Out of It
Former Provinces of Yugoslavia
A Backpack Journey
through a Disturbed Region
April of 2002
A Slice of Turkey
Travels of Mike
& Marcy through Western and Central Turkey
May of 2002
Foreword and Introduction
To any reader, I suggest, no,
state, that my facts are not 100% accurate.
They represent the truth as I think I saw it. My perception of my environment (the world),
is also my reality. Unquestionably, this
is a work of fiction because few facts were corroborated, and most tales were
accepted at face value, which was usually the smallest value at all, just
slightly above zero. I was the scribe,
whose singular purpose was to record what often was told to me by a housewife,
child, policeman, taxi driver, or guide.
My memory is not close to perfect so when I found a moment to
regurgitate the day’s events, it too was less than perfect because I may have
shrunk them to fit in my brain.
Compounded with my less-than-totally-reliable sources,
and I have concocted a travel journal made in Hell. Fortunately, the purpose of this journal is
not to rewrite history. There are few
facts that I felt inclined to research since that would stray from the
direction I intended. I wrote all of
these words with the sole purpose that I might reclaim the “feelings” I had
during this trip. As for what I saw, I
tried to capture glimpses of that through video and photographs. Those photographic mementoes of a particular
moment are far less open to interpretation, or expressed in better terms than
the subjective writings of an easily distracted scribe.
In order that I may get the
“feel” for when I made this visit I have incorporated a list of some
contemporary events of the day. Most was taken from the current newspapers of
yesterday and today. (April 10th and 11th of the year 2002)
International: Israel
is asked by George W. Bush (who has been in power less than a year) to pull
their soldiers out of Palestinian towns.
Ariel Sharon said yesterday they would not do so until operations of
getting terrorist cells out of Arab homes and towns is completed...whenever
that is. The fighting is fierce. The two
towers that made up the World Trade
Center in New
York’s Manhattan
borough were destroyed last year on September
11, 2001, by members of the Taliban from Afghanistan. Yasser Arafat, the head of the Palestinian
authority, has done little to rein in terrorists who are purposefully creating
havoc in Israel. His contention is that he cannot control
Hamas, a Palestinian group currently headquartered in Syria
and Lebanon.
Local: Police Chief
Bernard Parks was removed from office by the police commission. Talk of a secession of the San
Fernando Valley from Los Angeles
has resurfaced again.
Business: Mark, my son, is
efficiently running M. Richards Insurance Agency, soon to be called C.I.G.
Insurance Services Inc. I am still
trying to finish the procedure to incorporate.
We are trying to sell a big policy to Deck King (Current prices are
around 100k). We want to get a new
program for roofers. It has been tough
since the first day of 2002 when companies tightened up their underwriting and
took huge hikes in the rates. Minimum
premium for small roofers exceeds $9,000.
For comparison, last year the smaller roofers would have paid two or
three thousand to purchase liability insurance for one year.
Personal: I left the Lexus
for Mom and Dad to use to drive to Sunnyvale
to see Aunt Tommie. Maestro, our
Dalmatian, is about five years old and I am going to be 56 years old in a few
days. Marcy is working at U.S.I.
(formerly called Triwest Insurance Agency) and enjoys the pressure and prestige
of a well-paid and important position there as a vice-president, in charge of
insurance programs. Dad is 84 years old. Marcy has planned to go with Karen and her
mother, Dorothy, to Palm Springs
while I am gone.
How This Trip was Planned. In
June of 2001, Marcy and I concluded that it was time to travel. The last
vacation we took together was more than two years ago. We quickly agreed on Turkey,
but we “argued” about how long. Marcy
felt two weeks was the longest she could leave her job at U.S.I. I wanted a
month. So we arranged it just that way.
I added Syria
and Lebanon to
my agenda, although news was coming about travel warnings there. My flight was going to start two weeks before
Marcy. I’d meet her in Istanbul.
Departure was scheduled for September 13th. Unfortunately, less than forty-eight hours
before our vacation was to start, the September 11th bombing caused
all flights to be delayed or cancelled.
Mine was one of the flights cancelled.
The news was devastating for Turkey
and many other progressive Arab countries that depend heavily on tourism for a
proper balance of trade.
We had to schedule new
dates. We usually go just before or
right after ‘High Tourism Season”.
Leaving to go mid-April will mean some rain, but low prices and no
crowds. We bought our tickets through
the Internet. I purchased an additional
flight to go to Dubrovnik. It was a circuitous route I had to take. From Istanbul
I would fly to Budapest, then Zagreb,
and lastly, Dubrovnik. I reverse the route to return to Ataturk
International Airport
in Istanbul.
The Journey Begins
Thursday April 11th,
2002 Los Angeles, California
7:10 a.m. I am sitting at the terminal for American
Airlines waiting to board. My stomach is
filled with anticipatory butterflies.
Because of the World Trade Center Building bombing on September 11th,
2001, seven months
ago, and current Middle
East tensions,
everyone is on high alert. The
Muslim/Arab world has threatened more terrorism; security at the airport is
very thorough. Al Queda has stated that
they intend to do more damage. Nobody
knows where they will hit next. American
soldiers are in Afghanistan with a new “interim” government formed by
outside western forces.
My flight leaves at 8:00 a.m. for John F. Kennedy Airport in New York. I
have a three-hour layover before continuing on to Istanbul. Marcy drove me to the airport. We left the house at 5:30 a.m., long before the Sun began to rise. I reassembled my backpack last night, making
certain I forgot nothing important, and culling items I can do without. I stuffed the black twill zippered bag into a green nylon Army-style duffel to protect it from having
the many pockets being rifled, snagged, or torn.
I’m
already anticipating Marcy's arrival in Istanbul on Saturday, April 28th
2002 at 11 a.m. My
flight leaves in twenty minutes, but I have already boarded after being
assigned to a seat next to the bathroom.
If Marcy were here she would have gotten us bulkhead seats.
Besides the actual flight time, there is a four-hour time difference
between L.A. and JFK/NY.
Construction work in the airport is in high gear, causing all traffic to
get bogged down. Disorganization reigned.
Escalators and shuttle buses were not working. To get to Terminal A (for Turkish Airlines),
I had to wait forty minutes, and the bus was jammed solid. Along with several other desperate travelers,
I pushed my way aboard, fearful that the next bus might take equally as long
and cause me to miss my flight. I
called Marcy from the terminal. I miss her and know she’ll be surprised when
the flowers she receives her flowers on Monday, which I made previous arrangements
to have delivered (She’s going with Karen, Dorothy, and Chris to Arizona this weekend). The following Monday she’s supposed to get a
wrist corsage, which I ordered from the same florist. I have “owed” her one for over thirty years. She’ll get that just before she leaves on the
27th of April to meet me in Istanbul’s International Airport, Ataturk.
Meeting my flight (once I got in
the terminal) was not a problem. This
leg of the flight lasted about six hours.
I spent the first hour of the flight reading the “Turkish News,” an
English language newspaper. While Turkey
is Muslim, it is very progressive and moderate about secularization of the
country. The Turkish government has been
very pro Israel,
but the current Palestinian conflict is reflected in the paper’s attempt to be
“evenly balanced.” Some articles were
pro Israel,
others were not. There was one photo of
a prominent ambassador who was meeting with the “powerful Jewish Lobby” (but
they didn’t show any representative of the lobby) in Washington
D.C.
I don’t know of a particular group that wields such power, but I do know
of smaller, less influential lobbyists who frequently come together on certain
issues. Is there a powerful Christian
lobby? Maybe a Muslim
one? I think so, because I am
certain these factions have such representation in Washington
too. They attempt to get support of
other lobbyists for their cause.
Collectively, several groups usually have more influence than one group
alone. I was a little startled by the
innuendo put forth in that Turkish article.
I believe that newspapers often reflect the views of the people, unless
it is a government run affair. Turkey
has adopted most western values and mores so I took this to show a variation
from official government views. I would
be watching for this while in Turkey.
The value of a U.S. Dollar has
eroded further. In November it was 1.6 million Turkish liras to the dollar, six
months later it is only 1.3 million. The
newspaper editorialized that the government wants this to occur so that it
might avoid high interest on loans, and it artificially inflates or deflates
the lira as their needs dictate.
I have not been able to watch CNN
or other English language news on television, so I’m not informed about what
news has happened today. Information shown on one of the on-board television
screens indicates we will land at Ataturk
Istanbul Airport
at 10:37 a.m. tomorrow morning
(that’s April 12th). My
flight to Dubrovnik leaves at 3:35 p.m. on April 14th. In a precautionary mode I thought that I
should allow at least twenty-four hours to adjust to the time change and to
have time if there is a delay or rescheduling of any flights. The plane headed east into earlier time zones
at over six hundred miles an hour. Time,
for me, was compressed. I lost ten hours that day. April 11th was only 14 hours long!
Friday April 12th, 2002 Istanbul,
Turkey
Although I had two adjoining seats, the total length was
inadequate for sleeping accommodations.
Coupled with the shortened day caused by the changing time as I traveled
east, I was feeling irritable and very tired.
The local time in Istanbul
is 10:00 a.m. We should touch down in less than thirty
minutes. Without a definitive plan my travel future remains unknown. I am beginning to feel the angst that I
treasure so much. The complete freedom
to go north or south is a heady, unbridled feeling.
What I must do when I
get to Turkey:
Choose a hotel in the
central district
Select a travel agent
to plan Turkey
Take a city tour of Istanbul
Find the Covered
Bazaar
Find guides in areas
we’ll travel
Arrange for flights to
Cappadocia
Check out some unusual
boat travel
Underground
trains/subway
This way or from the airport was not pleasant. The scenery was of a big, gray, mundane city,
with little to set it apart from any other city of commerce. Knowing how important first impressions are,
this might have put a pallor over this section of the
journey.
Fortunately, I had seen the heart of Istanbul
before and I knew to expect much more.
In the drive into the Sultanahmet district, I could sense I was close to
its center. It is rich with character
that both charms and fascinates the most jaded of travelers. Although teeming with merchants of all goods,
it is still wonderful to be here again.
I paid seventy dollars for two nights at the hotel,
including breakfast and transfers to the airport. I checked my room to confirm that it was
clean and satisfactory to me. I had a
view of Haghia Sophia from my fourth floor window, which looked out over an
alleyway clogged with sellers of clothing and luggage. I fell upon the bed and fell asleep,
listening to the barkers hawking their goods, trying to be heard over the
clanging din of the metal and wooden wheels of carts overloaded with huge bundles
of merchandise being dragged this way and that over the rough and cracked
asphalt alley.
I left my gear in the room and
walked to the Grand Bazaar. Over a
hundred riot police had gathered by a mosque where an anti-Israel demonstration
is expected. The police checked many
people for explosives or weapons by frisking them and using a metal detector.
I only had twenty minutes to look
in the Grand Bazaar because it closes at 8 p.m. All shops inside the huge, covered bazaar
must lock their doors before the main doors are shut. There are hundreds of shops, some occupying a
space barely larger than a closet, but none larger than a bedroom. Outside the covered bazaar there were a large
number of shops and small eateries.
These shops were free to set their own hours. Many had chosen to stay open five hours or
more. I walked into a candy shop and
admired a rectangular, black-veined block of halvah, at rest in a wide display
window. I looked at the different
candies they made. The small shop was
crowded with customers, but a bearded employee invited me to taste a dime-sized
sample of the candy. I bought a quarter
of a kilogram, that’s more than half a pound.
My eyes lit as my taste buds sent a joyous message to my brain. This was absolutely the best thing I’ve ever
eaten. I crunched through the delicate
flaky pieces of sesame pastry, momentarily pausing at the denser texture of
pistachios. The smooth aftertaste was
not oily. Pinch by pinch the entire block was slowly consumed. That was no help for losing weight during
this part of my travels.
I went to sleep to the sights and
sounds of CNN. I woke whenever a loud noise bellowed from the ancient speaker
mounted on the cracked and worn veneer side of a seventeen-inch screen
television. Loud noises happened several
times during the night, but I continued to keep the set on. A new bus bombing that occurred today
dissuaded Secretary of State Colin Powell from meeting with Yasser Arafat,
Palestinian president.
Expenses of 4-12-03
Cotton tee shirt $5
Meerschaum pipe 45
Hotel (2 nights) $70
Kebaps (three) $2 ½
Halvah candy $1
Tips (various) $3
Daily Total $126
Saturday April 13th, 2002 Istanbul,
Turkey
I
woke very early this morning. My
biological clock has not yet reset itself.
At 4:00
a.m. the Sun was just coming
up. As I started the water to shower, I
heard a not so distant imam begin morning prayers from the balcony of the
minaret. Like an echo, another imam
elsewhere in the city began his haunting morning prayers. I shaved and toweled
dry. The room was warm and
comfortable. Despite my urgent desire to
go out and rediscover this city, I am overcome by sleep. I surrendered to the urge to sleep and fall
over onto the very firm bed. Over two
hours passed before I open my eyes again.
Internet $3
City tour $60
Kebaps (2) $4
Tee shirts $8
Bottled water (3) $2
CNN, the international news
channel, was still on television when I woke.
I walked upstairs to the breakfast buffet. The red paper sign posted on a column read
that breakfast would be served at seven until
nine. Because it is only a
few minutes after six, coffee wasn’t brewed yet. Two eggy gruels were available as was cereal
(like Rice Krispies), plain yogurt, a beverage resembling Tang, rose
jam, and very salty soft white feta cheese were among the choices I could
select from. I ate a small plain roll
with a dime-sized scoop of cheese while I waited for the coffee to be prepared. The restaurant area was glass-walled,
permitting a panoramic view of a portion of Istanbul
toward the Bosphorus.
Later, in the lobby, I spoke with
the hotel clerk. He showed me a brochure
outlining places that an organized bus tour would cover. It was a full day tour for sixty dollars and
I would get an all-around view of Istanbul. I was in a group led by a dark-skinned,
English-speaking Arabic girl of twenty.
The tour is titled “Byzantine and
Ottoman Relics.” Haghia Sophia was the first stop close to where I was
staying. She guided my small group of
nine into the Blue Mosque and the Egyptian obelisk, then the Serpentine Column
of Persian Shields. All of this, and
more, were around the ancient arena called the Hippodrome.
We were carefully shepherded to a
pre-selected carpet store where a small army of salespeople was waiting for us
to appear. One well-dressed, gray-haired
man explained the different ways various knots can be used in rug
manufacture. Except for Chinese or
Persian silk, wool on cotton were the best rugs. Different towns had different styles of
creating very good rugs, like at the town of Kayseri,
which is close to Cappadocia. I made a successful effort to escape and meet
them nearby at noon. I roamed the streets looking for more great
deals, and they could be found with the most modest of efforts. When I rejoined the group forty minutes later
in front of the rug store, I was not surprised to see that several members of
my group had made purchases. The rug
merchants are especially aggressive, but from each I have been able to learn
something about carpets. Wool on cotton
gets the finest knots, except for silk from Asia. The pros and cons of vegetable and chemical
dyes were explained. Double knots versus
single knots add material and labor to the cost of the finished product.
Postcards $2
Taxi
ride $20
Postage
stamps $10
Bottle
of water $2
Hotel
Room $50
Our next stop was Topkapi
Palace, which in itself was worthy
of a few hours from the casual tourist.
Adding to that, this palace contained holy relics of Mohamed. I tried to
link up with a local gift shop for the benefit of PrayerCentral. The owner had a fax machine but no e-mail
address. I’ll continue my search for a
correspondent. I went to the hotel,
dropped off everything but my passport and money, and then headed straight back
to the Grand Bazaar. I tried to buy a
beautiful black leather doctor’s bag.
The seller started at five hundred dollars and quickly moved down to two
hundred fifty. I started at one hundred
dollars and slowly moved up another fifty.
He let me walk, and then he called me back to explain that I don’t know
about leather, he does. He tried to
injure me with the barb that ‘I am not trusting him.’
The theatrics became more intense. He
stuck with two hundred twenty dollars...any less and he loses money. It’s just
as well since I’m not sure why I need such a bag. I called back “One fifty” as I left, but he
seemed so disjointed that I had impugned his integrity...which he said is very
important to him. I moved away, and
continued to make my way through the bazaar, which meant going through a very
busy flood of other prospective customers.
Soon he lost sight of me as I did of him, and we both looked elsewhere
for new interests. There were many
pretty things to see and buy, but I’ll be back and I can wait until then.
Sunday April 14th, 2002 Istanbul,
Turkey
I woke around 5:00 a.m.
just as the imam began singing from the city tower, calling the faithful to
Morning Prayer. I quickly dressed and
opened my fourth floor window out to the balcony and a view of the ancient
university buildings across Topkapi Boulevard. The modern streetcars are as I remember them
from my previous visit ten years ago.
I bought a small piece of halvah from the candy store that
has become my favorite here, called Kostas.
I walked over to the Internet center and sat there for an hour
responding to Shelby’s (Robin’s) request forwarded to me. She said I should respond to a
schoolteacher’s request for e-mails around the world. I also wrote a romantic e-letter to Marcy.
At noon I was
packed and had the hotel mini-van drive me to the airport. I still had enough time to meet Ahmed and
discuss plans for exploring Turkey
once Marcy arrives, but I couldn’t find him.
I’ll send an e-mail to him when I can.
Each of the three short flights will last about 90 minutes
on the average, but also have over an hour for the wait. I was at the airport
at 2 p.m, but the third leg ended
when I arrived at Dubrovnik 10
minutes before 11 p.m.
The flights not only took the major part of the day, but
they were also energy drainers. Going
from Istanbul to Budapest
to Zagreb to Dubrovnik
was not as easy as I thought it would be.
Hours of idle waiting in airports gave me an opportunity to read more
about my destination in the three travel books I brought along. When planning my trip I prefer books with
many pictures. A photograph is subject
to less editorialization than verbiage.
Once details are selected, then my preferences reverse themselves.
At the Dubrovnik Airport
I grabbed my bag and went outside in the warm evening air. Although it was very late, there was a line
of white Mercedes taxicabs waiting for a fare.
I was a fare and I was very tired.
I opened the door of the first cab and said, “Do you speak
English?” The driver answered, “A
little.” That was good enough for me so
I got in. The airport was about twenty
miles from town, and the road was a windy two-lane ribbon that cut through
hills. We carried on a brief
conversation, often finding some German words to use when the driver was
unfamiliar with the English term. I
discovered that he had spent four years (during the recent local war) living
and working in Germany.
In my Lonely Planet Guidebook to Croatia
it offered a recommendation to a hotel in the newer Lapad district of
Dubrovnik. The Hotel Lapad, even though they we in the midst of construction,
asked for 310 Kuna per day, equivalent to $39.
I paid 240 Kuna ($30) to the taxi driver.
Monday April 15th,
2002 Dubrovnik,
Croatia
I really hadn’t seen a glimpse of Dubrovnik
last night because of my very late arrival. The journey was tiring; nonetheless
I woke at 7:30 a.m. I had to dress quickly because I had talked
with the cab driver that drove me from the airport and we had set an
appointment for 8:00 a.m. to discuss
him being my driver, which means taking me to several towns along the Croatian
Adriatic coast, which is dotted with numerous villages.
One US Dollar equals 8.2 Kuna
I met Miho (the taxi driver from
last night) at 8:00 a.m. We discussed my hope to travel along the
Adriatic coast. He said it would take two days minimum, or three days maximum
to see most of everything between Dubrovnik
and Pag Town. If it was two days I should pay him six
hundred dollars, and if it is three days I would pay seven hundred dollars (not
kuna). I said it is way too much and I would pass on his offer. We drank some dark brown liquid labeled
coffee, but that was where the similarity to the beverage I am used to drinking
ends. We shook hands and separated. He gave me his business card (everyone has
one) and I told him I’d call if I changed my mind. I wasn’t prepared to be skinned so early as a
tourist.
Fish
lunch for two (with wine & tip) $20
Admission
to the Old City Wall 5 Kuna
Internet
Usage for an hour 50 Kuna
Ferry
Ride to Cavtat (Round-trip) 60 Kuna
Hotel
room
700 Kuna
I ate some bread and cheese. I overheard English spoken nearby. A robust balding man of forty some years was talking with the English-speaking receptionist at the
hotel counter. I stood nearby and waited
for an extended pause in their conversation then interrupted. I asked him if he was going into town. A journey whose length I was unsure. He said we should take the bus since he was
told that it would pass right in front of the “old town”.
I had told Miho to wait for
me. I didn’t want to stiff him on this
short journey into town, so we took the taxi at my expense. Customarily the charges are shared. We introduced ourselves to each other. Simon Neal was the name of this hearty
Welshman.
He spoke with a pronounced
brogue. I understood every third word he
spoke, but that was enough for me to piece together a fairly concise picture of
his story. He was married, no kids, but
two cats. His wife worked as a manager
in social services in Wales. He chose this hotel because it was the scene
of a business conference he would attend on Thursday. He is involved with environmental issues. The balding gentleman had a jovial, infectious
laugh and we quickly became comrades.
Embarking on an exploration of
the old town, I paid three dollars to walk atop the four-kilometer walled
perimeter of this fortified site.
Immediately, I was struck by the profound charm of this medieval town,
and took great pleasure in the first panoramic views. There have been many articles written about
the mindless damage to this historic village by Serbs. Certainly there was another side of the story
to tell (by a Serb as he saw it) but no such writings (in English) were
seen. In war, there are always at least
two sides of the story; each side feels they are the vindicators of
righteousness. A Serbian article might
reveal what slight was served up by the Croatians to encourage this attack for
retribution. I could see orange
clay-tiled rooftops that were partially replaced with strange ochre tiles.
Sometimes old tiles were decoratively laid over functional new tiles, successfully
camouflaging the last of an inadequate number of old, original tiles.
Simon was quick to laugh, a characteristic I
find rare and uncommon among people from the United
Kingdom.
We walked through parts of the old town and felt the early morning mist
lift quickly, melting into a warm sun. We walked along a route described in a Lonely
Planet Guide on Croatia
(My edition was March, 2002). Because
the book was published so recently I felt extremely confident that the
information it provided would prove worthy as my sole guide. Of course, the walk through old town and its
features couldn’t have changed much in the past four or five years (since the
previous edition of my book), and I walked through the narrow streets, making
my way past numerous churches hewn from the local limestone. Marble, used in many places, was quarried
elsewhere. The streets were marble and
showed the markings of hundreds of years.
I took many pictures because everywhere I turned was another photogenic
scene. I understand why this is the
“Jewel of Croatia”, as it is claimed.
The medieval charm and beauty I see everywhere I look astounds me.
I examined a piece of lace
handmade by an old woman. It was pretty,
a 14”x8” white cotton, latticed piece.
She wore a broad vanilla colored scarf over her gray hair. The barrel-shaped woman spoke softly, but
clearly, and her demeanor was not significantly changed when no counteroffer
came. She just turned away, and I left
without the lace, but with my sixteen dollars.
This small craft pier was a gathering spot for tourists so there was no
shortage of customers, even in the pre-high tourist season period now. The very old harbor was picturesque. The old ladies selling lace certainly added
to the quaintness.
For sixty Kuna each, we purchased
a ticket to go to Cavtat Island. The sun was in full brilliance, and the boat,
holding fourteen passengers, exited the harbor and soon picked up speed. The spray, speed, and cold water combined to
give a chilly ride for the next twenty-five minutes. We docked in the tiny azure blue harbor
of Cavtat. Simon and I got out and walked around the
stone paved alleyways.
Being that Cavtat was a very
small town we easily found a particularly well-recommended eatery just one
short block from the waterfront. When we
sat I discovered that the owner spoke English.
Since the recommendation for his restaurant came from the Lonely Planet
Guide, I thought that would flatter him to read the words of praise in the
recently published book. It brought a
broad smile across his face and his attention to us dramatically
increased.
Simon asked for a risotto with
mushrooms. It was butter-drenched with
caramel overtones. At the proprietor’s
suggestion I ordered the local fish, gray millet. The proprietor, who was also our waiter,
showed the fish to me first then said he’d grill it for me. He served a white wine with it. All this was
deliciously outstanding, and it was the best meal of this trip so far. The bill was 320 Kuna including tip (250 Kuna
w/o tip) totaling $40, but it was well worth it. We each put twenty dollars to the tab.
We walked some more. Simon wore open sandals, which were not the
best choice for a day of walking. He
unobservantly stepped into a huge, very fresh, dog dropping. Simon, at this point, decided to once again
mention his general dislike of dogs.
The ferry began its final daily
return trip to Dubrovnik at 2:30 p.m.
We arrived at the dock early, as did all passengers, there were no last
minute stragglers, because this was the last trip of the day. The return trip was just as chilly as the
trip to Cavtat once we were in open water. Simon and I were getting along very
well. We climbed the castle/town walls
after paying a five Kuna admission fee.
The one and a half mile route around the city walls was quite a hike
with plenty of steps to turn this walk into an endurance building aerobic
exercise. I saw some areas of the old
town that were bombed and not yet rebuilt. I must have taken twenty or more
photos as I walked the wall, even from up here the ocean looked translucent
green. I could see a few feet down to
the floor of the Mediterranean, until the depth exceeded
ten feet. No problems were presented
because I don’t speak the language. I
found some ice cream very close to Italian quality almost immediately after we
walked down from the walls edge. The ice
cream had a deep rich flavor that is hard to duplicate. The coolness was very refreshing after
walking in the hot sun. The ice cream,
while delicious, left a bitter after taste, which was uncomplimentary compared to
beer by Simon and I. I drank some tap
water to clear my palate. It seems good
enough, but I am prepared for the consequences if I get sick. Actually, I couldn’t prepare for that but I
am willing to bear the problems that may come from my violation of my own
travel principles. “Don’t drink any
water, but bottled water”.
Simon suggested that we go for a
beer afterwards. I enjoyed the beer with
as much gusto as the ice cream. The rest
of that hour was spent sitting and talking.
Eventually we had enough of resting. Off we went to walk around the
walls. I stopped at a small internet
café just outside the walls and asked how late they’d be open until, which is 10 p.m. every night. I got knocked off like everyone else in the
shop then so I left with Simon and we went back to hotel right in the new
section. We rode the #6 bus for ten
Kuna, or you can buy ten prepaid coupons that reduce the cost to five Kuna.
Tuesday April 16th,
2002 Dubrovnik, Croatia
and points southeast
The
bus trip cost twenty dollars and lasted seven hours. For the view alone, it was worth it. The bus was scheduled to leave at 8 a.m. so that’s when I was at the bus station, which is eight
hundred meters from hotel Lapad. That’s
an easy walk, even with a twenty-five pound pack.
I followed my guide to a house four miles away from the town
center and it sat at the top of a hundred steps. I kept balking that this is
too far from the center of town. She was
steadfast in coaxing me forward, indicating that it is just a little way
more. I climbed the wide steps with my
full backpack, then, at the creast of this hill she pointed to a large,
modestly maintained apartment building.
It looked exactly like thirty other apartment buildings all around us.
Once inside the main door I saw that there was no elevator, just more cement
stairs. The “pensione” was up six
flights. Incredibly, I did it. Once there I realized, well really concluded,
this was a bad choice, nonetheless I stuck it out. The “Mom “ kept
trying to teach basic Serbian words to me, but I kept smiling and looking
away. She was insistent and her daughter
was insistent...compulsive is the more accurate word that described her bizarre
behavior. I started thinking about the
weirdest potential things that could happen, nothing that would be good. I could be spending my last day here. Scary stuff. They
were eating weird food and I discovered there isn’t a lock on my door. The mom forced me to watch a television program, the ancient black and white set had little contrast
so I could barely make out the picture.
The room was darkened; I was filled with a feeling of caution and
foreboding yet I continued on “acting normal.”
Mystical Readings
of the Coffee Grounds
I.
My wife
loves me very much.
II.
My wife
or I will lose our passport before this trip ends.
III.
Marcy
has thought seriously about another man, but loves me too much to do it.
IV. I am
“economical.”
I haven’t seen any television
news since leaving Dubrovnik. When I get to Zagreb
or Mostar I’ll be interested to see what is the news. Since I am language-impaired, I depend on
visual images exclusively. There is no
news shown on Sarajevo television. With caution, I’ll try to sleep. I feel like I’m in an eerie situation and am
considering leaving now even though it is 11:30
p.m. My tired eyes close
and I can’t resist. My last thought I
had was asking myself, “Could I be drugged?”
Wednesday April 17th, 2002 Sarajevo,
Bosnia
I’m
alive! I woke up!!! Ja!!! Alright!!
I’m a SURVIVOR! It is still dark
outside but I hop off the couch that had been made into a guest bed. Forgive my moment of jubilance but I didn’t
know if there would be more entries in this book. That was a real weird place!! Something bizarre was going on. I had such eerie “vibes” that I’d been sure
deep sleep wasn’t going to be happening for me, and then it pulled me in,
almost against my will.
It’s 3:50 a.m. I don’t care! I tried to be as quiet as possible so I
wouldn’t wake anyone. I especially didn’t want to wake whoever was planning on
killing me. The light went on down the
hall. I could see the evidence, a sliver
of light along the base of her door. I
hurriedly got dressed and left. At the
last moment Mama appeared. I gave “Mama”
Five American dollars more. After I walked out of small apartment I thought
about how strange it was that she was still up.
I walked down the hill and looked to find a taxi driver who can speak
English, otherwise I am in trouble. I
hadn’t purchased a guidebook for anywhere but Croatia, so this could be bad. I walked around a bit on the main street
until I saw a taxi stand, there I asked if anyone
spoke English. Nobody except the
station-controller knew of such a driver/guide.
He called him. Sejo, was the name of the
English-speaking driver who appeared in ten minutes. We talked about my interests. He set a course and said it would take two
or three hours. I asked him how much he
wanted to charge, and he said “whatever I wanted to give.” Nope - let’s fix a price now. The other way would be too expensive. I know from prior experience that it is best
that we hash it out before hand. We
agreed on the meter price, plus twenty per cent, it was generous. He said that although the battle for the city
has been stopped four years ago, the war still rages elsewhere in Bosnia and if the U.N. were to leave the entire
region would immediately burst into a hellish conflagration. That was unsettling. It heightened my awareness of where I
was. This isn’t Kansas.
First, he took me to a place where there was an underground
railway. It was used to get food into Sarajevo
during the war years. A dumb waiter on
rail would be sent from one side of the empty field to the other. Less than one mile of track linked the large
town with the rest of the world during the years the entire city was under
siege. Now the tunnel entrance is a
small, poorly run museum displaying tattered remnants of war litter (It is open
for a small fee, of course). Ten lithe
cats warily patrolled the tiny roadside gravel parking area surrounded by a
low-cut whitewashed picket fence. The
cats did not welcome me, instead, they wearily resigned themselves to my presence
in their midst, if only temporarily.
I had Sejo drive to a particularly large apartment building
I had passed on my way into the city.
There are many large buildings that were destroyed or seriously
damaged. Many are still un-repaired,
with the debris of battles fought littering the ground. The structure that I had current interest in
was a long, five-story apartment building along the south side of the main
boulevard that ran into town. A number
of peopled streetcars efficiently cut up or down the middle of the wide
street. Two sets of shiny clean tracks
lay atop a grassy island that stretched the length of the boulevard, dissecting
the road evenly. The former living
quarters seemed to be politely upscale, and although it was colorfully painted,
architecturally it was of simple communist-era design, totally pragmatic
without a flourish of style. Now the
rubbled remains lay in tattered disrepair, the result of shelling by either a large
caliber canon from a tank, or hand-carried bazooka-type missiles from just
three or four years ago. Huge chunks of
rebar-reinforced concrete were all around, presenting a danger like the
tentacles of a myriad of frozen spiders.
I imagined that its owner and all of its legitimate tenants abandoned
the building. I later discovered that I was accurate. Refugees from the war had occupied the rooms
that were the least damaged. Little was
done to make their environment more livable.
They were basically camping there.
Less than adequate effort was made to dispose of refuse. Translucent
pink or blue plastic bags filled with everyday trash were piled high in a rear
courtyard. Many of the residents,
according to my driver, were war refugees.
I was able to see inside of one of these abodes. The husband
and wife that occupied it came from Pakistan
over twenty years ago on the offer of a job.
Nobody in the family of eight currently works. The husband worked as a
laborer until he was injured two years ago in a construction accident. He has no skills, so he hasn’t looked for
work because he is “uncertain about the future” but refused, or was unable to
elaborate on that to my guide. Sejo
didn’t understand this man very well.
Sejo thinks he has some mental illness too. The wife tries to keep a clean house and the
three children looked surprisingly well cared for. I could get no explanation for that because I
imagine social welfare programs have all but dried up as one consequence of a
long battle. I can only imagine that
some sort of governmental support system exists in some form. They say they get
no aid from the government. I saw many such buildings apparently destroyed, yet
inhabited throughout the city. The outlaying land was usually sallow farmland
that was unworked.
Sarajevo was a
city in need. I felt that this was a place that Muslims and Christians live
more harmoniously than elsewhere in Eastern Europe. The few tiny communities of Jews live
quietly, trying as best they can to be obsequious in daily life. To temper that statement I must add that no
other factor has had greater divisive force throughout all of the former Yugoslavia
than religion, itself. I visited a
mosque and spoke with its spiritual leader, who claims that his group is the
largest mosque in Sarajevo.
Taxi 300 Markas
Lace
tablecloth 250 Markas
Zagreb hotel Room 780 Kuna
Bus
ticket 183 Kuna
Sausage
soup 27 Kuna
Snack 20 Kuna
Tips 16 Kuna
Purse 50 Kunaa
From a hillside overlooking the city, I could count the
towers from which the imams sing. The
Muslim minarets dotted the city everywhere.
There seemed to be no section of the city’s topography that was without
the slender stone towers. Only in the
graveyards, which were plentiful, did it seem that each group or religion
congregated to itself. So why would they
choose segregation at death when they didn’t in life? It’s either a paradox or
a lie. I suspect the latter. Certainly war can make enemies of best
friends. One-time foes become endeared
allies as the history of wars show. The
bitter aftertaste of war is evident in one panoramic view of the cityscape.
Rusting hulks of smashed cars still sat randomly throughout
the city, as monuments to the destructive powers of war. I moved through the city, closely examining
everything I could. Like poor countries
throughout the world, trash was a common component of the landscape in the city
or the countryside. Gutters were clogged
with plastic bags filled with used diapers, cans and other refuse that Mother
Earth would find indigestible.
The taxi driver drove to several places I marked on the
small tourist map I’d recently acquired.
Although Sejo was born and lived in Sarajevo
all his life, it took a map to refresh his memory about places of interest to
the traveler. I was getting very tired
because I had little sleep last night.
In mid afternoon Sejo collected his fee with an extra bonus. We separated at the main bus station. He told me that he had enjoyed this day
because sometimes he forgets what an interesting city this is. I bought a ticket for Zagreb. There was no wait, a bus was about to leave
for that destination right then. I got
on immediately, without buying water or eating lunch. The bus is usually much more direct than the
train. Trains in this region all emanate
from Zagreb. Like spokes in a wheel, it is easy to find a
train going to or from Zagreb. Track was laid to many towns and cities while
under communism. Because while under
communist domination the political powers resided in Zagreb,
train track was laid accordingly. Since Zagreb
The hotel had a pickup bus that delivered me
to the hotel.