Where the East Actually Meets the West

The term, "East meets West" seems to get thrown around a lot these days.  I hear it everywhere I go.  I heard it when I was in Belgrade, the capital of Serbia and I heard it used to describe Budapest, Hungary.  The term was even used as far West as Morocco in describing French architecture in Fes, and its certainly been used to explain Slovenia's location on the fringes of central Europe.  I've heard it used so many times that its tough to discern where the West actually ends and where the East might begin.  But in Sarajevo, the Bosnian capital and my most recent destination, not only does East meet West but North meets South, old meets new, and worlds collide.

Our rental car was slightly better than this.

Getting there proved to be a bit of a challenge.  Five of us left Friday afternoon in our rented Opel Corsa and in no time we had driven through most of Slovenia and across Croatia and were waiting in line at the border with Bosnia and Herzegovina.  Distance wise, it was the halfway point between Ljubljana and Sarajevo but as it would turn out, only a fraction of the total driving time.  Once we got into Bosnia the network of new, well laid out highways that span across Croatia and Slovenia felt as though they were a world away.  Virtually from here on out it was twisty two lane mountain roads with an average speed limit of 60km/hr with road signs that point you off in one direction only to leave you hanging at the next intersection.  On top of all this, I was following the Google maps directions on my phone which had me driving through increasingly remote villages on ever quieter side roads.  I finally lost all confidence in the directions when they instructed me to make a sharp turn up what looked more like a dry river bed than an actual road.  After consulting an actual printed map we managed to get on the right track, only it wasn't the end of our worries.

Driving through a town about 150km out of Sarajevo I had about a quarter of a tank of gas left which, according to the "Range Calculator" on the dashboard would be good for 250km so I wasn't worried.  But just as we left the city the terrible mountain road finally gave way to a brand new highway complete with a 130km/hr speed limit and since it was almost midnight at this point we had it all to ourselves.  As we made our way through the night the gas gage began to move at an alarming rate and soon the low fuel light came on, then it began to blink, then a warning came on the LCD screen "Refuel Now".  While everyone else in the car was sleeping I was quietly panicking as we went further and further without seeing a gas station and the thought of being stuck on the highway in the middle of the night became an ever more realistic possibility.  Finally, I saw a gas station up ahead but as I pulled in it was obvious that it was closed.  With the gas gage as low as it could possibly go, I began to coast my way down the highway, just waiting for the engine to die at any second.  Thankfully, like a light at the end of the tunnel, the outskirts of Sarajevo came into view and we soon limped into an open gas station, relieved and white knuckled.

Luckily, it didn't take long for Sarajevo to prove it was worth the stress of getting there.  Unlike anywhere else I've ever been and probably unique in the world, the city truly does embody the ubiquitous meeting of East and West.  One minute you're walking past mosques and through Middle Eastern bazaars and the next you're surrounded by European style cafes and buildings which look as though they've been transplanted from Vienna or Paris.  In a narrow valley along the Miljacka river, the city sprawls up the hillsides in all directions, the tightly packed houses broken only by the fields of white headstones.

Cemeteries like this are all over the city.
They are the most visible reminder of Sarajevo's dark history.

The cemeteries can be found all over the city and are the most glaring reminder of Sarajevo's recent history.  Less than 20 years ago the capital was the epicentre of Bosnia's violent civil war and underwent the longest siege in modern history.  From 1992 to 1995 the city was almost entirely cut off from the outside world as opposing forces vied for control of differing neighbourhoods.  In total, upwards of 10,000 people were killed in Sarajevo alone, most of them civilians.  Before any of this, Sarajevo was widely regarded as one of the most beautiful cities in the world.  It held the Winter Olympics in 1984, just four years before they'd be in Calgary, and was praised as being a model of religious and ethnic diversity, an example others should follow.  Unfortunately, it was this very diversity which made the war so bitter.   But despite the many buildings that are peppered with bullet holes and the red rose plaques commemorating particularly deadly attacks, the city does have a vibrant feel to it and is well on its way to returning to that former stature, but still doesn't have running water between midnight and six am.

On our last afternoon in the city we climbed through the narrow switch back streets to the top of a hill on the extreme eastern end of the city.  Standing at the vantage point near a ruined Ottoman fortress we could look down nearly the entire length of the valley.  As the last of the sunlight glinted off the river like a streak of gold through the city, the call to prayer rang out from dozens of mosques in every direction.  A unique experience befitting this unique city.

                      

The "Eastern Europe" Trip

When I was initially gearing up to come on this exchange the thing that excited me the most was the potential to travel.  It was even a factor in why I chose to come to Slovenia rather than one of the other 30 plus countries I could have gone to.  From here, every direction I go I’m bound to end up somewhere steeped in history, awash in natural beauty, or rich in culture, and usually it’s a combination of these things.  On top of that, while I’m on exchange my grades don’t matter (I just have to pass) and most of the friends I have made are also from other countries and so are in the same mindset to travel whenever possible.  Thanks to all these reasons, I am in the enviable position of being able to just look at a map, pick a place to go and then actually go there.  And that’s exactly what Marcel and Florentia and I did.  In about 10 minutes and using nothing but a map we planned out where we wanted to go for what would be our last trip together, at least for the foreseeable future.

The fairytale-like steps up to Graz's Schloss Eggenburg

Not long after, we kicked things off by hopping a train to Graz, Austria.  Just across the border and about two hours away by train, Graz is by European standards a small city, which means it’s fairly big by Canadian standards.  At first I was worried that the two days we had allotted to spend there would be too much time and that we’d be bored.  Turns out though that Graz is a pretty cool place and there were plenty of things to do to keep us occupied.  We checked out the Glockenspielplatz, Schloss Eggenburg, and ate schnitzel, among other German sounding activities, and tried a traditional Austrian dessert called Germknödel which is somewhere between a doughnut and a dinner bun.  We also took in a tour of the Styrian Armoury which houses the largest collection of medieval weapons and armour in the world.  All the different rulers of the region from medieval lords to Napoleon have taken from and added to the cache of steel and guns making the visit a fascinating history lesson in itself.  As if that wasn’t cool enough, everything is original from the 16^th century, including the graffiti on the bathroom door which our guide deemed too crass to be repeated in public.   Most of our time in Graz, however, was spent just walking around and enjoying the snowfall which gave the city an idyllic wintery look.

Now, Europe in February definitely has its pros and cons.  On the one hand, there aren't huge crowds everywhere, you have virtually everything to yourself and for usually about half the price as in the summer, and if every city looked like Graz does in the winter it would be worth putting up with a bit of snow and cool temperatures.  But unfortunately they don’t and we learned first hand why this is the “off-season” while in Bratislava.

Bratislava's main square.
They have odd statues like this all over the city

I was frequently reminded of the movie Eurotrip while we were in the Slovakian capital.  There’s a scene where they accidently end up in Bratislava instead of their intended Berlin.  While they walk around the deserted streets which are made to resemble something like Chernobyl, a man rides up on a bike and says, “Good thing you came in summer, in winter…it can get a little bleak.”  We were definitely there in the winter, and while the city was nowhere near as rundown as the movie shows it was a little depressing.  It was bitterly cold and very windy so walking around and generally exploring wasn’t much fun.  Come 4:30pm when it was dark out there was no one on the streets and even most of the restaurants were closed.  Also, the idea of spreading sand or salt to de-ice sidewalks apparently hasn’t made it to Slovakia yet because the whole city was a skating rink.  We might as well have had defenders hurling objects at us as we walked up the steep slope to the castle because the ice made it just as dangerous.  So while I’m sure Bratislava is a very nice city when weather permits, it was all too clear to us why no one else was there in February.

Budapest, meanwhile, was a different story.  Of course, I was in Budapest in November with Julian (see post “Hitch hiking to Budapest”), but we were really only there for one day which, as you can imagine with an ancient city with 3 million people, is  not long enough.  The off-season blues that we experienced in Bratislava seemed a distant memory as soon as we arrived in Hungary.   It was warm, the sun was shining, and it was anything but deserted.  As to be expected with a city of this calibre, there’s never a dull moment in Budapest.  We spent two nights and three full days in the city trying to take in as much as possible, all the while staying at what I’m convinced is the best hostel in world (Maverick City Lodge if you ever go there).  Budapest also has some of the coolest bars around so there's never any shortage of things to do.  In total we must have walked back and forth across the city a half-dozen times and yet it never got boring.  I think I mentioned in my previous post on Budapest that every building is a sight in itself and no two are the same.  For our entire time there I walked around staring up at the buildings as if it was my first time in any city, let alone my second stint in Budapest.  It really is an incredible city and it seems the more time I spend there, the more I want to stay.  Eventually though, it was time to move on.

The Royal Palace with the famous Chain Bridge in Budapest

 

We had spent about a half a day trying to figure out how to get to Belgrade, which would be our last city and where Florentia was going to fly out of on her way back home to Athens.  We had initially planned to take a night train but they wouldn’t sell us tickets for the time we wanted and, frustratingly, wouldn’t explain why.  Nonetheless, after some sleuthing we were eventually able to get an overnight bus.  That’s when I had one of those moments that you get every once in a while when you find yourself in a peculiar place.  One of those moments where you stop and take things in.  Its 11:00pm, I’m on the outskirts of Budapest waiting for an overnight bus to Belgrade with two friends from Germany and Greece.  This is exactly where I want to be. 

View from the top of St. Stephan's Basilica with the Hungarian parliament buildings in the background. 

Our full-to-capacity overnight bus turned out to not be as bad as we were anticipating, although it still wasn’t as comfortable as the train would have been, and we arrived in Belgrade, Serbia bleary eyed at about 4:30am.  We then took a cab straight to our hostel where we had probably the weirdest experience of the entire trip.  We had already agreed to pay the driver 10 euros which we figured was probably way more than it should be as Serbia has a different, far less valuable currency, but at this point we were tired and didn’t really care.  Anyway, as we got out at our destination and collected our bags, Marcel paid the cab driver who took the 10 euros and literally started laughing and rubbing the money all over his face.  Welcome to Serbia…

Later that day, after some much needed sleep, we went to check things out.  Our initial impressions of the city were not all that great.  Despite sleeping for most of the morning I don’t think we were 100% there and into it.  We didn’t really know our way around and I actually led us in the complete wrong direction for at least an hour while trying to find the train station, which is very uncharacteristic of me by the way.  All I saw of the city that day were the cold, rundown, communist housing blocks and gypsy kids running around begging.  However, the next day was a different story.  We had great weather, took a free walking tour, and got to see the city in a completely different light which made all the difference.  Turns out, Belgrade is quite a nice place and despite all of the warnings we got, Serbian’s are generally nice people.

Belgrade looking anything but bleak.

Finally, the trip came to the day we were dreading; when we would have to say goodbye.  Although Marcel and I still had a 10 hour train ride back to Ljubljana, Florentia was flying home and it was the symbolic end to our trip and to our time together.   We’ve spent a lot of time together over the last few months so parting ways was definitely tough, especially because I don’t know when, or if, I’ll see either of them again.  Worst case scenario though I’ll just have to go to Germany and Greece.  Not so bad.     

    

          

        

The Getaway- Probably the most stressful sequence of events in my life.

With ten minutes to go before my train was supposed to leave for Casablanca's Mohammed V Airport from the central Casa Voyageurs station, there was still a different train parked at the platform and no sign of mine.  It was 3:50 am which is early enough, let alone when you've only had three hours of sleep.   With time winding down I began to get a little nervous. The next train wouldn't be for more than two hours so I needed to be on this one in order to catch my 7:30 flight to Paris, en route back to Ljubljana.  Eventually, with just a couple minutes to spare an announcement came over the PA, first in Arabic and then in French, saying that the train to the airport was departing from platform one.  I was on platform two.  I immediately got that "oh shit" feeling and started running down the steps, underneath the tracks, and up the other side.  Just as I came to the top of the steps the official was closing all the doors on the running train.  I frantically asked him if it was the train to the airport and either he didn't say anything or I just didn't hear him but he appeared to give a thumbs up.  Without hesitation I jumped on board and felt the closing doors squeeze my backpack as I narrowly made it on.

But before I could even begin to feel relaxed that I had made it, I heard someone yell "No!" and a guy came running over and stared at me through the window on the door.  He was a young guy with a thick beard and a large backpack and apparently he was going to the airport too because he screamed through the glass that I was on the wrong train.  At the same time, he was desperately trying to get the attention of the official on the platform and I began to pound on the "Door Open" button as if I could will the door to open with a little force.  But it was all no to avail and in a matter of seconds we started pulling away, and in the opposite direction of the airport.  The gentle rocking of the train under my feet felt more like an earthquake and my already elevated heart rate began increasing along with the speed of the train.  The guy on the platform just stood there staring at me, mouth open with his hands in the air in a helpless, almost apologetic kind of way.  Judging by the look on his face, my own expression must have been somewhere between "Is this really happening?" and "just got punched in the stomach."  Slowly, the lights of the station faded away and I was overcome with the darkness of the unknown, and the uncertainty of what lie ahead.

At this point my mind was racing at warp speed.  'Its almost four o'clock in the morning and its pitch black, I'm on a train heading in the wrong direction to who knows where and for who knows how long'.  Time was ticking, and of course my initial thought was that I was not gonna make my flight.  But through all this noise in my head came the sound of laughter.  I looked into the compartment to see two girls in the same car, probably the only other people on the whole train.  They were busy taking pictures of each other in funny poses and giggling away, completely oblivious to the gravity of the situation.  I interrupted them to ask if the train was going to the airport, I figured it wouldn't hurt to double check.  Sure enough though they both said no with a little bit of a laugh and looked at me like I was crazy.  They then went back to taking pictures of each other and I was left to torture myself by playing out different scenarios in my head.

Thankfully, the train came to a stop at a station about 15 minutes later, rather than two hours later, and I, along with the two girls, got off.  It was just a tiny station somewhere on the outskirts of Casablanca.  There were no street lights and definitely no traffic and since it was just after four in the morning there was hardly anyone there except for a few people in the lobby. There was a security guard who was dressed as though he was on an Arctic expedition despite the fact that it was at least 10 degrees outside.  Apparently noticing I had no idea what to do, one of the girls from the train offered to call a taxi for me but after several attempts she could not convince anyone to come all the way out to the station.  The only other option was the lone taxi who had been coming back and forth to pick people up.  After some negotiating, she was able to get him to agree to take me to the airport for 250 dirhams.  Of course, I had spent the last of my dirhams on the train ticket and had only 20 euros (200dh) left, but I'd deal with later.  As I walked towards the lights of the cab through the dark parking lot I realized another problem.  It was a red "Petit Taxi" meaning it was only allowed within the city and not to the airport.  Just when I thought it was clear sailing, there was something else I had to worry about.  Is this guy really gonna break the rules for me?  As it turns out...no, no he's not.

We drove around through dark deserted streets for some time, picking up and dropping off other passengers along the way, until we eventually pulled up beside a stand of 'Grand Taxis', the ones that are used for bigger distances including the airport.  My driver got out and negotiated some more before coming back and literally pushing me out of the passenger seat.  I was to go with one of the other drivers from here.  Now, I wouldn't have minded this except he wanted to be paid in addition to the 250dh I was to pay this other guy which of course, isn't what we had agreed on.  Realistically though, it was almost 5:00am, I had no idea where I was, time was ticking, and I was surrounded by some obviously unscrupulous taxi drivers; paying this guy extra would not be negotiable.  They were more than happy to exchange my euros into dirhams so I could pay my driver, but that still left me without enough money to pay the next leg to the airport.

So the new driver began taking me around to different banks, trying to find one that would take my card.  It became a routine; he pulls up at a bank, I get out and run to the ATM, and he yells at me in French with his incredibly gravelly voice and honks the horn because apparently that makes ATM's run faster.  Finally, I was able to get some money and we sped off to the airport, although I never really relaxed until I sat down in my seat on the plane (which had been bumped to First Class by the way, the only good thing to happen to me all day).  As I polished off my delicious breakfast and dozed off in my comfy seat I had no idea that the most stressful part of my day was actually still to come.

We landed at Paris' Charles de Gaulle Airport at 10:30, giving me two hours to spare before my flight to Ljubljana. de Gaulle airport is MASSIVE and it took a long time to go through passport control, multiple security checks, and take the bus to the right terminal, but I wasn't worried because I knew I still had about an hour to kill.  But as I was making my way past the "A" gates of the terminal en route to my "C39" an announcement came on overhead calling certain people to their gates.  Given the experiences I had already had that morning, I knew right away that my name was for some reason going to be included on this list.  Sure enough, "Mitchell Norstrom please proceed immediately to your gate," came over loud and clear.  As it was an hour ahead of boarding I wasn't quite sure why, I thought maybe I was gonna get bumped to first class again.  Anyway, I picked up the pace and hurried to my gate.

As I walked up, there was a guy standing there who was visibly anxious.  He asked me if I was Mitchell Norstrom going to Ljubljana, followed up with  "Come on, hurry up!"  He started off at a run towards to door to the tarmac and I was right behind him.  Just as we got to within an arms reach a guy on the other side pulls the sliding door shut, and locks it, staring at both of us and shaking his head.  The guy I was with turned to me and said, "Sorry sir, boarding has closed."  To which I replied, "What?"

I was so surprised I literally forgot to breathe for a few moments.  It felt like I had had the wind knocked out of me.  I looked up at the screen above the door and noted the boarding time flashing in red and yellow, it finally dawned on me that it was already 12:30, and that the clock on my phone, the only clock I had looked at until this point, was still stuck an hour behind on Moroccan time.  I was only interrupted from my confused daze by the airport attendant saying, "Sir, you're not getting on that plane.  Do you understand?"   I stood there not quite sure what to say for what seemed like an eternity.  Eventually, and in reality probably only a few seconds later , a girl standing behind the desk got a brief phone call and said, "Okay we're good."  She then hurriedly scanned my passport and opened the door.  "Go now! Run!"

To make matters worse, as I was running out to the plane, I looked up into the piercing gaze of the pilot sitting in the cockpit.  I then had to be that guy that walks on to the plane late and everyone knows he's the reason for the hold up.  They probably thought I had just spent too much time shopping at the Duty Free.  But little did they know what I had already been through.                            

Running Away From Christmas

Over the course of my time in Slovenia the moments of having that gut wrenching homesick feeling have been remarkably non-existent.  Sure I’ve missed things about home; my friends and family, the simplicity of knowing where everything is and how to get it, and Kraft Dinner, just to name a few.  But not once have I wished I was home, let alone ever entertained the thought of giving up this incredible experience of living in Ljubljana in favour of the aforementioned niceties.  However, even before I set out on this endeavour I knew that if there was ever going to be one time where I felt that longing for home and the familiar it would likely be at Christmas.  I had images in my head of calling home on Christmas day while sitting alone in my cold, bare cubicle of an apartment, all of my friends having already travelled the short distances to their homes while I’m left here on the opposite side of the world from mine.  So with this horrible scenario in mind, I set out to avoid it from happening.  I was gonna go somewhere so exotic and different that turkey dinner and presents would be the last thing on my mind.  As it turned out, I found that place and it was Morocco.

It’s not as though I just threw a dart at the map and decided to go wherever it landed (although that probably would have made for a better story), there was some logic behind my decision.  I know a few people who have been to Morocco before and all of them had great things to say about it, so I’ve been interested in visiting the country for a while.  I also wanted to go somewhere warm but not so much because the Slovenian winter is so unbearably cold (because it’s not) but because spending Christmas with a view of sun and palm trees is just about as far as you can get from the snow and gloom of December back home.  So I booked myself a flight and a space on an 11 day tour and almost before I knew it I was jetting off to spend my holidays in the ‘Orient’.

A man walks outside a mosque wearing the traditional Moroccan Jalaba.

There are many words one could use to describe Morocco but perhaps the most accurate of them all is ‘enchanting’.  The whole country is a myriad of vibrant sights, sounds, smells, and colours which together are all an assault on the senses but at the same time and in some unexplainable manner leave you wanting more.  Even the names of the cities, like Marrakech, Fes, or Ourzazate, sound like they've been ripped out of the pages of some tale of adventure in far off lands and have an allure to them as captivating as a mirage in the Sahara.  My first destination, Casablanca, was of course no exception.  

Almost immediately after arriving there was an undeniable sense that I was somewhere different; different than my home in Canada, different than my adopted home in Slovenia, different even than my former home in Kuwait.  All that was required to find a taxi to my hotel, for example, was to simply walk down the street and let them come to me, which they did in droves.  When I didn’t like the quoted price I just had to threaten to go with another taxi and suddenly the price was about 70% lower.  In a way, this exchange with the cab driver in my first minutes in the country was indicative of everyday life in Morocco, where everything is negotiable.  After agreeing on a price I piled into the 1970 something Peugeot, a “Petit Taxi” as they are called, and went along for the ride.  Now I’ve had some interesting experiences on roads in different countries, but none of them quite compared to that first drive in Casablanca.  My driver wove around obstacles on the road, some visible some obviously in his head, at different points he would floor the gas and slam on the breaks, all the while speeding through intersections without so much as glancing at the traffic lights.  As Youseff, one of the guides, later explained, “Traffic lights in Casablanca are just decorations.”

Hides are hand dyed in these pools in Fes just like they've
 done for hundreds of years.

From Casablanca we continued on to Fes.  Famous for its medina, or old town, and leather industry which seemingly runs in the same fashion it did when the old town was young.  You can still see men working away in their stalls treating the hides and scraping off the fur with blades by hand.  Then the tanned hides are loaded onto the backs of donkeys to be transported through the maze of alleyways and passages that make up the medina.  The clamour of everyday life engulfs the entire place, but the words, “belek, belek!” stand out.  Roughly translated, they mean get out of the way.  Tanners frequently yell them out as they guide their caravans of donkeys through the city to hand off the hides to be dyed.  The dyeing station is a burst of colour in an otherwise monotonous place.  There are dozens of small pools and each is filled with a different vividly coloured natural dye.  However, you can only enjoy the magnificent site if you can get past the revolting smell.  A combination of the ingredients in some of the dyes and fat residues left on the hides make for a pungent odour which can be hard to take.  But as one local assured me, “thank God you came in winter, because in summer it can be quite unbearable.” 

Our guide, Rachid, takes a walk amongst the rolling sand dunes
of the Sahara.

After Fes we carried on south over the Middle Atlas mountain range into the Sahara.  Of course, there really is only one way to truly experience the desert; by camel.  Riding on a camel watching the last rays of the orange sunset dip below the horizon in front of the sea of cascading sand dunes is something I will not soon forget.  Unfortunately, that moment couldn’t last forever and quite soon the warmth from the last glimmer of the sun was replaced by the biting cold of the desert night.

After the night in the desert the scenery only grew in spectacle.  From the rocky outcrops of the imposing Todra Gorge to travelling back in time through the Valley of a Thousand Kasbahs and finally through the snow-capped peaks of the High Atlas range.  It was some of the most contrasting yet beautiful landscape I have ever seen.  Arid desert and lifeless mountains are only broken up by the infrequent oases which seemingly support all life in the region.  The peace and serenity was a far cry from our final destination in Marrakech.

The fortified village, or Ksar, of Ait Benhaddou, a UNESCO World Heritage Site and popular backdrop for movies such as The Mummy, Gladiator, and Prince of Persia.

Marrakech is the quintessential Middle Eastern city, or at least, its everything you imagine the Middle East to be.  The main square, Djema el-fna, is a dizzying din of snake charmers, musicians, animals, food stalls, and millions of people. It’s enough to make your head spin and it’s the type of place that based on all of my past experiences I should hate.  I hate crowds, I don’t like it when people try and put their monkey on my shoulder, and I definitely do not like the chaos of the entire scene, yet for some strange reason I couldn’t get enough of it.  I’d slowly make my way around the square and into the surrounding souks and occasionally stop to haggle with some shop keeper over some item or try to explain to him that, no, I don’t need that huge carpet, even if it is for a "good price for you, my friend."  Marrakech was like nowhere else I’ve ever been before and no matter how hard I try to describe it, I will never be able to do it justice.

Sunset over part of the souks of Marrakech.  This is the time when the whole place comes alive and the main square becomes full of food vendors.

So, my trip to Morocco had come and gone and with nothing but a call home and the odd seasonal greeting, so had Christmas.  Come Christmas day I wasn’t sitting in my cold apartment all by myself, and I definitely wasn’t missing home, there was too much to do and see to even think about that.  At first I kind of thought I would go to Morocco to run away from Christmas.  I thought it would be easier to be away from home if there wasn't any Christmas at all.  But what I realized as I made my way through successive medinas, deserts, and kasbahs, was that I really wasn’t running away from anything.  I was running towards adventure and excitement and the unknown.  And what's really exciting, is that over the next few months I'm going to have a lot more running to do.  

From Frigid Ljubljana to Sunny Croatia and Beyond

As I sit here on my bed and stare out the window at the dense fog shrouding the city and the stubborn frost that remains clinging to the ground, I find it hard to believe that just one week ago I was revelling in the warmth and sunshine in some of the most beautiful places I have ever been.  It seems like those places are a world away and yet, in true European fashion, you really don't have to go far to find a place that is completely different.

From left to right: Me, Nicole, Lukas, Marcel

Looking back, it really was a whirlwind trip; about 1,800km altogether, seven different border crossings, and four different countries.  From Ljubljana we went down to the southern most point in Croatia and then we kept going into Montenegro and eventually made our way back through Bosnia and Herzegovina.  We spent a lot of time on the road and we were almost constantly on the move and yet I hardly noticed it. This probably had something to do with the awesome weather, and also just the excitement of being in a new place with more ahead of us.  A large part of it though, was the people I was with.  There were four of us altogether; Marcel and Lukas, two German guys, and Nicole, a fellow Canadian from Toronto.  Together, we piled into our rented Nissan something-or-other and just went along for the ride, not quite sure what to expect about any of the places we had planned ahead of us.  We all got along great, got to see some of the less visited places, and had a ton of fun in the process (this is from my point of view of course, but I'm sure they'd all agree with me).  Had time not been a constraint, as it almost always is, I would have gladly pushed on with them in that Nissan for another 1,800km.

Dubrovnik's Old Town as it looks from the outside.

Friday night we arrived at our first destination in Dubrovnik, Croatia to a downpour of rain but woke up the next morning to perfectly clear skies and bright sunshine.  Now, I've seen some pretty beautiful places in my 20 years, but Dubrovnik is something else.  The warren of alley ways that make up the Old Town are hemmed in by a fortified castle wall which juts out into the crystal clear waters of the Adriatic Sea.  Getting lost in the forest of terracotta-roofed buildings is a real possibility, and an exciting one at that.  The highlight though was walking along the top of the wall around the Old Town.  One of the benefits of travelling this time of year is that there aren't too many other tourists, in fact I probably could have been convinced that we were the only ones there had it not been for the others staying in our hostel.  This was the case when we did the wall walk.  For just under two hours we meandered around above the city and didn't run in to anyone else except for the guy who came to kick us out and lock up.  While on top of the wall, it didn't matter which direction you looked there was something to 'wow' you, whether it was Old
Town itself, the harbour, sections of the old stone wall, or the sun sinking into the horizon.  Sitting on a ledge with the warmth of the sun and the faint sea breeze, enjoying the view and the peace and quiet was an experience I will not soon forget.  As much as I would have liked in that moment  to just stay in Dubrovnik forever, it was just the beginning of our journey and I was equally excited to see what lie ahead.

Tightly packed buildings in the Old Town

From Croatia, we followed the coast into neighbouring Montenegro.  I really had no idea what Montenegro would be like.  Its not really a typical destination in that if you weren't already in the region you'd probably never think to go there.  Its only been an independent country since 2006 when it split from Serbia and a little over 20 years ago it, along with Slovenia, Croatia, and several others, was part of Yugoslavia.  Despite this last part, it was quite apparent that Montenegro is a different country.  In some instances the Cyrillic alphabet is used, giving a distinct Eastern European appearance to many signs and streets and it gave me the impression that the country was altogether different, although the Montenegrin language actually has a lot in common with Slovenian so most of these differences were likely all in my head.

A small section of Budva's beach.

While in Montenegro we stayed in a coastal town called Budva which, while nice, was clearly a summer resort town and not a popular destination in December.  It had a great looking beach with all kinds of restaurants and bars dotted across it, and had an Old Town similar to the one in Dubrovnik but far smaller.  We also spent half a day in the nearby town of Kotor which is located on a large bay that is a UNESCO World Heritage Site based on its natural beauty.  We hiked up to the ruins of a fortress on the hillside and got a view of the city and the surrounding mountain range which abruptly plummets into the waters of the bay.  It reminded me of what a Norwegian fjord must look like.

The Bay of Kotor

Eventually it was time to turn around and head back to Ljubljana but the drive, at least the first part, was a show in itself.  We decided to take a different route back and go part of the way through Bosnia.  Now, I'm talking about rural Bosnia.  The type of place where you shouldn't wander too far off the road because theres a good chance there's still some unexploded land mines out there.  I remember listening to a cousin of mine, Mike, tell stories about being a Peacekeeper in Bosnia during his time in the military.  This was quite a few years ago but in the big scheme of things its pretty recent.  The whole time we were in the country I couldn't help but think how weird it was to be a tourist in a place that was about to tear itself apart only a few years ago.  Despite this, from what I saw, there was nothing to give you this impression although Bosnia certainly lags behind its neighbours in terms of development ("highways" of varying condition which will occasionally turn into one lane without notice and ruined buildings everywhere).

We stopped in Mostar, Bosnia which is kind of a little Istanbul

Probably the biggest downside of travelling this time of year is that it gets dark before you know it, leaving you with a limited amount of time to actually do things.  Despite the fact that we left Budva early in the morning most of our return trip was in the dark, making it seem as though it took forever.  After a full day of driving we finally arrived home in Ljubljana in the evening, and it definitely felt as though we were home, which is a pretty cool feeling.

Thanks for reading,
Mitch              

Prague - Living up to its Hype for 1,100 Years

Over the last few years, and as I have visited more and more places, I have come to notice that there are two very different ways to go about seeing the sites.  The first option is to go on a 'big bus tour'.  The second option is to not go on a 'big bus tour'.

The gang on Charles Bridge
 (From left to right: Marcel, Florentia, George, Joris, Me, Julian)

By big bus tour I'm talking about those groups of 50 plus people that are chauffeured from city to city in those huge chartered buses and then are herded around like sheep to see the most famous sites.  I've seen them everywhere (they're pretty easy to pick out),  large groups of people ambling along after their guide who's almost always waving a big flag with the name of the tour company emblazoned on it, so that pick pockets and con artists have to do as little guess work as possible I assume.  Occasionally the guide stops to shout some facts into the crowd of generally uninterested tourists before shepherding them all back onto the bus in order to make it  to the hotel in time for their pre-paid lunch.

The main facade of the St. Vittus Cathedral. Located high above the city in the castle complex.

 Don't get me wrong, I can see why this would be attractive to some people.  It offers you the opportunity to meet MANY fellow travellers and the convenience is unparalleled.  Its just not for me.  That's why even I was surprised when I signed up for one of these trips myself. A University run weekend in Prague with a group of friends.

Rear view of St. Vittus Cathedral

Yes, I feel like I spent most of my time on the bus (its about a nine or ten hour drive from Ljubljana), and yes, everything we did had to be negotiated between the fifty or so people on the trip.  But all in all it was a good weekend, although I think that was mostly just because Prague is such an awesome city.  Its a place that I have heard lots about and have wanted to visit for some time.  My brother Jordan spent a couple of weeks there on a school trip when he was in high school and so I think my interest in the city stems from  his many stories and memories, in addition to those of many other friends of mine.  All of them had nothing bad to say about Prague.  In fact, most of them fell in love with the city.

Prague's very famous Astronomical Clock

There were many things that impressed me about Prague; the history, the architecture, the cheap beer, just to name a few.  But what surprised me the most was the scale of the city.  I had one full day in Budapest, and while I didn't see everything, I was able to get a good grasp of the city.  After two days in Prague, on the other hand, I still feel as though I only saw  a tiny fraction of even just the Old Town.  I guess I'll just have to go back, for longer next time.

It's crazy to think that in the past few weeks I've been in five different countries, even if just for a few hours in a couple of them.  Its even crazier to think that in the coming weeks I'll have been to who knows how many more.  I don't know exactly where or when, but that just makes it that much more exciting.

Thanks for reading.
Mitch

Clock tower looking over Old Town Square and just above the Astronomical Clock

  

Hitch Hiking to Budapest and Other Fun Weekend Activities

Well, as the title suggests, I spent last weekend in Budapest, Hungary, although this trip wasn't so much about the destination as it was the journey.  Hitch hiking is something I've always wanted to do but for obvious reasons never actually got around to doing it.  But last Wednesday as I listened to my German friend Julian tell me of how he hitch hiked around France a couple summers ago, I actually gave it some serious thought, if only for a split second.  Before I could stop myself and without any hesitation I said, "We should hitch hike somewhere.  How bout this weekend?"  We met Thursday afternoon to sketch out a rough plan and the next thing I knew It was Friday morning and I was standing on the side of the highway holding a cardboard sign with "Budapest" written across it and my thumb sticking out towards the traffic.

After waiting for a ride out of Budapest for two hours I was seriously questioning our decision hitch hike in the first place.

I could go into great detail and spend hours describing our foray into hitch hiking (by the way its now called Mitch hiking), but I'll save your time and just say that it was an adventure to say the least.  It was an ambitious undertaking; over 800km round trip, about 20 hours of travel/waiting time, seven different rides, three different countries, and most of the time we had no back up plan.  If we hadn't have found rides we likely would have been stuck in that deserted rest stop at the Hungarian border, or left standing in the pouring rain and hurricane force winds at that gas station outside of Zagreb (where we eventually got a ride into the city and opted to throw in the towel and take a train the last leg back to Ljubljana).  We met countless people along the way, some young, some old, some spoke great English some spoke none.  We even got a ride from a convicted criminal who was just awaiting his sentencing (thats another story in itself).  But through all of it, I met some of the nicest people I've ever met and what's even better, is that Julian and I both made it the whole way without being murdered or abducted.  Oh and except the train at the end it cost us nothing.

The Hungarian Parliament buildings sit prominently on the east bank of the Danube river and are modelled after the British Parliament.

Of course, the whole point of this crazy endeavour was to visit Budapest, which, in case you're wondering, is a pretty amazing place and one that I will certainly have to go back to in the not too distant future.  A day and a bit is not nearly enough time to see and do half the things there are to do in the city.  We walked around for hours and covered a ton of ground but only just scratched the surface.  Although, the main attraction in Budapest is the architecture, which includes basically every different style from every period.  I'm no expert on the subject, but I can appreciate a nice looking building.

Due to the grey, overcast weather that we had the city looked much better at night.  Most of the buildings are impressively lit as well.

We did take in one of Budapest's famous bath houses.  The mineral waters from natural springs around the city are said to have the power to cure any pains or ailments and after walking around literally all day we had some of those ourselves.  At first, all you can think about is how weird the whole thing is.  Inside the bath area its hot and muggy, smells terrible, and you can't help but notice all the half naked old people walking around.  But after you try out the different temperature pools, the saunas (one of which is 72 degrees celsius!), and the steam rooms, you're more comfortable than that 70 year old Hungarian guy walking around in his speedo.  Just to leave you with a nice image.
 
I've wanted to see Budapest ever since I first saw the movie I Spy with Owen Wilson and Eddie Murphy when I was little.  The movie is set in the city and as I walked around quotes from the movie were stuck in my head.  It was hilarious and awful at the same time.

The spire of the Matthias Church lit up at night.  The sky had been grey and bleak all day but at sunset it was finally clear and blue.  Bad luck I guess.

Anyway, that's all for my impromptu Mitch hiking adventure to Budapest.  While it wasn't exactly a resounding success it was a trip I will never forget.  Things don't always go the way we plan, but then that's where the adventure really begins.

Thanks for reading,
Mitch