to guys can make a fellow overly sensitive to the inherent beauty of even a smile, eye contact unbroken. I hella miss women.

The Australian babe: Chloe

Cute girl who approached me, and my dork-ass grin

These were the kinds of moments, I think, that truly taxed Matt's patience. Fortunately, we were off to Montenegro the next day, where mountains meet sea and women treat foreign men as evil parasites. Coming soon!

Weird stone faces

Sunset

2008-04-19T08:00:00.000-07:00

Beautiful Herceg Novi

I share with you today some more pictures of yet another, beautiful, historically fascinating town along the coast of Montenegro: Herceg Novi. Of all the towns I have visited on the coast, this may indeed be my favorite. It has an old walled town, a fort on the water, some docks, a long walking path that ambles beside the water for kilometers, etc. etc. Enjoy the visuals:

Now, the intrepid reader of my humble narrative may well discern from my tone that, while I do indeed find Herceg Novi - as most of Montenegro - to be visually spectacular, I am nonetheless not impressed with Montenegro as a whole any longer. Why is this? Have I become so jaded from beautiful mountainscapes and seascapes assailing my eyes at every turn? Has the aesthetic become too everyday for me?

Unfortunately, no. Sadly, while Montenegro abounds with beauty, none of that hallmark loveliness can be found in Podgorica, the city in which I begrudgingly dwell. The town is a heap of concrete blocks, congested streets, and ubiquitous litter. Not that I have anything against that, mind you. I find cities like Saigon and New York to be compelling just for these qualities. But what these cities have that Podgorica lacks is both entertainment and social interaction. I won't even bore you with details of all that Podgorica lacks in terms of public institutions. What is strangely frustrating about this town, though, is the cliquishness.

One comes to understand Podgorica if one recalls the social dynamics of high school.

I must confess to a sad, shameful event of my teenage life. I belonged to the clique of misfits, punks, and oddballs in my culturally diffuse high school. When I was a freshman, our cadre was deemed misanthropic and untouchable by the rest of the teenage masses. However, by the time I was a junior, the words "alternative" and "individualist" began to become synonymous in the mainstream subconscious with "cool", and dozens of new cliques arose in emulation. We in our clique, of course, regarded these new eclectic groupies as nothing but copycats and trendies, and disdained them just as we had been disdained by our peers only months before (ah, the horrifying judmentalism of the teenage mind). Now, there was one girl in one of these groups (Angela, I believe) who, in addition to being terrifyingly cute, also had a massive crush on me. Indeed, she may have been the only girl in our school who ever had any interest in me, and the fact that she had large, dark, sultry eyes, delicate skin, and a wondrous bust should have been enough to have made me fall to my knees and praise God for my good fortune. But, of course, I did nothing of the kind. In retrospect I denounce myself for my idiot minsdset, but at the time I would have nothing to do with her, simply because she did not meet the standards demanded by my own caste. What was wrong with her? Was her hair just too black? Was it that she listened to Joy Division instead of Black Flag? No, none of this mattered. It was just that we had our group, she had hers, and the unspoken laws of cliquish immaturity demanded that the twain would not meet. I kissed her once at a drunken party, and then never talked with her again that year.

Why am I relating tales of my own childish moronity? Because, I suppose, we all have shameful teenage secrets to tell, the consequences of the clique dynamics determined by our high school orders. They may be embarrassing and shameful to recall, but if you can - if you can let yourself even fall back into that way of thinking for just a moment - you may begin to understand the Podgorican mentality. Just as, in those days of teenage social confusion, one stayed loyal to one's group lest - horror! - the group demanded your expulsion, so too do the people here remain faithful to their cliques. In a community carved by the forces of clan-based loyalty for generations, I suppose such a development is understandable. It does not make life any easier for the hapless foreigner, however. I am an everywhere outsider to the predetermined cliques that swarm in this town. I am everyone's Angela.

So, despite the beauty of this place, life here in Montenegro is a cold and vacant one. The greyness of my perspective (even on those rare days when it doesn't rain) makes the azure skies, the emerald seas, and the verdant mountains morose and pallid. I know I must leave this land of Vild Beauty.

2008-03-09T03:31:00.000-07:00

Back to Zabljiak

A few weeks ago I managed to make it back to the mountain town of Zabljiak. When I last went it was autumn, and was able to enjoy the first snows of the season. This time, however, the snows were deep and plentiful and the ski runs were in high swing.

getting there was kind of a trick. I took a bus, which was a fine option until we actually reached the snows. Towering banks of the stuff hung over the sides of the road, and the single lane plowed clear was adrift in swirls of whistling white. Flurries of crystalline powder would be swept into the headlights and it seemed the driver proceeded by luck rather than anything like visibility. Of course, that didn't stop him from driving like any other Montenegrin motorist lunatic - the bus barreled ahead into the swirling white void at breakneck speeds around the hairpin turns until, as must have eventually happened, the bus slammed into one of the banks at the side of the road and we were stuck. It was a matter of some miraculous fortune that, just at that moment, a bulldozer came clanking down the road from the other direction, plowing the road afresh. The driver tied a rope to the bulldozer's prow and, in a few minutes of tugging, we were free to enjoy the rest of our harrowing course up the mountains.

After that initial bit of excitement, the trip was relatively calm. I stayed with some families from the school at the same, pleasant chateaus we had enjoyed before. Altogether, a nice escape from Podgorica with good people. The kids enjoyed sledding down the nearby hills, and we took a nice walk back to the Black Lake - frozen over, this time.

The skiing wasn't what one might expect. Equipment was rented out of car boots in the parking lot, which was convenient I suppose but the quality was rather car-boot-esque. I was enrobed in some orange and brown vinyl 70's throwback bodybag of a ski outfit that made me noticeable on the slopes, for sure, but in a hideous way. Still, they did have snowboards, so I was happy.

There were two ski runs on the mountain. One was very simple and mild, with hardly much of a downhill grade to it at all. What made this run difficult though was the pulley system that was employed to pull skiers up the mountain. Snowboarders basically had to hook this plastic anchor into their crotch and hold on for dear life. It took me a few tries to get it. The other run was accessed by a ski lift and was much steeper at places, though almost flat in others. It was a fun day, and I was glad to have gone snowboarding again, but would have perhaps enjoyed more variety in the runs.

Nevertheless, for Montenegro it was fantastic to be able to go out skiing for a weekend, especially considering that - the weekend before - I had gone to the sea and walked barefoot on the sand amongst the lapping waves. The incredible diversity of terrain really makes the natural splendor of Montenegro something special, and - when one is abler to get out of Podgorica - life here full of extraordinary possibilities.

2008-02-23T03:50:00.001-08:00

Demonstrations in Podgorica

Yesterday evening (Friday February 22) protesters filled the streets of Podgorica to denounce the independence of Kosovo from Serbia. Hoisting Serbian flags and chanting pro-Serbian slogans, demonstrators filed from all corners of the city to assemble downtown and voice their frustrations. Although, thankfully, the demonstrations did not turn violent (as in nearby Belgrade) it was certainly the largest gathering of any kind I have witnessed in Montenegro, and it was apparent that people's sentiments here are strongly against Kosovan independence.

Of course, the irony was not lost on me that, only two years ago (if that) Montenegro obtained its own independence from Serbia. Although the vote for Montenegrin independence was quite narrow (just over 55% in favor) it was not strongly contested and, today, Montenegro enjoys its status of an independent state. Why, then, should Montenegrins wish to deny Kosovo the same right?

Surely, a great deal of this has to do with the fact that many people here in Montenegro still consider themselves Serbian. They feel a great sense of patriotism for their fatherland even though they live here in Montenegro today. Many of these people are able to concede that Montenegro has a distinguished history of independent status from Serbia, and simply found themselves living in this "foreign land" after the collapse of Yugoslavia and the subsequent independence of Montenegro. Unlike Montenegro, however, they reckon that Kosovo is and always has been a part of Serbia and thus should not be split from it.

There is also an intense hatred of Albanians in Serbia and Montenegro, which most of the population of Kosovo - and certainly those Kosovans who wanted independence - are. In the minds of many Serbians and Montenegrins, Albanians are bent on expanding their nation into Serbian and Montenegrin borders (a paranoia left behind from the days of the Ottoman Empire perhaps) and they conceive those Albanians living in their countries to be the avant guard of a greater occupying force. For Albanian Kosovans to announce their independence from Serbia only confirms their worst fears.

So why are these Albanians in Kosovo, if Kosovo is traditionally Serbia? During the days of Yugoslavia, Tito allowed a number of Albanian refugees into Kosovo. Subsequently, according to the Montenegrin sentiment, these Albanians invited all of their relatives (who were inexplicably rich) to move into Kosovo and buy up all the land. Also, so the racist rhetoric goes, Albanians are want to have more babies than Serbians. ("Breeding like animals" you can almost hear.) Thus, in short time, Kosovo became dominated by people of Albanian ethnicity.

In the minds of many Montenegrin Serbs, then, Kosovo has been stolen by these Albanian refugees. For foreign nations such as the USA and the UK to support - even encourage - Kosovan independence is, for them, to be complicit with thievery. It is little wonder, then, why Serbians are angry with both Albanian Kosovans and the West.

So what is the answer? Should Serbia deny Kosovo its independence, or should Serbia suck up this insult ("This is what you get for your Milosevic years, Serbia") and embrace those who would scoff its sovereignty as a member of the EU? Should Albanian Kosovans continue to live as third-rate citizens in Serbia, a stigma forever on their heads, or should they instead demand to live as they would live in their own homes, as citizens of their own nation separate from those who would do them harm?

Ultimately, the question comes down to democracy versus national sovereignty. If you embrace democracy, if you believe that a people should be free to decide their own fates and be governed by their own laws wherever they may live, then Kosovo should be free. This is what the great majority of the people want there,and to deny them this is to deny them any basic rights of self-governance. However, if you believe that a nation has the right to defend its own borders and maintain its own sovereignty, even from those living within its borders (and perhaps especially if these people have been compassionately granted refugee status by this nation) then Kosovo should remain part of Serbia, and those Albanian Serbs living there should submit themselves to the law of the land. There is no easy answer.

What is perhaps more difficult is the precedent Kosovo's independence sets for the future. Should the Tamil Tigers also be able to declare the independence of northern Sri Lanka, despite the fact that they are widely accepted as militant invaders? Would the Tibetan government in exile be within its rights to demand the independence of McLeod Ganj from India? And what of those nations where there is a separatist sentiment from peoples who are regarded as ethnic nationals within their countries? How soon will it be before referendums for independence are held by the Caucasian Chechins in Russia, the Basque in Spain, or the Kurds in Eastern Turkey? Mustn't the US and those nations that recognized Kosovan independence recognize the independence of these regions as well, lest they be labeled hypocrites? Indeed, shouldn't the US encourage the dissolution of Iraq into three, ethnically and religiously defined zones (just as it encourages the separation of Kosovo) instead of trying to hold Iraq together?

The future of national sovereignty is in jeopardy. Yet, perhaps, this is a natural and welcome consequence of democracy. Nations have always shifted and changed their borders due to wars, treaties, and the movement of peoples throughout history. It is conceivable that national sovereignty is itself a misplaced notion that stands in the face of the natural consequences of humanity. Isn't it better, then, for the borders of nations to change as a result of the fair and free choices of the people living in an area, rather than as a result of war, conquest, or genocide?

Kosovans have made their choice. Let the world accept this choice, and the consequences that Kosovo has for the future. People must come before nations.

2008-02-03T07:07:00.000-08:00

BELGRADE IN WINTER

One, relatively clear weekend morning I woke up early enough to stumble down to the train station and check out departures. It felt like a whim, but really I suspect it was the the thrust of a suppressed, manic need to get the hell out of this redneck farmtown, this village with delusions of cityhood, this Podgorica. I bought a ticket to Belgrade and in a few hours was rattling away the rusty tracks out of town.

Montenegro is not a bad place, it does indeed have some of the most scenic beauty of any country I've ever experienced. Sadly, none of that beauty can be found within the limits of this country's capital, Podgorica. And, too, sometimes natural beauty just makes you want to hurl. City is good. I love city. I love bustling throngs of humanity and steelglass monoliths. I love the noise and the chaos and the knowledge that there is something happening everywhere, that there are POSSIBILITIES. Hence, the need for Belgrade.

And I was not disappointed. Belgrade, while certainly no New York or London, has at least a population, tall buildings, and shopping. Belgrade has historical buildings well preserved and museums. But most importantly, Belgrade has a NIGHT LIFE.

Now, of course, coming from Podgorica, a decent nightlife is a breath of deliciously smoky blacklit air. Podgorica boasts about 20 bars, all identical, all ridiculously small and even more ridiculously overstuffed with clots of friends huddled together without hardly room to breathe, doing nothing but just standing there and talking. There is no dancing, no decent music, my god you can't even pick up a GIRL in one of these places! That's not the point of going out in Podgorica, rather you go out to be with friends. Jesus, the absurdity! Enough to make you run away home screaming where at least you can drink yourself silly with decent music, decent alcohol, and room to writhe one's elbows. But enough, you get the idea. You understand how badly a decent nightlife was needed by your humble narrator.

Belgrade offers not only an exceptional variety of clubs and bars, it also boats an underground speakeasy scene of nightclubs that you have to be in the know to find. Surely, a good sign, if the true hipsters had to move underground to enjoy themselves when the known clubs became too popular. Sadly, I did not enjoy any of these, but I have at leat a reason to revisit Belgrade again. Instead, I found a club downtown called, I think, the Academy, a decent little punkrock club which boasted two stages, a danceclub, and a bar and games section within its low, dark, graffitied halls. A welcome and exhilarating shot of culture in my void of a life here in the Balkans.

The train ride was decent as well. A night's sleeping in one of the comfortable sleeping cars the way there, a generally pleasant ride with some English speaking girls on the way back. The only problem I encountered was at the border coming through to Serbia from Montenegro. The border guard seemed rather put out that I didn't have a Serbian visa, despite the fact that visitors don't need a visa for less than three months. What was very odd, though, was that he let me into the country without stamping my passport. He tried to pull it off with as much border-guard asshole bravado as he could muster, but I could sense that the guard was genuinely confused. It brought home the fact that the new separation between the states of Sebia and Montenegro is still quite fresh, and not quite understood - even by the people who live here.

It's a tricky question, why Montenegro separated from Serbia. Most would agree that Montenegro could probably get richer on its own by exploiting its tourist resources, and that the Milosivic years did nothing to improve the image of a country associated with Serbia. However, the reason one most often hears is that Montenegro was always separate from Serbia, it was only allied with Serbia as a product of the creation of Yugoslavia. One is almost willing to accept this, until the Montenegrins start to support their claim by referencing their "different language" (I suppose a few colloquial phrases are different, but no more so than one would find between Texas and Oklahoma - would one call Texan and Oklahoman different languages then?) and their legacy of resistance to outside occupation, unlike the meek acceptance of domination displayed by their Serbian cousins (and even this notion is historically questionable. Did the Turks, for example have trouble conquering the Montenegrins because they were such feisty warriors, or did they rather just not bother going through all those damn mountains looking for them.) The invention of Montenegrin nationalism is a very fascinating study, but perhaps for someone else on another day. Suffice it to say, Montenegro and Serbia are distinct countries now, and there is still some uncertainty what that really means.

Regardless of the border problems, however, I hope to visit Belgrade again soon - hopefully when it's not so snowy! Enjoy images of snowclad Belgrade for now, then. Hopefully many more warmer pictures will follow.

View from the train

This last picture may, I think, show a building that was damaged when the city was bombed in the 90s. A chilling reminder that war and death happened here, and not too long ago. The region has moved ahead from those years remarkably, has modernized and democratized and has made apologies for the insane lapse of racism the region underwent. But there are these moments that let you know, not all the scars are healed. Hopefully, they won't open again.

2008-01-25T22:34:00.000-08:00

Winter on the Coast of Montenegro

So, my winter vacation was uninspiring to say the least. I did manage to get a lot of painting done at home, but it was really too cold and rainy to experience much of Montenegro outside the concrete barricades of my apartment cell. I did, however, manage to venture to the coast on a couple of the rare sunny days. here are pictures of my excursions to Budva and Ulcinj:

The dalmatian Coast, which includes the Croatian and Montenegrin coastlines, has a long and colorful history. After towns were established along it by both the Greeks and Romans in ancient times (Dalmatia is the name from Roman times) the area came under Craot domination in the Middle Ages until being fought over by both the Hungarian and Venician Empires. As a result, the walled cities along the coast (of which Dubrovnik is the most famous, though certainly not the only example) boast architectural remnants from many eras. Cars are not allowed in these little citadels, and thus exploring them is like walking cobbled streets through time. Ironically, here in tiny Montenegro, despite the proximity of the mountains and the Serbian culture predominant in them, there is very little in common between the culture of the coast and the interior. The Dalmatian coast is a slice of cross-cultural uniqueness in an already diversified and complex region.

BUDVA

This is the view of Budva from the mountain ridge above it. One doesn't drive into Budva so much as fall into it.

Coming closer.

The bay supports a thriving fishing industry.

The Old Town's fortified walls, with a relaxing beach beside it. Perfect place for a slow drink on a lazy day.

A church within the Old Town.

Well, perhaps not typical of Dalmatian culture, but something I was excited to find in Budva: Chinese Food! In an otherwise meat-dominated Montenegro, something as exquisite as stir-fried veggies is really special. Apparently, during the war-torn days of the 90's, China was one of the few countries that kept an open relationship with the former Yugoslavia. Hence, a number of Chinese came to the region. Not surprisingly, many opened up shop on the coast.

ULCINJ

Ulicinj, in addition to the cultural heritage shared along the Dalmatian coast, also boasts two other sources of cultural influence. First, Ulcinj is close to Albania and as such has a very Albanian feel to it. The spires of Mosques arise along the town's horizon, and the Ottoman influence (Ulcinj was one of the few parts of now Montenegro to have been subsumed under Ottoman rule) can still be felt. Second, even up until 1900, Ulcinj served as a base of operations for a gang of Adriatic Pirates. There is a rumor that they even imprsioned Cervantes there for five years, and that some of the characters in Don Quixote are derived from people he knew in Ulcinj. So, "Argh!", y'know, except that these pirates were mostly involved in the slave trade, so, "boo."

The town of Ulcinj along its central beach.

Ulcinj's Old Town

Views of sunset from the walls of the Old Town's fort. Sadly, this was the weekend I had heard about the passing of my grandfather, John Elwood Lamphear, Sr. My melancholy clearly translated into my photographs that day. There is something about staring across the sea into thoughts about mortality and those who have passed beyond the furthest horizon. Gran, I love you, and you will be missed.

2008-01-13T04:57:00.000-08:00

If Not Europe, Then What?

My holidays here in Montenegro were a bust. I had planned on spending my holidays here to travel around the area, both in this country and in the neighboring states, and get to know the Balkans better. Unfortunately, the weather did not cooperate with my plans. It has been a dreary, cold, rainy season this year. I look out my window now and gray slabs of cloud and mist blot everything. The natural beauty for which Montenegro is known lays suffocated under ugly.

Of course, Montenegro is not alone in the wetness of this winter. It is a phenomenon that has been widespread all over Europe. The seasons flop and fumble these years, unsure of themselves. Last year, Europe had a warm winter. This year, a cold and wet one. The randomizing weather patterns are a European legacy Montenegro shares in these days of global climate change and the greenhouse effect.

Unfortunately, despite sharing a common meteorological bond, there is still a great divide between Western and Eastern Europe, and Montenegro lies squarely on the other side of the (no longer iron, perhaps a thick ream of bureaucratic, visa riddled paper?) curtain.

Granted, for Eastern Europe, the Soviet Union fell and the days of communism have been left behind, forgotten as one forgets the embarrassing antics of a late night drunken outing. For the most part, Eastern Europe has renounced its communist past and now commits itself wholly to the trappings of capitalism. Barely a capital city in the region is without a McDonalds or Miss Sixty, and billboards to Nokia have replaced the statues to Lenin that once held sway here. Some countries even make overtures of adopting democracy. Eastern Europe tries to prove to its Western brethren, as much as to itself, that it is ready to forget the past and adapt to Western European standards.

Of course, the greatest signal of this trend - and the greatest status of success for those Eastern European countries that have crossed over to the Western side - is the fervor by which Eastern European countries try to win admittance into the EU. Nowhere is this seen more clearly than in Montenegro. The tallest new monument in the capital Podgorica is the arching Millennium Bridge, a monolith of scaffolding that makes no pretensions to be anything other than a symbol of "bridging" the gap between Montenegro and Europe in this new millennium. Indeed, despite not yet being in the EU, Montenegro uses the euro as its official currency. How much more determined can you get? Romania and Bulgaria have already been admitted into the EU, and the rest of the Balkans are eager to follow suit. As Montenegro exemplifies, joining the EU is to be forgiven its communist and Milosivic past and be welcomed into the new, shiny, European future.

There are indeed great things about being welcomed into the EU. It's great for a country's financial development, and the citizens are free to travel where they will between the member states (and for Eastern Europeans, who have had to be subjected to interrogations and humiliation at borders their whole lives, this must surely come as a blessing. Oddly, one of the few trappings of the communist era that remains in Eastern Europe is the snide, suspicious behavior of the border police.) But on the other hand, there is an arrogance in presumption on the hand of Western Europe that makes the whole process rather suspect.

At heart, there is an unspoken assertion that European Union countries are "really" European, and that those countries seeking admission into the EU must prove they are European "enough" to be welcomed into the club. Of course, the EU doesn't see it this way. According to the EU, countries seeking admission into the EU must prove an acceptable level of democracy, racial tolerance, and economic and political transparency. Yet, the reality doesn't seem to bear this out. Neither Romania nor Bulgaria are free of corruption. Indeed, in light of the Kosovo situation, the EU has offered Serbia a "fast track" to EU membership. So, what, standards of democracy are only required of EU applicants when they are convenient to the rest of Europe? No, rather, as Serbia shows, all that is required to be granted to the EU is that a country grovels enough, submits itself to the will of Western Europe, grants Western Europe's cultural superiority. For an Eastern European country to be welcomed into the EU, all it needs do is admit it is inferior.

The true tragedy in all this is that Eastern Europe is so ready to forget its own recent history and throw in with the democratic legacy of Western Europe. Granted, there is a lot that should be moved past in Eastern Europe. The horrors inflicted on Estonia and Moldova by the USSR, the despotic reign of Ceausescu in Romania, the racial onslaught driven by Milosovic in former Yugoslavia. Indeed, it is great that Eastern Europe has moved past these nightmares and is turning instead to the democratic model of Western Europe. But the horrors of the past cannot merely be forgotten if a country is to hope to move into the future. The real repercussions of those tragedies, and the underlying factors that led to their arising, don't vanish just because your nation buys some voting machines, allows its finances to be audited, or opens franchises for Mango or The United Colors of Benetton to drive its citizenry to pursue the almighty euro. These countries have not been healed in a few short years, cannot be, and European Union membership is no salve for their underlying wounds. Eastern Europe needs to embrace its history, for better or worse, come to terms with it and accept it as its own. This is far more essential than euros and makeshift democracy in this region, and far more relevant for true prosperity and a real future.

Eastern Europe is already European, is already the real Europe. And the problems of fragile ethnic identity in this era of globalization, the aftermath of Soviet and communist regimes in the area, and the necessity to balance the prospects of capitalistic prosperity with the danger of losing all that is unique in a culture's heritage - these are definitively European problems. All Eastern Europe needs do to prove its European legacy is tackle these problems, meet them head on and resolve them peacefully and absolutely. This is far more indicative of what it means to be European in the modern age than buying German packaged goods with shiny gold euros, and these should be far more pressing concerns for these nations' governments than winning membership into the EU.

2007-12-21T03:18:00.000-08:00

San Giovanni Fort

My "loyal fanbase" will note that I have not posted in several weeks. I wish I could blame internet connectivity, a hectic work schedule, or some other circumstances beyond my control for this laxity. Unfortunately, I have only myself to blame - specifically my lack of any significant insights into this new country of residence, Crna Gore (otherwise known as Montenegro.)

I'd like this blog to me more than just a vacation photo album. I'd like to provide insights and perspective. But, I have found Montenegro strangely covetous of its culture. Sure, there are the generalizations I could make. Montenegro has pretty mountains and azure seas. The weather sucks. Developmentally, the country has quickly advanced from the socialist doldrums of its Tito years and has left the consequences of Milosevic's atrocities behind as bitter memories, so that today the country is quickly growing into a modern, independent, European state. Despite that, of course, the country remains socially regressed in many ways (The people park their cars on sidewalks, smoke indoors, and spit in public! Oh, the horrors!) Okay, so I can say all that, but so could anyone who came for a weekend's vacation here. It's the people that matter, what about the people?

And that's where I hit a wall of incomprehension. Perhaps the one conclusion I can draw about the Montenegrin people is that they are masters of being unknowable. It would be unfair to label them as unfriendly, as being unwelcome of foreigners. Indeed, many Montenegrins have been quite helpful to me on many occasions. There is certainly none of the caustic xenophobia I experienced in South Korea, nor even the haughty superiority against others the Russians in Moldova expressed. Yet, if they were so behaved, Montenegrins would be easier to comprehend: I could label them "xenophobic" or "haughty". In fact, the easy, casual friendliness of the people here makes them that much harder to comprehend. For that friendliness always only extends to a point, only as far as it needs before it becomes genuine, personal.

There is not so much an attitude of xenophobia as there is just a hazy wariness held by the people here. It's not aggressive, not at all, but this wariness lurks in the eyes, in the posture. Several foreigners I know have commented that not one of their Montenegrin coworkers has ever even offered, nor accepted an invitation to, lunch or a coffee outside of work. I'm a regular at many stores and cafes around town, and the people greet me with smiles and "ciaos" when I enter, but any attempt at actual conversation is met with dubious looks.

Now, let me emphasize, this wariness is in no way blatant, it's more of a subconscious firewall against overt socialization. I wouldn't even go so far to presume, in fact, that this wariness applies only to outsiders. With the deeply entrenched clan disputes that define the underlying terrain of social interactions here in Montenegro, there may be a deeply rooted legacy of wariness against all not-your-clan that is only accidentally transferred to visitors from beyond the country's borders. Or, on the other hand, perhaps clan disputes have nothing to do with it. Perhaps after centuries of Montenegro fighting on the front lines of Europe's conflicts (Montenegro lay squarely on the boundary between Holy Roman and Byzantine Europe, was one of the few countries in the area that maintained its independence against the Ottoman Empire, defended itself successfully against Napoleon, and was entrenched in significant conflicts in both WWI and WWII. And, of course, there is the little matter of the recent former-Yugoslavian conflicts of the 1990's) perhaps, Montenegro has justification for preserving a culture attitude of distance against outsiders - outsiders haven't been too trustworthy in the past.

Regardless of the underlying causes, the ultimate consequence of this wariness is that I have found it hard to get a bead on Montenegrin culture, and - more significantly - even harder to make personal relations with the people here. My original lascivious intentions to land one of the tall, leggy, raven haired angels that stalk the streets in their snapping heels quickly withered and died after several weeks here, and I have resolved myself to the companionship only of my rampant cats. Just so, I have accepted the limits of my experiences and understanding of the country to be localized on mountains, old forts, bodies of water - the inanimate factor of Montenegro. As the CNN commercial declares, "Montenegro: experience Vild Beauty." Indeed, the spectacular scenery of Montenegro awaits you. But forget about experiencing the people.

So, to that end, I share with you photos of a solitary journey I took up the mountain paths to Fort Giovanni at Kotor Bay some weeks ago. Enjoy the views!

The walls of Kotor's Old Town, San Giovanni Fort overlooking

The gate to the steps

Starting the climb from Old Town

Getting higher

Pray, you're about halfway there

Finally, the view from the fort!

Sweaty and victorious

A church behind the fort. Pray that those damn leg cramps will go away!

2007-11-25T04:58:00.000-08:00

Zabliak!

One of the best things about my new life in Montenegro is the school I'm teaching at, and what makes the school in turn so great are the families who comprise the school community. In many ways, this is the ideal international school situation. It's a small school, and yet the parents and children range from Nepal to Australia to Ethiopia to Japan. As such, we maintain a very cosmopolitan focus at the school and a genuine world view. (FAR better than the US-concentric schools that dominate elsewhere.)

What I'm saying is, we're all friends. Thus, when several of the families invited me to join them on an excursion into the mountains of Montenegro some weeks back, I was more than happy to join them.

The expedition began by following a thin ribbon of road that snakes and climbs about the edge of the winding Moraca river valley gorge. This is truly a sight to behold, as the cliff walls and the sheer mountainscapes about the emerald serpentine river grow only higher and more spectacular the farther you twine along the canyon. I am inclined to buy a car here in the country just so I can enjoy this road many more times in the future. (Sadly, no pictures of this particular leg of the journey. Hopefully next time!)

The road to Zabliak

We did manage to stop at a very scenic bridge along the way. I imagine that some enterprising tourist business will open this up for bungee jumping in the future. For now, it serves as a starting point for many rafting excursions.

After several hours of awesome mountain views, we arrived in the mountain village of Zabliak. Zabliak maintains much of the lifestyle and architecture of the traditional mountain towns of Montenegro and Serbia, despite quickly becoming a tourist destination.

Zabliak, with its traditional wooden farmhouses

The town really takes off in the winter as the hub for a small but successful skiing industry. Hopefully I'll be able to enjoy that soon! Still, despite being only autumn, we did get some snow. And for the kids (well, and for some of us childish adults as well) this meant an opportunity for sledding!

Zabliak is also situated at the edge of a vast national park. In fact, from the town, you can walk into the edges of the park, where we enjoyed hiking around the mist-covered Black Lake.

We also enjoyed a traditional lunch of slow-cooked lamb at a restaurant on the lake, which is dominated by a long fire pit that serves as fireplace, oven, and bar.

All in all, it was a great trip enjoyed with some great families and friends.

2007-11-16T08:19:00.000-08:00

My Podgorica Biking Circuit

Until daylight savings time snuffed the sun so early in the evenings, I looked forward to cycling with a bunch of other expats every Tuesday into the hills and mountains outside Podgorica. This was a great way to see something of the country outside of the city without having a car. Fortunately, Montenegro is so scenic and variably terrained that even a short excursion from the city offers much.

One of our more frequent circuits took us along a scenic river, into the farmland, up a few steep hills, and past some very interesting Roman ruins. Let me share the journey:

First, we wind alongside the azure-green waters of the Moraca river.

We cross a bridge over one of its more turbulent rapids. One of these days I need to get a kayak!

We cycle a while through the farms outskirting Podgorica. The gentle green fields soon give way to steep, rocky hills and cliffs. These, though challenging, are actually a welcome relief after the several inevitable encounters with the rabid, horse-sized dogs these farmers tend to keep.

After coursing through the hills a while longer, the circuit brings us to these Roman ruins. A village skirts the outer walls of these crumbling mortars, and often shepherds and cowherds send their flocks to graze amongst the ancient walls. Although small and in disrepair, I find the decrepit state of these ruins inspiring. Rather than having been built up and zoned off from the populace, these ruins maintain their ancient legacy that much better just because they are so unkempt and rustic. They are a fixture of the landscape, a timeless pile of assembled stones that have kept their vigil while empires rose and fell around them, while villages blossomed about, and countless generations of shepherds sent their sheep to graze between its walls.

The ruins are of a Roman town called Doclea, once a small but important urban center of the Dukjla State. Erected in the first century AD, the town was protected both by its high walls and two intersecting rivers that formed a natural moat. It boasted a forum, several temples, a triumphal arch, and (erected centuries later) two Christian basilicas. The town fell several times, at the hands of invading Goths and the tremors of earthquakes, before being finally leveled by the Slavs in 620. It is remarkable that, after so long, so many of the structures remain today.

Finally, along the Moraca river again, we cycle into the sunset homewards. Perhaps a dinner of deep-fried cordon bleu and veal rolls, washed down by several bottles of Niksicko beer, awaits us at the restaurant we head to afterwards, tasty though bound to undo any healthy gains we may have achieved in our kilometers of cycling. Still, such concerns are trivial. After all, its the company and the adventure that count.

2007-11-03T11:20:00.000-07:00

Now in Podgorica, Montenegro!

So, my summer vacation in the USA came to a close. I returned to Moldova for a too-brief opportunity to pack up, say goodbye to my dear friends, and get ready for my move to Podgorica, Montenegro.

This, then, was my last sight of my apartment window in Moldova, with my three amazing friends Cristina, Mika, and Angel bidding me farewell from it. There have been many, many times since the move when I wished I could have stayed back in Chisinau with these beautiful and super-cool girls. Alas, nothing lasts forever.

So, my flight to Podgorica was mostly uneventful. That is, except for the cats. I felt ridiculously compelled to bring my cats from Moldova with me to Montenegro. This almost didn't happen, as the airlines had a hell of a time confirming them on the flight, and it wasn't until the day before I left I found out I could take them with me. But even that nearly turned into a bust. I was charged a hell of a lot of money for bringing them with me (500 dollars, when the ticket itself cost about that!) and then, since I flew in another toaster-plane from Chisinau to Budapest, was told I had to put the cats in the luggage compartment. Concerned, I asked the guy if the luggage compartment was air conditioned, if the cast would die, and the only response I got was a shrug and amused, "Maybe." I nearly lost it then until I was assured by the flight crew that the whole plane, luggage compartment and cabin, shared the same air. Still, while my cats did survive, they were decidedly freaked out once I picked them up in Budapest. Quiet, limp, and soaked in their own urine. Still, they were silent as a result for the entire layover and maintained their hushed demeanor until I released them from their bags in my new apartment in Podgorica, Montenegro.

So, about my new "home town." Podgorica is a relatively small town, especially so for a capital city. One could easily walk its urban center from end to end in less than an hour, and the outskirts don't sprawl that much further. Despite this, there are a number of stores and cafes here, and even a few bars that stay open late on the weekends. Most of the social interaction seems centered around a large central square with a fountain in it, in the area of which people tend to mill about in the evenings. Since it is such a small city, people who are from here are bound to run into many people they know as they mill. Hence, by walking around downtown, you get to meet up with all your friends without having to worry about setting up a time or place to meet. Good for them. Not so great for me, as a foreigner, since I don't know anyone here and so have no chance of meeting up with anyone I know. Still, it's nice to wander amidst the bustling crowds sometimes.

The central square and fountain, usually abuzz in the evenings.

The Millennium Bridge, Podgorica's landmark.

The Old Clock Tower, near the Muslim district of town.

A traditional meal at one of the downtown cafes: pancakes rolled with ham and cheese, deep fried, and topped with sour cream and shredded cheese. Don't worry Mom, I'm eatin smart!

There is none of the happening nightlife or social scene that I enjoyed in Chisinau, but I suppose that's not what one does here. instead, Podgorica is a terrific jumping off point for exploring the "Vild Beauty" (a la CNN) that Montenegro has to offer. Podgorica is just an hour from the coast and surrounded by the many breathtaking mountains the country boasts. Additionally, the crystal green Moraca River roars through the city, and is situated at the base of a very relaxing, pine-covered hill. One enjoys Podgorica, as Montenegro, for its natural wonders and outdoors opportunities. In the summer there is swimming at the beaches along the coast, and in the winter skiing in the mountains. And being in Podgorica, one is central to it all.

The Moraca River.

A view of the mountains from the Park Suma Gorica.

So, while not the most exciting home, Podgorica is certainly picturesque.

2007-10-30T15:13:00.000-07:00

Also in New Mexico...

Although I didn't actually go to these places last summer, I figured I may as well show them while I'm talking about places to explore in New Mexico.

First, there's Lake Abiquiu. Close to Abiquiu town and the famous Ghost Ranch (where O'Keefe did her paintings), Lake Abiquiu is an artificial lake formed by the damming of an old quarry. As such, Lake Abiquiu is ideal for mid-desert cliff diving (for the truly brave) or just for having a swim and lying out in the sun, as my beautiful friend Koo Im demonstrates.

Also, not too far from Santa Fe, lies the bizarre terrain of Tent Rocks National Park. These strange, house-likes steeples were carved by the wind and elements in a manner similar to the hoodoos in Bisti.

But, the fun part is, once there, you get to meander for a good hour through this twisting chasm...

Until you get to the top, where this fantastic view awaits you!

So, you see, New Mexico is awesome. And I haven't even mentioned the Native American pueblos, green chile, or ski slopes! If you go to the USA, forget the hype of New York city or the revolting glam of LA. Head to the desert!

2007-10-30T14:28:00.000-07:00

Final New Mexico Rock Pictures

One may safely say I spent the bulk of my trip to New Mexico, and the most exciting part of my journey to the USA, looking at rocks. This is true. But lets not forget, these are not ordinary rocks.

The rocks of the New Mexico badlands are testaments to the slow, inescapable power of time itself. Once, where now there is but rock and dust, there were huge swampy lakes patrolled by duck-billed dinosaurs and mammoth trees. Now, all that is gone. What remains are the fossilized trunks of long extinct flora and the sun-baked deposits of minerals once buried beneath leagues of water and mud. The towering steeples of the hoodoos were once sandstone shelves laying at the bottom of sunken pools, their bases a softer rock that has been weathered by the elements and the omnipotent hands of time. These aren't merely rocks. These are mementos to how absolutely time will change everything.

The last zone of New Mexico badlands we stopped at was, according to the guidebook at hand, also one of the oldest, or at least boasted the oldest layers of sediment in the region. Oddly, compared to Bisti, this area was surprisingly more green, almost lush - for the desert. What was most intriguing were the colors. The rocks were hewn in soft, pastel and sherbet hues.

There are many more places worth exploring in New Mexcio. I suppose, someday when I am done with al this world hopping, I'll settle back down there and try to experience them all.

New Mexico, too, is a great place for artists. the quality of the light there not only brings the colors of your own pallet out more, but inspire you to render them yourself in your own art in the first place. My traveling companion on this adventure, for example (and a truly awesome awesome friend!), Laura Brink, is an AMAZING artist. I aspire to be half the artist she is someday. You must must must! go check out her work online. www.laurabrink.com Laura rocks!!!

2007-10-27T03:37:00.000-07:00

Chaco Culture

One of the best stops I made in New Mexico was at Chaco Culture National Park. This is the site of many ancient and fabulously preserved pueblos that date from between AD 850 and 1250. It's really a remarkable place, perhaps - from an archaeological point of view - one of the most significant sites in the USA. It is also one of the most beautiful, as the canyon itself is a gorgeous expanse of colored mesas and desert scrub, throughout which rise the crumbling citadels of a culture lost to time. One of the most fascinating walks takes you under the ridge of the mesa that most of the sites are built around, a ridge that is decorated with fascinating pictographs depicting people and animals (and, unfortunately, a few more modern gnashes of graffiti as well.) Being in Chaco is like folding back the curtains of prehistory.

Take a trip to New Mexico and check it out!

One of the larger pueblos

Pueblo with one of its great kivas

Details of some of the walls

Pectographs!

Pueblo with rabbit

My first glimpse of a collared lizard in the wild! A herpetologist's perk in Chaco.

2007-10-21T22:39:00.000-07:00

Bisti Wilderness

When I wasn't jumping around playing spaceman, I took time to appreciate the awesome beauty of the Bisti Wilderness. Bisti comprises one of several badlands located in the heart of Navajo land in New Mexico. It's a geologist's paradise, with fossil remnants, sandstone hoodoos, and colorful shale deposits rising all about. One truly feels like a visitor on an alien world, ambling about the bizarre and fantastic terrain. Anyone going to New Mexico, visit Bisti!

2007-10-12T08:29:00.000-07:00

I'm Captain Kirk!

In my last blog I wrote about how visiting Star Trek: the Experience was the highlight of my visit to Las Vegas. Well, for a die-hard Trekkie like myself, making a pilgrimage to this epicenter of Trekkana was made even more exciting because it enabled me to live out one of my lifelong dreams.

I got to be Captain Kirk.

Not in Vegas, mind you, but at my next destination on my tour across the USA: the Bisti Wilderness, a national park in New Mexico. During my previous visits to the park, I had always thought how bizarrely otherworldly the landscape there appears. Surrounded by hoodoos and crumbling rocks of every hue, one feels indeed like an explorer on a strange alien world. It was fortunate for me, then, that I had purchased a Captain Kirk uniform shirt while at Star Trek: the Experience! I donned my spaceman fatigues, copped the attitude of the bravado captain, and spent the next hour or so cavorting amongst the hoodoos (either to the delight or disturbance of my awesome photo-snapping friend Laura.)

The result is the following series I am only too happy (and equally embarrassed) to share with you.

I'm Captain Kirk! Enjoy! :)

The captain surveys the strange alien planet

Is there any intelligent life here?

Dilithium crystals!

What's that?

A Gorn!

Pursuing the enemy.

Fire phasers!

Explaining humanity to the Rock Creature.

New friends!

Beam me up, Scottie!

2007-10-09T22:22:00.000-07:00

Star Trek: The Experience

Las Vegas was indeed a squalid pit of consumerism, greed, and inauthenticity. It is a testament to all that is amiss with our modern humanity. It wasn't even sinful, at least that would be redeeming; sin for all its faults is still exciting, still driving, still very much human and alive. No, it's not that las Vegas is anything like sinful that faults it. rather, it is the monumental waste of human potential Las Vegas represents that really chills me. How can there be so much architectural splendor, energy, and human activity in a place that is so devoid of anything like human culture? Is this what we have devolved to in our modern age, that one of the greatest achievements in human creativity serves merely to enframe the experience of injecting coins into pinging slot machines? Is this our legacy?

It is incongruous then, and at the same time inspiring, that las Vegas also serves as home to one of the greatest amusement rides on Earth: Star Trek the Experience.

Star Trek, in contrast to all that Las Vegas stands for, is a fantasy epic centered around a single message: that if we embrace all the goodness, compassion, and righteousness inherent in our humanity, then we can bring our world together in peace and as a unified human culture begin to explore the stars. That once we acknowledge and heed all that is good within us, the sky is the limit.

Star Trek: The Experience, while still a commercial venture, helps to remind us of this fact. Aside from serving as a museum of artifacts from each of the various Star Trek series and movies, there is a Star Trek themed restaurant and bar (Quark's) and two "rides" that you can go on. These are fun, as you get to walk in recreated starship sets (including the Enterprise bridge!, interact with Starfleet crew, ride in a flight simulator as you evade Klingon attackers in a shuttlecraft, and experience a 3D movie. Altogether, it a fun escape from the inane money-chasing idiocy of the rest of Vegas.

Of course, for me, being a Trekkie and all, going to Star Trek: the Experience was something like a voyage to mecca. Something all Trekkies must do once in their life. Indeed, truth be told, it was the primary reason I decided to go to Vegas in the first place. I was not disappointed. Trekkie or not, I recommend a visit to Star Trek: the Experience. Forget the rest of Vegas.

2007-09-29T01:56:00.001-07:00

Die Las Vegas, You Die!

So, to reiterate, thanks to the bumbling inefficiency of the Moldovan visa authority, I was taken into custody when I originally tried to leave Moldova in the summer and consequently had to cut my three-week visit to the USA down to two weeks. Hence, I was unable to hit all four places on my itinerary that I wanted to: Austin, because family is there; Santa Fe, because of the awesome desert and my even more awesome friend Laura; San Francisco, because it is the world's most perfect city and home to my very cool friend Isaac; and Las Vegas, because I had never been there. I knew I had to cut one destination off the list, and so cut San Francisco in favor of Las Vegas - for the very simple reason that I wanted an adventure.

This was a mistake!

Las Vegas is nothing like the seedy frenzied pit of deviant action it is so gloriously portrayed in American media. The lurid "What-happens-in-Vegas-stays-in-Vegas" promise of seedy debauchery is a crock of hype. From what I saw, Vegas is nothing but a dumbly buzzing hive of family Americana. It's an unimaginative Disneyland where the elaborate joy of themepark rides have been scaled down to the tinniest of joys found in a slot machine, where childhood celluloid heroes the likes of Mickey Mouse or Goofy have been reduced to plasticine showgirls and silicon strippers (or, even worse, the ghastly whores). From what I saw, Vegas is a sweltering pit of blundering masses - overweight Midwesterners with their scampering brood - all writhing about searching for their God of promised excitement, finding Him nowhere, and flinging money about in vain attempts of sacrifice for His summoning. Oh, Jesus, Vegas is BORING!

Learn from my mistake: if you get to choose between San Francisco and Las Vegas, choose San Francisco!

So, my trip - such that it was - went like this. I stayed at the Luxor hotel, a monolithic faux-pyramid that - in much the same way that the Egyptian pyramids served as immortal chambers for the spirits of the Pharaohs - serves to encapsulate and immortalize the spirit of American commerce. Inside the sloping walls you'll find a labyrinth of restaurants, boutiques, bars, and casinos all waiting to devour your cash. Oh, and there's a pool.

Finding nothing at all of interest in this particular hotel, I ambled about the city in search of the aforementioned nonexistence of excitement. Unfortunately, as each hotel is itself a monstrosity of shops and casinos, it takes one nearly half an hour to walk from building to building. An evening's stroll down the Vegas strip, then, can really only negotiate three hotels, max. Not that one would really want to experience more than that anyway. Despite the flashing lights and elaborately themed architecture that may lure you inside, each hotel's inner workings is pretty much the same: a twisting hive of confusing corridors glutted with wandering mobs and pinging slot machines. It's enough to make you want to go running into the desert in search of some space.

I spent the next couple days like that. Bored and wandering. My last evening I decided to experience a glamorous, pricey nightclub where black designer clothes, multihued shots, and overplayed MTV hits were the order of the evening. What I found very strange about this venue though - the Buddha bar, it was called - is that they had velvet ropes, not just at the door, but in front of each TABLE. Forget how impossible this made it to actually move around in the club, having to negotiate as a spider the webs of fuzzy ropes spiraling everywhere, the effect was just PATHETICALLY elitist. Hair-waxed Tom Cruise clones would occasionally strut from behind their fuzzy roped fortresses to lure young ladies from the dancefloor with the promise of passing the forbidden red line. And when the group of girls I was talking with - hell, buying drinks for! - were likewise lured (I'm wondering, now, off the top of my head - could this work anywhere? Say a Denny's perhaps? If I roped off a corner booth, for example, with fuzzy red twine, could I lure the coffee-swilling vixens at the counter to join me?) I called it a night, and an end to the pathetic display of vapid inhumanity that is Las Vegas.

But was my time in Vegas, then, a total waste? No! Indeed, I had a great experience there, of which I will tell you in my next romping installment of this unread blog. (And no, I'm not talking about the Spearmint Rhino, which for all its certain allures is far too mundane to actually comment upon. Besides, this is the internet! What about the children!) Stay tuned!

2007-09-23T05:13:00.000-07:00

Summer Vacation: Part 2

Okay, Internet here in the Balkans isn't all it's cracked up to be, so sorry about the delay in posting. I'll try to do TWO today to make up for it! But, well, no promises...

I would be remiss in detailing my travels through the USA this summer without at least touching upon Texas, where I found myself staying for the bulk of my vacation. Here, I was able to enjoy the rollicking adventures of : Stripmalls!

So, some yakhead got the great idea of zoning American cities such that houses and businesses were made miles apart, so the only way to get to your house to the market was to drive and so ginormous superhighways and epic parking lots were built and subsequently the stores were built even further away from the residences so that even more highways and parking lots needed to be built, and what you are left with is a neverending blight upon the American urban landscape. And what if you don't have a car? prepare to spend all day going on a single errand, either by foot or car it makes little difference. And the world wonders why America went to war in Iraq for oil.

So, when I do go to the USA, and Texas in particular, I always look forward to the one day my dad lets me visit his ranch, a tranquil zone of peace away from the frustrating hoopla of Austin urbanity. (Yes, one day only - not the closest of families as you may well infer.)

My dad raises Longhorn cattle. They are really quite beautiful creatures - the squareness of their frames, the softness of their eyes, and of course the grace of their lengthy horns give longhorns a sublime and majestic presence.

It's strange somehow that these animals should symbolize Texas, or anything American really. The beauty of the longhorns' grace comes from the fact that, despite their deadly armament, they restrain their power. They don't blunder along skewering every little animal they see. Yes, they could kill you with a mere swing of the head, but they don't - and thereby the threat of their power becomes that much more pronounced and one tends to be that much more wary around them. It's an attitude America could learn to emulate.

2007-09-10T10:05:00.000-07:00

SUMMER VACATION: PART 1

I have been very lax in my posting of blogs this summer. The reason being, of course, that I have made the move from Moldova to Montenegro! Both in Europe, both countries that start with "M", yet worlds apart. I will soon post on my new country of residence. But first I thought I would describe the journey.

I decided to go to the USA this summer. My grandfather has been doing poorly, so I felt it my duty to see him. Plus, I had a few other things to take care of. So, despite my limited savings and the fact I knew I would have to spend a lot to get to Montenegro, I committed to go to the USA.

I bought a ticket and was all ready to go. I showed up at the airport all ready for my journey. Or so I thought.

I was detained by the police at the airport. Apparently my visa was expired. But how? I had received a year visa last year in August, and this was only July? Did Moldovan years have fewer months than in the rest of the world?

No, get this: in January a new law was passed in Moldova saying that Americans no longer needed a visa to enter the country for 90 days. Yay that. However, for some totally screwball communist-thinking reason, this meant that all other visas for Americans became invalid. Yeah, it's moronic; welcome to Moldova. So, my old visa was invalid, meaning I had stayed past the 90 days allowed me since January, when the new law came into effect.

So, I was hauled to the courthouse, missed my flight, blah blah blah. To make a long story short, the judge dismissed the case (finally, reason!) and so I was free to come in and out of the country. But, I still had to wait a week to go to the USA. My trip was cut to 2 weeks.

Still, I decided to make the most of my trip. I showed up at the airport a week later, showed the judges letter to an obviously flustered border guard, and luckily made it out of the country in one piece. I say luckily, because I flew out in the aerial equivalent of a toaster. See the pic.

Fortunately, this flight was brief, followed by probably the best overseas flight experience in my life: I licked out and got a window seat by the emergency door (extra legroom!) in a two-seat aisle, where my partner was this very cute and sociable girl from Slovakia. We watched the same movies together, drank a few glasses of wine, and whiled away the hours talking: it was my first aeronautic blind date!

I had a few hours layover in Chicago, and as I was eager to make the most of my 2 weeks in the USA I hopped an "El" downtown. I lived in Chicago for half a year many moons ago, so felt oddly nostalgic for the land of hot-dogs and overweight Midwesterners (a connection?)

Many years ago, I attended the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. I was young and carefree, and dropped out after only a semester. To this day I consider that the biggest blunder in my life and wonder what would have happened had I stayed there. (And now you know something of the real, inner me - don't say I never opened up, whoever you are!) So this was my ultimate destination. Unfortunately, it was closed :(

So, I ate a donut and went back to the airport. My first taste of America.

2007-08-11T11:24:00.001-07:00

Eco Sport Party in Transnistria

While living here in Moldova, I have been lucky enough to be a member of the Eco Sport fitness center. More than just a place to work out, Eco Sport has been an oasis of friendliness in what can sometimes be an uninviting culture. Indeed, I count among the Eco Sport staff some of the best friends I have made here in Chisinau.

So, I was happy that Eco Sport hosted a party at a hotel on the banks of the Nistru River. A great summer escape, but also one last party here in Moldova before I leave. Tomorrow, I head out to Montenegro, leaving Moldova behind.

Another plus about the party was that many people were heading to the hotel where it was situated by bicycle. I welcomed the chance to put into practice all my training in the spin classes and to take in the Moldovan countryside from the perspective of a bike. So, early in the morning, a clot of bicyclists and a few support vehicles headed out from Chisinau into the Moldovan fields.

Due to the few number of bicycles the gym had, I only got to ride for the second half (and, fortunately, the less hilly half) of the journey. However, when I did get my chance, I was not disappointed. Biking in Moldova may be one of the best ways to see the country. The countryside rolls and dips with lush green fields, sprinkled occasionally with quaint villages sliced from another time. Cleaving my bike through the noiseless air, passing horse carts and elder people in classic garb, I truly felt like I was in the heart of Eastern Europe.

Once thing I was not prepared for, however, was crossing over the Transnistrian "border" by bike. Transnistria is a breakaway republic from Moldova, a thin slice of land lying across the Nistru river that maintains its own independence through corruption, Russian interference, and Moldova's own ineptitude to do anything concrete about the situation. It is a lawless land unrecognized by any nation, and as such is rife with mafia corruption. As such, he "border officials" there typically try to extort money from anyone who passes (I've heard of Moldovan university students being charged 50 euro for forgetting their student ID cards!) and foreigners are usually their easiest targets. However, when I passed through on the bicycle, the thick-necked thug who blocked me was visually disappointed. Clearly, in my exercise attire, I had not stash of cash ready to hand over to him. Also, as the group I was with had obviously already struck a deal with the Transnistrian "officials" to pass through, I could not very well be sent back. A flash of my passport, pus the usual 10 lei charge o cross the "border", and I was free to pass - despite the scowl of chagrin that passed the faux-guardians face.

After a peaceful and pleasant ride along the banks of the Nistru River, we finally reached our destination: a small hotel situated by the river. For Moldova, the place was an oasis: swimming pool, tennis courts, and access to the river. Water sports and other athletic competitions were arranged, the quality of which became less cohesive as the day - and the drinking - grew longer. In the evening people gorged themselves on BBQ and various drinks, and a nighttime disco party at the hotel collapsed into riotous insanity in the swimming pool.

All told, it was a great way to say goodbye to Moldova and some of the best friends I have made over the past two years here. I got to enjoy the Moldovan countryside, great Moldovan food, awkward Moldovan politics, and great Moldovan friendship all in one excurtsion. There are, indeed, some great aspects to this country, things I will miss when I am gone.

2007-07-06T03:51:00.001-07:00

HOT SUMMER IN CHISINAU

We had a relatively mild winter this year. Sure, everything was as gray and grim as the prolific Soviet concrete apartments that blot the skyline here, but it snowed only twice and we were spared the wretchedly frigid climes of the past two years. However, we are seemingly paying for this warm winter with an exceptionally warm summer as well.

There aren't too many ways to escape the heat here in Moldova. Moldovans, being stuck in antiquity as they are, maintain the Victorian superstition that colds and sickness are caused, not by germs, but by drafts. Hence, even on the hottest days, Moldovans do not open windows more than a crack, and prevent cross-breezes at all costs. Additionally, Moldova is by and large too poor a country to afford much in the way of air conditioning. Hence, most places are stuffy and hot, and God help you if you have to actually take public transportation. Really, the only escape from the heat is to stay outside during the long summer days (breezes, apparently, don't make you sick if you are outside, only if you are inside) and this is just what Moldovans do.

In summer in Chisinau, outdoor cafes sprout up along every roadside and in every park. Gardens of patio furniture, umbrellas, and beer cups bloom like vast vistas of plastic, cigarette-logoed foliage. People spend their long lazy days engaged in camaraderie and slow inebriation, and the city is abuzz with life, laughter, and drunken flirtation. It's really the best time to be in Chisinau.

Following are a list of some of my favorite cafes in the city. If you ever find yourself in Chisinau in the summertime, enjoy a cold (well, moderately cool; Moldovans also suffer from the delusion that cold drinks, and even ice cream, will likewise make you sick)Chisinau Beer, locally produced Chardonnay, or any of the fresh and delicious locally made fruit juices, and bask in the lazy hazy heat of Chisinau's social forum.

Delice D'Ange, known more commonly as the "French Patisserie", offers wonderful and authentic French cakes, pastries, and quiche. Also, the best ice cream in town!

Green Hills Nistru has a very lush and relaxing patio area. The menu is pretty nice too, with great selections of soup, salads, fish, and main dishes. Although somewhat notorious as a place for local mafia to take their scantily clad escorts, this provides a glimpse into perhaps one of the more authentic aspects of Moldova.

Symposium has a very calm and pleasant patio, but what makes this place really shine is the wonderful selection of local Moldovan wines. Recline into a soft director's chair and treat yourself to your own wine tasting.

Status is a place I find myself going more often than I should, probably because it is the best of the three Poet's Park cafes (the other two being Enigma and Penthouse). The menu is below par, but the drinks are fine, the seats comfortable, and it's a great place to watch the park's denizens mill about.

Penthouse is a relatively new cafe, taking the place of the infamous Pizza Paza. While Penthouse has very comfy white chairs on its terrace, the bar tries far too annoyingly to make itself "hip". Techno dance music blares, and every table is topped with a "reserved" sign so that the too-cool waiters can pick and choose the clients at the cafe - an equivalent to a disco's velvet rope. For Moldova, this kind of elitist nonsense is just pathetic. Give this place a miss.

Cafes, as you can see, are everywhere. Even the movie theater has one! Get yourself properly sloshed before your film begins so you can annoy your fellow movie-goers by jostling through them to the toilet a few times during the flick. Good times!

Note how the cinema plays American movies, advertised in Romanian, which are dubbed in Russian. The joys of a linguistically confused populace. Good thing the movies are all Hollywood trash anyway; I don't feel so bad about not going.

Andy's Pizza is certainly the most popular local chain in the country. There are numerous, sprawling franchises throughout the city, all of which are extremely popular. Mayonnaisey pizzas served by slow and incompetent waitstaff, all at a reasonable price - a recipe for success! I don't go myself, as much because the p[izzas don't do it for me as because - a year back or so - the son of the president of Moldova (a notorious crimeboss) planted drugs in the pizza chain's owner's apartment, forced him to flee the country to avoid prosecution, and then stole the entire restaurant chain for himself. Ah, Moldova - land of opportunity!

Of course, there are other ways to avoid the heat as well. As in the picture below, people are often apt to frolic and bathe in the city's public fountains.

Another, alternative way to avoid the heat is through a careful selection of apparel - or rather the lack thereof. take these girls, for example!

So, if you happen to be in Moldova in the summer time, I hope you take advantage of the wonderful cafe culture that proliferates. (Don't come in the wimter, though, because then all the cafes are gone and everyone huddles in small, smoky, cold concrete bars - gag.) Hai, Noroc!

2007-05-13T12:16:00.000-07:00

Estonia, the Monument, and What it Means (Part 2)

In my last blog (which, if you’re reading this, is actually the next blog – so read that first!) I began to question why it is that the Russian populace in Russia and Eastern Europe is so infuriated about the Estonia. As you’ll recall, Estonia decided recently to move a monument that commemorates Russia’s involvement in World War II, a monument that also serves as a grave to an “unknown soldier.” Despite the fact that this was a democratic decision made by an independent nation, Russians are up in arms – some even demanding that the Estonian government step down. It is a time of great tension between Estonia and Russia.

So, what is the problem? Why are Russians so infuriated that a Soviet-era monument is being retired? Why, as Russians I have met here in Moldova have expressed, do they “hate them” (the Estonians) for removing another nation’s statue?

When I have asked Russians here why it is that Estonia should not be allowed to remove this monument to Soviet occupation from within their own borders, Russians typically throw out the same excuse: Because Russia saved Estonia from the Nazis. Indeed, this is the same excuse Russians typically give for why Russia was justified in occupying Eastern Europe after WWII in the first place: Because Russia saved these people from the Nazis. Putting aside for the moment the historical validity of such a claim, there is a certain ethical flaw in this line of reasoning. After all, if I save a girl from being raped by beating away her assailant, that in no way gives me justification to rape her myself. Just so, because Russia assisted in the removal of the occupying force of Nazi Germany from Eastern Europe did not justify Russia’s subsequent occupation of those countries. And, along the same lines, now that those countries are liberated from Russian occupation, there is no moral compulsion for these countries to maintain memorials to Russia, either as a savior or as an oppressor.

Yet, when I have tried to present these lines of logical thought to Russian nationalists, I am met only with a wall of fury and self-righteousness that often involves very personal reflections. “My father fought in World War II,” “My grandfather died fighting the Nazis,” etc. These are very telling responses however, and rather than being mere emotive outbursts should be understood properly. For what really drove Russia to occupy Eastern Europe, and what even today makes Russians feel possessive of these nations, lies in these words.

To explain myself, I’d like to first root my ideas in some theories that have arisen recently within the schools of anthropology. There has been a lot of writing and discussion of late about the concept of a “meme.” Here’s what the on-line dictionary has to say about the definition of a meme:

Meme [meem] - Richard Dawkins's term for an idea considered as a replicator, especially with the connotation that memes parasitise people into propagating them much as viruses do.Memes can be considered the unit of cultural evolution. Ideas can evolve in a way analogous to biological evolution. Some ideas survive better than others; ideas can mutate through, for example, misunderstandings; and two ideas can recombine to produce a new idea involving elements of each parent idea.
The term is used especially in the phrase "meme complex" denoting a group of mutually supporting memes that form an organised belief system, such as a religion. However, "meme" is often misused to mean "meme complex".
Use of the term connotes acceptance of the idea that in humans (and presumably other tool- and language-using sophonts) cultural evolution by selection of adaptive ideas has become more important than biological evolution by selection of hereditary traits.

A meme, then, is essentially a cultural belief, value, opinion, idea, or conception that is passed along from generation to generation within a society. Human cultures evolve by selecting and adhering to memes, so much so that these memes become as fundamental and as decisive of human nature as any biological consideration. Human beings may be tool-makers, not because of any genetic tool-making trait within our chromosomes, but because the meme of tool-making has been passed down from generation to generation within human societies. Memes, and meme-complexes, are being looked at as ways to explain many unique inclinations of the human animal. But perhaps one of the most intriguing areas of investigation lies in the study of how cultural memes may be responsible for the human inclination for war.

Barbara Ehrenreich, in her very interesting book “Blood Rites” posits that human cultures maintain a warlike demeanor because it is a way of memorializing the very significant evolution in human society that occurred when human beings made the transition from prey to predator. For millions of years, human beings cowered from predatory cats and carnivores that fed upon us as upon any other relatively defenseless animals in nature. Yet, at some time, human beings learned to band together and, as a societal unit, defeat those animals that preyed upon us. Indeed, with these skills of pack hunting, human beings learned to become predators themselves. As a result, human beings went from being on of the weakest animals in nature to being some of the strongest. This was such a significant epoch in the cultural evolution of he human being that human cultures maintained reminders of this transition within their societies. One way in which human beings cherished this triumph was through religions that centered on blood sacrifice. Human beings around the world, from South America to Ancient Greece, sacrificed animals and humans to their gods in very bloody, very emotional rituals. These rituals served to prove to society as a whole that humans are capable of killing, to remind the people that humans can be, should be, and are predators now. It is telling indeed that Incan priests wore jaguar skins when they cut the hearts from their human sacrifices. Such a ritual serves to foster the meme in human society that people should band together, cry out, and kill.

But blood sacrifice is not the only way this meme is transmitted through human society. Another, contemporary ritual that serves to indoctrinate human societies with the notion that we should band together and kill is the ritual of war.

War serves the purpose of maintaining the meme of communal killing within human society perhaps even better than does blood sacrifice. After all, war requires everyone in a society to band together to triumph over a common foe. Indeed, as the jingoism of WWI showed, there is a notion within warring societies that the nation that is most unified and nationalistic in its stance will win its war, other considerations like strategy and technological advancement being somehow sidelined in considerations. Even today, Americans rally around the empty rhetoric of “Support Our Troops,” thinking perhaps that the psychic call of nationalist pride will allow soldiers fighting in Iraq to dodge bullets or fight more valorously. War requires a populace to band together and contribute in order to defeat an evil predatory menace, a stance that preserved us as a species from predators in the wild millions of years ago. Indeed, it was perhaps this lesson learned that forged the first human societies in the first place. Hence, the meme of communal killing (which today is translated into warfare) is passed down in society even today, not because we perceive real predatory threat from the wild, but because this meme is fundamental to the establishment of human society in the first place. A society, perhaps, does not become a society at all until it bands together to kill.

Despite its role in forging societies, however, I would be inclined to say that his meme of communal killing has exhausted itself of its usefulness. After all, with the exception of a few tiger, shark, or crocodile killings per year, humanity is no longer at risk from predators. Many societies today seem to realize this, and instead of finding unity through war find unity through economic, environmental, or moral concerns. Indeed, contemporary warlike nations often do not have the support of all their populace any longer, as the anti-war protests in America today reflect.

However, I cannot legitimately make the claim that humanity no longer needs the meme of communal killing to defend itself, since humanity is indeed in danger of being wiped out by the most voracious and bloodthirsty predator of them all: man itself. And at no time in human history was this better proved than during World War II.

There is no question that Nazi Germany was a predator, that sought not just to conquer land and expand economies but to slaughter specific societies and eradicate them from the globe. Of course, we are familiar with the fact that the Nazis tried to eradicate the Jews. Six million Jews were killed, an act that can only be described as the actions of a predatory beast ravaging its prey. It is no wonder, then, that today Israelis are extremely nationalistic and quick to engage in warfare against their Middle Eastern neighbors. As our human ancestors learned millions of years ago, human societies must band together and kill if they are to survive against predators. Israeli culture, then, has been founded upon a renewed and intensified version of the meme of communal killing (conceived today as warfare, which ironically does not require killing so long as the military machine itself is maintained; it is the capacity to kill that matters today) that underlies the human condition for all of us.

But while it may seem evident that Jewish people suffered a horrible tragedy and, thus, have become so warlike as a result, it is less apparent that the Russian people experienced a similar tragedy in World War II. Nevertheless, Russia experienced a holocaust of its own, one arguably far greater than that experienced by the Jews.

According to Wikipedia, approximately 23,500,000 Russians, military and civilian, died in World War II. Over 13 percent of the population was killed. This is a staggering number of lives lost. Death was so pervasive for Russians in World War II that almost every family lost one of its own. It is understandable, then, that during the war Russians were terrified. Russia had fared badly in its two most significant prior conflicts, the Russo-Sino War and WWI. Now, Russia was not only in danger of being defeated militarily, but its populace was in danger of being exterminated, slaughtered by a predatory beast gnawing piecemeal through the nation. It is no wonder that the meme of communal killing was reinvigorated within the Russian society at this time, a societal instinct that most assuredly did preserve the Soviet Russian nation and allowed it to drive back and help defeat the Nazi predator. The Soviet Union, then, like Israel, came into its own as a society brought together and founded upon a newly invigorated and intensified version of the meme of communal killing.

This meme, the need to be unified and militarily stalwart to stave off the potential predator, perpetuated in Russian society after World War II. Why did Russia annex Eastern Europe after World War II? It is not because Russia legitimately felt that these countries owed Russia their gratitude (and hence, themselves). It is not because Russia wanted to extend the Soviet dream of communal, proletariat harmony to the peoples in these nations. Rather, it is because, “My father died in World War II.” It is because Russians were anxious of the predator, a notion pervasive to Russian society as a whole after World War II and passed down as a meme through the generations since. Russia ringed itself with subordinate nations, from Estonia to Uzbekistan, for the same reason that an African pastoralist fortifies his kraal with a barrier of high, thorny branches: to keep out the predators that hunt in the night. Russians today hate the citizens of former Soviet nations for breaking away and becoming independent – truly hate them – because in so doing Russia has become exposed again to the predators beyond its barriers. “Ethnic” Russians (I put this term in quotes because there is no such thing as an ethnic Russian. Russia today consists of over 100 ethnic groups that have been mixing and intermingling since the Vikings came to conquer the Mongol peoples living there.) living in former Soviet nations maintain a sense of Russian nationalism so strong they refuse to learn the languages of the countries they were born in and deny to be classed as citizens of those countries (“I’m not Moldovan, I’m Russian,” I’ve heard many a person born and raised here in Moldova decry.) because Russian society still perpetuates the meme that Russians must stand unified and at defense against the predator from without. To be Russian is to be unified and on alert against the external foe.

This meme of militaristic unification has been transmitted through Russian society, both in Russia and without, by a number of traditions and means. Russian “Men’s Day” is explicitly a celebration of a man’s virtue to a society as a soldier, not as a father, son, businessperson, or anything else. May 9 is celebrated as a holiday by Russian people to commemorate “Russia’s victory” in World War II, when Russian soldiers are applauded, Russian tanks are paraded, and Russian society as a whole comes together as a military whole. All of these celebrations are in place specifically to convey the meme of military unification from one generation to the next, to recall the nature of the predatory beast and express the necessity to be on guard against it. But perhaps no symbol serves to perpetuate this meme better than the Memorial Monuments that lay established across the former Soviet Union. These serve as rallying points of Russian nationalism, tangible reminders of the real power of the predatory beast (after all, the bones of one of his victims lies beneath each one) and proof of the power that nationalist unity has to defeat it. These monuments stand, not to commemorate a tragedy endured in the past, but to encourage Russians today to be unified and militarily strong against whatever predators lurk in the future.

And this is why the removal of the Soviet monument in Estonia is so unbearable by Russians across Europe today. To remove this monument is to remove Russian society’s power to transmit its meme of unification and defense to subsequent generations in Estonia. The danger inherent, from the perspective of the Russian cultural mindset, is twofold. First, without the monument, a fundamental condition for Russian identity amongst Estonian Russians is threatened to be lost. What if future generations don’t recall the time Russians pulled together to defeat the Nazi predator, and as a result do not heed the meme of communal warfare? Could such people really be called Russians? Second, if these future Estonian Russians do not have the meme of communal warfare transmitted to them, then a gap in the wall of Russian military unity is formed. Russians living in former Soviet countries are aware they are on the “avant guarde” against Russia’s foes. But without military unity present amongst the “ethnic” Russians living in one of these countries, then Russia itself becomes exposed to the predator’s teeth.

These must be the subconscious fears that swirl in the minds of all Russians who have been raised to be fearful of the predator, of all Russians who maintain the meme of unified warfare. Hence, the removal of the Estonian monument is not objected to by Russians because Russians feel that Estonians should respect Russia’s sacrifice in World War II. Nor is it objected to because Russia strives to bully and control the Estonian government. Rather, Russians feel threatened that, without the monument, future generations of Russians in Estonia may not be taught the necessity of posing a united, offensive front against any potential enemies and, as a result, Russians everywhere may be at risk from the next predator that comes to attack. It is a reaction that surges from the most primal societal recesses of Russian identity, a reaction conceived from fear and nationalist purpose at once. To us, looking from without, the Russian response seems irrational, for that is what it is; there is nothing rational about the deepest levels of the human psyche. Nevertheless, it is a reaction that deserves to be understood and appreciated for what it is.

If indeed Russian society is founded upon a meme of unified militarism, as evidenced by the reaction against the removal of the Estonian monument, what does this portend for the future of the former Soviet Union and the world? In former Soviet countries, at least, it seems unlikely that there can ever be true stability. As long as Russians maintain this meme, then they remain fundamentally distinct from people of other nationalities (with the exception, perhaps, of Israelis, whose national identify was similarly forged.) For, while all human societies maintain the meme of unified offensiveness against the predator foe, the meme that perpetuates in Russian society is of a new, distinct form. To employ the analogy of memes to a virus, if most human societies are infected with the meme responsible for warfare, then Russian society is infected with a newer, more virulent strain of this meme. It has mutated. Most of humanity learned to unify and be wary against a predator that was inhuman. And while we may perpetuate the meme of this lesson through warfare with humans, enemy humans only serve to act as an analogy for the predator (and hence, why most wartime propaganda strives to depict the enemy with inhuman guises – sharp teeth and flared nostrils – and dehumanizes the enemy with rhetoric; “They eat babies,” etc.) But, in the case of Russian society, the predator is not inhuman but rather other humans. Hence, to perpetuate the meme, any other human can serve as the predator, not merely one who exhibits “inhuman” qualities. Russians don’t need to demonize the enemy, for any other human being may serve to epitomize the predator so long as they are not Russian. This may explain why racist hate crimes have become so endemic in Russia, why the government does not act to quell these attacks, and why Russians living in former Soviet countries feel a sense of common humanity between themselves and other Russians living in other lands rather than the people with whom they live every day. For Russians, anyone not-Russian may potentially be the next predator, and hence Russians band together and behave offensively (either passively or not) against anyone who is other, even if the other may be neighbors and citizens living in the same country with them. Hence, there can be no cooperation between Russians and the native populations of former Soviet countries as long as this meme persists, and hence these countries will continue to flounder, as is the case in Moldova, or will experience riots, as in Estonia or Kyrgyzstan.

The danger looms just as great beyond the borders of the former Soviet Union. Russia will conceive of any slight – America’s placement of missiles in the Czech Republic or the EU’s trade restrictions, for example – as potential threats from potential predators, and will bristle in antagonistic response. Again, true cooperation is impossible as long as Russia fears the rest of the world and conceives of any other nation as a potential foe. The value of military unification against the rest of humanity, then, learned by Russia in WWII and transmitted from generation to generation as a meme within Russian society poses one of the largest obstacles to world peace and universal humanity in our time.

Is there a solution, then? How can we expect a people to simply forget the trauma they endured and to dismiss the lessons they learned from that event? How can we expect Russian culture to forego its meme of military unification against the rest of the world? Unfortunately, we cannot, no more than we can expect a society to give up its language or its religion. This meme, like all memes, serves to define what Russian society is. Like in the game of Jenga, to remove one piece would collapse the entire societal structure.

But, it may be possible to understand this perspective and, at least, respect it. For Russians this would mean to appreciate this feeling of Russian nationalism as a traumatic reaction learned in WWII; to embrace it as such, but not to insist upon it at the expense of other people. It is okay for Russians to maintain their nationalist bonds; but they should not impose their culture, language, holidays, monuments, morals, and values upon other people with whom they live, especially when they themselves are the minorities within their nations. At the same time, the rest of the world should honor and respect what Russia endured in World War II and should at least recognize the subsequent societal and psychological effects this has had on Russians everywhere. The situation is analogous to how whites and blacks interact in the USA. White Americans recognize that there is a legacy of oppression that lies deep in the psyche of American blacks and learn to be mindful and respectful of it; and black Americans for their part recognize that how they feel is specific to their own culture and cannot be properly understood by, or certainly imposed upon, the rest of American society. In the same way, the rest of the world should understand that Russia has undergone a horrific trauma and continues to perpetuate the lessons learned from this trauma within its society today, and in its dealings with Russia or Russians be mindful of this fact. There may be no final solution. The peoples living in former Soviet countries will continue to be frustrated at the ethnic Russian minorities that refuse to speak the countries’ languages, and the Russian minorities will continue to be wary of the non-Russians with whom they live; other countries will continue to be frustrated by irrational acts of nationalist posturing on the part of Russia, and Russia will continue to feel unappreciated for its sacrifice in World War II. But, with understanding, there can at least be tolerance. And with tolerance, there can be peace.

Kiev, Ukraine

2007-05-05T04:16:00.003-07:00

2007-05-05T04:16:00.001-07:00

2007-05-05T04:15:00.001-07:00

2007-05-05T04:10:00.000-07:00

Estonia, the Monument, and What it Means

I recently took a trip to Kiev, Ukraine for a conference. The conference was boring, but aside from hat Ukraine is just not one of my favorite destinations. The cold, stale beurocratic order that is the nation’s Soviet legacy still persists in Ukraine. The endless reams of stamp-thirsty documents that necessitate a four-hour wait at the border, the corrupt and insidious police, are enough to suck the joy and spontaneity from any journey to Ukraine. (And hence why, despite the fact that it’s nice and warm here these days, I have posted pictures of Kiev in winter: even in spring, Kiev feels cold.)

There are, however, some exceptions to this trend, and one is in the area of politics, an arena in Ukraine that is decidedly hot. Certainly, this is the case now. A political row between the Western-leaning President Viktor Yuschenko and his opponent, Moscow’s lackey Viktor Yanukovych, has provoked Ukrainians of all leanings to take to the streets to air their opinions. Walking in downtown Kiev, I was passed by marching gangs of Ukraine’s youth hoisting flags, bedecked in their party’s colors, and bristling with airs of self-importance and the charge of revolution. One can’t encounter such displays of passion on the part of the polity without feeling some excitement. This is democracy at work.

Or is it?

There is a deep vein of strife that passes through the countries of the former Soviet Union, a tension between ethnic natives and Russian nationalists that depresses and destabilizes the infrastructure of these countries and prevents growth, progress, and a true democratic progress. It is a tension that has been building since the USSR collapsed and that is finally coming to a head.

And nowhere is this seen more clearly than in Estonia.

What is happening in Estonia? The government there, with the approval of the majority of the population, recently decided to remove a monument that commemorated the Soviet Army’s involvement in WWII. The monument was erected by the USSR during the days of its occupation of Estonia (A common practice in all Soviet nations) and served, too, as the gravesite for an “unknown” – although most probably Russian – soldier. To respect the dead, the grave was to be relocated in a war cemetery.

Despite being a decision undertaken by an independent nation with the support of the majority of its population, however, the Russian minority in Estonia protested violently, at first forming a human wall around he monument and then – when protesters were arrested and he monument successfully moved last week – turning to riot and loot in the streets of the capital, Tallinn. At least one Russian died in the process.

From a Western, democratic perspective, the removal of a Soviet monument seems like no big issue. Indeed, why would a country want to maintain a reminder of its oppression by a foreign power in a public, downtown venue? Weren’t scores of Lenin monuments toppled in cities across the former Soviet Union after Perestroika? Why is this monument no different? We know that the Soviet Union was an institution of repression that forced millions from their homes in the dead of night to ride cramped in cattle cars for weeks before being relocated far from family and friends in the bitter cold wastes of Siberia. Why would any people complain that a monument to this legacy be removed?

Clearly, however, the Russian perspective differs greatly from the Western one.

After the removal of the monument, protests were sparked not only in Estonia but across the former Soviet Union. In Moscow and Kiev, Russians surrounded and assaulted the Estonian Embassies, forcing the embassy in Moscow to close temporarily. Many Russian newspapers and veteran groups have denounced Estonia’s President as “bloody” and have demanded that the government step down from power. Relations between Estonia and Russia are at their lowest since Estonia’s independence.

So what’s happening here? From an outsider’s perspective, the Russian reaction seems patently bizarre. Why would the people of one country feel they have the right to tell another country how they can renovate their capital’s downtown? Why wouldn’t it be obvious, even to Russians, that a statue built to commemorate Russia’s involvement in WWII and subsequent conquest of Estonia is – at best, incongruous; at worst, unconscionable – in the borders of Estonia? If the grave itself is of such value to Russia, why wouldn’t Russia instead insist that the monument be removed and relocated in Russia? From an outsider’s perspective, there is no clearer indication than this row that Russia only wants to maintain oppression of and dictate policy within the now-independent nations of the former Soviet Union. Russia, it would seem, has not relinquished its imperialist agenda.

But, how accurate is this perspective? It’s certainly not completely off the mark. Indeed, in the past several years, Russia’s gangster president Putin has committed many acts of oppression against nations in the former Soviet Union, from Georgia to Belarus to Ukraine. Clearly, Russia is not willing to let former Soviet nations have real independence, and periodically tightens the thumbscrews to remind these nations of this fact.

Yet, even if this is the politic agenda of Russia, this does not accurately account for the intense, almost hysterical passions of the Russian populace both in Russia and abroad. The rabid vigor of Russian nationalism owes its roots to something far deeper and more critical than one government’s political agenda.

Russians are consumed by an unconscious feeling of dread and panic that was itself the cause of the Soviet Union and that lies even today at the core of the Russian heart, a feeling that is so dire that it threatens to destabilize this part of the world for generations to come.

TO BE CONTINUED

2007-04-23T03:38:00.000-07:00

Yemen

My trip to Yemen was amazing. There is such a rich culture there, a culture that manifests itself in every tiny facet of existence. Everything from the shapes and colors of the windows to the traditional manners of dress bespoke a cultural heritage that was ancient and proud. The people seemed very content and at peace with their lives in Yemen, a kind of peace that can only come from feeling that everything is just as it should be. You get the sense that people truly understand that they have established a perfect and harmonious society, replete with the assurance of being in accord with the will of God. I think it is for this reason that the Middle East is so conservative of their traditions and so wary of a fast-paced, ever-changing and modernizing Western World. From the perspective of an average Yemeni, surely, America and Europe must seem to be lost, blindly stumbling about in a panicked quest for values, equality, and righteousness; all the while never finding it, all the while only becoming more chaotic and valueless int he process. One can understand, then, why a Yemeni woman may prefer to wear her concealing gowns when she goes into public, and why a Yemeni man may feel free to relax with his friends over some tea and maybe a few twigs of "ghat" and never yearn for anything more. What they have, they must feel, is just right.

Yemen: Overlooking the village

2007-04-23T03:33:00.001-07:00

A palace built on a rock

2007-04-23T03:30:00.001-07:00

A fortified town on a desert plateau

2007-04-23T03:29:00.001-07:00

Metalsmith

2007-04-23T03:28:00.001-07:00

From on high

2007-04-23T03:17:00.001-07:00

Descent, with mule

2007-04-23T03:08:00.001-07:00

A mountain village

2007-04-23T02:57:00.001-07:00

Yemeni woman and baby

2007-04-23T02:56:00.001-07:00

Sana'a's Old Town

2007-04-14T08:46:00.001-07:00

A Mosque in Old Town

2007-04-14T08:38:00.001-07:00

Tahini-grinding Camel, Taking a Break

2007-04-14T08:37:00.002-07:00

Leaning Buildings in Old Town

2007-04-14T08:37:00.001-07:00

A Traditional Window

2007-04-14T08:36:00.001-07:00

The Suq

2007-04-14T08:34:00.001-07:00

Within the Suq

2007-04-14T08:33:00.001-07:00

Bargaining for Bread

2007-04-14T08:25:00.001-07:00

Selling Some Spice

2007-04-14T08:24:00.001-07:00

The Aya Sofiya

2007-04-02T07:43:00.001-07:00

The Blue Mosque

2007-04-02T07:42:00.001-07:00

Inside the Blue Mosque

2007-04-02T07:41:00.003-07:00

The Grand Bazaar

2007-04-02T07:41:00.001-07:00

Kilims!

2007-04-02T07:40:00.001-07:00

2007-04-02T07:36:00.004-07:00

Istanbul (Not Constantinople)

I recently attended a conference for curriculum writing in Sana'a, Yemen. Being in the Middle East was awesome. There is a certain peace that Islam gives its followers, a peace that is reflected in the kind and accommodating atmosphere of its societies. It was also just nice to be somewhere warm after the long and dismal (though admittedly, not so cold this year) Eastern European winter.

En route, I was lucky enough to stop off in Istanbul, Turkey for a weekend. This was my second visit to the city, but had just as fun and memorable experience as the first time. The architecture in Istanbul is breathtaking. While the Aya Sofia and Blue Mosque are arguably the finest monuments in the city, the horizon is adorned with numerous, finely detailed mosques, towers, and historic architecture. One could spend an entire weekend only ambling about the city, photographing the numerous sites and stopping only briefly to enjoy a donner kabab every now and then.

But that's not what I did. No, I went shopping. I was accompanied by a few other QSI teachers also heading for the conference, and we spent nearly our entire weekend in the Grand Bazaar, one of the greatest markets for Turkish carpets, hookahs, and curios you can find. While I didn't go carpet crazy (or kilim crazy, rather) as some of my cohorts, I did spend countless hours haranguing with shopkeepers in the desperate struggle for "special price for me." Amongst my many purchases were several kilograms of curry, saffron, and other spices. Being in Moldova has made me rather spice-obsessed, as the only such flavors used in the local cuisine are parsley and dill weed. After six months of potatoes and cabbage seasoned only with parsley and dill, I can understand why people used to wage wars over spice.

When not shopping, I spent most of my time stuffing my face with kababs, baklava, and pudding. God I love baklava. If I could, I'd shove a syruppy square of baklava through the net just for you, dear reader. When full, wash it down with a few cups of apple tea at a cozy cafe and you're all good. I would, however, give the Turkish baths a miss. When I went I fortuitously forewent the massage. My friend did not, and watching him getting twisted and slapped until he was screaming in pain was reminiscent of a World Wrestling Federation match more than anything like a massage, except that the screams were real.

So, go enjoy Istanbul!

Istanbul at Night

2007-04-02T07:36:00.003-07:00

2007-04-02T07:36:00.001-07:00

2007-03-04T12:31:00.001-08:00

2007-03-04T11:31:00.000-08:00

Finally, Snow!

So, last week, Moldova finally experienced winter. A deep blanket of snow coated the city, a gossamer white pillow of noiseless beauty, that in a few days was wholly transformed into mucky swaths of soiled, dripping slush. Ah, Moldova in winter.

As many in Europe, I wondered whether we would have a winter at all this year. Granted, last year's winter nearly did me in. It was cold and snowy for five or six months. And in Moldova, they don't shovel the walks; so in addition to being cold and miserable for half a year you are also fearful for walking cuz you might slip on the sedimentary layers of ice that have accumulated and fall into the path of an oncoming maxi taxi. So, no, I can't say I was really sad to have been spared the shivering misery of winter this year. But, I am deeply troubled by the trend of global warming. And its not just because of the potential for Bangladesh to become the next Atlantis and for all the polar bears to die. No, I am worried about losing one of the last relics of humanity's living history.

Let me explain.

One of the reasons I came to Moldova originally, one of the few things I get a kick out of being here, is the fact that Moldova is a living museum of the world as it was before industrialization and modernization. People still use outhouses in the villages, and the cities are not much further along. Moldova is as most of the world was for thousands of years, at least the world of Europe. The majority of Moldovans live the life that people lived since the establishment of civilization (sans such amenities as color TV of course). Here, people live with the earth and accord themselves to its moods. People milk their cows in the morning, squash grapes into wine in the autumn, and plant in the spring. And, most importantly, people suffer through winter.

Winter, for the great bulk of human history, has been a time of hardship. Except for those of us living in this thin slice of modern time, humanity has always faced winter with hardened desperation. You save up what you can in the autumn and then, after one last hurrah feast (Thanksgiving in America) you hunker down with what you've got and hope to God it lasts until Spring. And what you have isn't much. Root vegetables like potatoes and beets and a few heads of molding cabbage. Rice and wheat and, if it gets really bad, the slowly emaciating frame of your family's cow. Sure, it was hard, but this was Life. This was Existence, at least as far as anyone knew; that is, until hothouses and intercontinental trade became not only feasible but common practices. Now you can pick up a red (if tasteless) tomato in Safeway or Sainsbury's any time of the year. At least if you live in America or Western Europe. But it's important to remember that the great majority of human history was not like this, and one place where this history still lives to remind us is Moldova. Moldova and such countries like it are living testaments to the struggles and hardships our ancestors all endured, especially the hardship of winter.

At least, until now.

With global warming, the hardship of winter is lost. Maybe this is not such a "bad" thing, but it is an unfortunate thing. Unfortunate, because if there is nowhere left on Earth where we may experience what the great majority of humanity experienced in the millenniums of the past before the modern age, then we have lost any chance of really connecting with our human legacy. We completely dissever our link with the humanity that we were, and with that we lose much of what we are.

I dread the loss of long winters like I dread the overwhelming spread of globalization. I cling to the zones of difference, hardship, and agrarianism that still flourish on the earth. Maybe it's not a fair attitude to the people who live in these zones, those who just want their MTV like the rest of us. But these zones are vital, for without them and the living testaments to the past they represent, we forget what it was to be human. These places remind us of the sacrifices that humanity made to get us where we the lucky are today, and without them we run the risk of becoming ungrateful, of taking modernity for granted, and of losing the thread of our human heritage.

Caru cu Bere

2007-02-03T04:29:00.001-08:00

2007-02-03T04:19:00.000-08:00

More Romania!

If you get to Romania, there are many places worth exploring. While Bucharest is a little chaotic in places, there is some great architecture there and it's well worth wandering about to explore. In Transylvania, nestled amongst the high craggy mountains and sweeping forests, are medieval castles, monasteries, and citadels in such cities as Brasov and Sighisoara, and for Dracula enthusiasts there's "Dracula's Castle" in Bran. Go experience awesome Romania!

Economic Consortium Palace, Bucharest

2007-02-03T04:16:00.001-08:00

Sighisoara's medieval citadel

2007-02-03T04:08:00.001-08:00

Walk to the Clock Tower in Sighisoara

2007-02-03T04:07:00.001-08:00

Dracula's Castle in Bran

2007-02-03T04:05:00.001-08:00

2007-01-27T12:59:00.000-08:00

Congratulations Romania!

So, as of January 2007, Romania is a part of the EU. Yay, Romania! Actually, a friend here stumped me by asking what's so good about being in the EU anyway. I am no economist, so I really can't say. But I guess it means no tariffs and easier import/export possibilities. But most importantly, Romanian college students can work in English pubs now - legally! (Not that anyone really seemed to care before, tho.)

Yay, Romania!

I must say, one of the best things about being in Moldova is going to Romania. While the two countries may share a similar cultural legacy that goes back to the Roman times (unless you ask a Russian speaker, that is, in which case the thousands of years of shared heritage will be immediately dismissed) Moldova lacks almost all the qualities that make Romania such an amazing place to travel. Romania is dotted with palaces and castles that are rich in beauty and heritage. Romania has the Transylvania mountains in the north, with its opportunities for cheap and quality skiing and legends of vampires and werewolves. Romania has a very convenient and comprehensive rail service. When I can, I get away to experience Romania!

I share with you some pictures of one of my favorite places, the mountain resort of Sinaia. Sinaia boasts two palaces (one just wasn't enough!), spectacular mountain views, awesome skiing, and a great network of hotels and restaurants suited to every budget. It's not a bustling place, but after a day of skiing - or of just relaxing in the summer months - Sinaia offers serene quiet perched atop the mountains. And what's more, there is a special train that leaves Bucharest, Romania frequently and takes only an hour. In fact, as there are overnight trains between Chisinau and Bucharest, one could even take a weekend ski excursion from Moldova.

Go explore Romania!