Revised itinerary

And so I have come to Berlin. This wasn't planned, but it seems to be a good place to have landed. I am waiting, at a small cafe called Butter, for a potential German language instructor who answered my ad on Craig's List. Somewhere along the line, before I even landed here, I decided that I would stay as long as I could, get to know a great city well, and try to resurrect my high school German. I am staying with my friend John, an old neighbor from Oakland, who lives here half of the year. He has been kind enough to offer me the use of his flat while he is gone for the next three weeks. So I have time and opportunity to settle in, see the sights, and see what it's like to live here. And I can consider what this long, strange trip is about anyway.

One of the first things I have noticed and liked is that a LOT of Berliners ride bicycles here - a fact that is best substantiated by being on a sidewalk around 5 PM when work gets out. The other thing I like is that I have yet to see a single bicyclist wearing anything other than street clothes. No special equipment or clothing is necessary. Makes me a little embarrassed by my biking wardrobe.

Another thing I like is how well-organized the mass transit systems are. In contrast to every other city I have visited on this trip, in Berlin you never have to guess at which stop you are arriving. If it is not announced verbally or on a lightboard on the train or bus, there are large signs at every station. There are also color-coded maps listing every stop and connection for the train system, and the maps of Berlin that are for sale do a good job of showing the same. In short, whether you are a visitor coming here for the first time or a Berliner going to a new part of the city, the uncertainties are kept to a minimum. And if you ARE unsure of something, Berliners are happy - happy! - to be of help if they can.

My only minor complaint is the difficulty in finding a place to log on. My Lonely Planet guide said WiFi is everywhere, but I have not found that to be the case. When I DO find it, it is either not free or requires a code, which means sitting at the coffee shop or restaurant, ordering something, and then asking for the code. That gets expensive, so I am going to investigate the cost of a mini SIM card and a monthlong subscription so my iPad and I are always connected.

The church bell ringing goes on forever here on Sunday morning! The weather has been cool and fresh since I arrived, and I have slept with the window open every night, only reaching for a blanket the last two nights.whether rain or church bells, everything sounds good coming with fresh air through an open window.

Unfriendly

I have to say that, so far, I'm not feeling the love.

There are exceptions, of course. The young folks at Daily Fresh this morning were quite pleasant and seemed to have good senses of humor. But as I was walking down the avenue, from the main square (trg in Croatian - take THAT, spell check!) to the train station, I walked past one woman whose look translated as, "what are YOU doing here, you fuckin' fuck?", and another who pressed her lips togeher and shook her head as I walked by, as if she KNEW there were times when I returned my library book late and forgiveness of the debt - indeed, even payment of the debt - would never remove the blight I had visited on the world just by being here.

These encounters are common here in Croatia, and even more common in Bosnia. Perhaps Balkan folks are just kind of . . . curdled. Perhaps it is the result of the troubles they have endured in the last three decades. It isn't only a generational thing: I was sneered at by a clerk in a bakery in Sarajevo.

Regardless, these encounters make the good encounters much more satisfying, like working up a serious thirst before slaking it. The van driver who took me from Plitvice back to Zagreb - who resembled George Clooney in profile, by the way - was great fun as he explained places we were passing and complained about other drivers in his rudimentary English. He showed me a picture of his family, and as he referred to his wife or girlfriend he called her, with unself-conscious sincerity, his "darling."

The architecture oozes Zagreb's long and difficult history, the cafes are comfortable aeries to watch people move through their lives. But I cant say that I'm getting much in the way of warm fuzzies. And let's not even start with the weirdness at the Catholic cathedral yesterday (Jesus is apparently deeply offended by the appearance of womens' deltoids.). But the grilled calamari with marigolds made it all mostly worthwhile, except for this morning's sourpusses. Tomorrow, off to Belgrade, Serbia.

- John

Location:Pavla Radića,City of Zagreb,Croatia

Best T shirt of the trip, so far

The one at top right, seen in Mostar. If I was Muslim I'd have bought one.

Everyone Likes a Good Slap

Slap is Croatian for waterfall.

Plitvice III

Like Hawaii, Yosemite, and Alaska, the problem here is what NOT to photograph.

Plitvice II

These blokes were so accustomed to human passersby-by that they didn't even think to take a break from grooming time.

Plitvice I

I hadn't walked even fifty yards and already was taking photos. The walkway was a work of art, perfectly suited to the park.

My new friends from Rotterdam

I met Nessim and his mother, Soara, on the bus from Dubrovnik to Mostar. We had a great conversation, and though I saw them in passing in Mostar, I was sorry to not have had a chance to continue our conversation while there.

But then, in Sarajevo, who should spy me on the street? I was so pleased to see them. We went to a Turkish coffee house and talked for a long time. They were going home the next day, so I was thrilled to see them. Travel is all about encounters just like this. I wish they lived next door.

My new friend in Sarajevo

Soara, bibliophile and linguist, employee at Connectum Bookstore in Old Town. W had some great conversations about Islam and agnosticism and fundamentalism. Oh, and about Old Church Slavic.

Migratory Thoughts

The first two weeks of this trip were brutally, debilitatingly hot, between 35 and 41 degrees centigrade. I had two bouts of heat rash and began to reconsider my itinerary - even, at one point, considering coming home. It made no sense to travel to places if I was going to be able to go out in the early morning and late at night, but otherwise have to sequester in air conditioned refuges.

Then it rained. No drouth-breaking rain in Santa Fe was ever more welcome. I was in Mostar, Bosnia. But the damage to my original itinerary - tentative in form as it was - was already done. I began to research other itineraries. I jotted down some notes on my options:

Go home
Do whirlwind tour of most favored destinations, go home early
Go everywhere I was planning to go, just go with AC...but will that mean going to Delphi or Athens, for instance, and only going from air conditioned facility to facility, or staying in and doing nothing?
Travel elsewhere. It makes no sense for me to stay in this heat if I can't be out, meeting people and learning new things. After Sarajevo, make a plan that includes taking in Athens, Delphi, and Istanbul.
Go north after Sarajevo or Sofia.

I considered adding some or all of the following destinations

Bucharest
Budapest
Prague
Krakow
Wroclaw
Zakopane
Warsaw (I met a couple from Poland who are teaching ESL, and they made some suggestions about visiting their country)
Vilnius
Helsinki, Finland
Berlin

My next step was to decide where I wanted to go, and why: university towns, national parks, inexpensive locations, zen monasteries, hamlets conducive to writing and WiFi?

Then I met a Columbia University student in Sarajevo as we were both heading to the train station, both heading toward Zagreb - me to it, her through it - and she loaned me her Lonely Planet guide to Europe on a Shoestring for the 10 hour ride. During that time I decided that I will abandon the Balkans for the Baltics. So I will be going to Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia. That means I will probably also go to Poland, Budapest, Hungary, and might even make it to Berlin. This means missing out on Albania, Macedonia, Romania and, most likely, even Greece. It may also mean that, in order to get to Istanbul, I will probably have to fly there. Either that or go there directly after Sofia and then fly north from there.

As you can see, there are still decisions to be made. I need to sit down with a map and a calendar and sort out what works best.

For the moment, I will say this: Zagreb looks like love at first sight. I would love to live within weekend getaway distance of Plitvice Lakes. I can really do without all the cigarette smoke in the Balkans. I'm immensely relieved that the heat wave has broken, and am a bit bemused that I now need a sweater to go out, even in midday. I hate that Europeans eat songbirds. And I miss my friends and Boz. Will you visit me if I decide to stay?

Dolce Vita, a small serving

After the Devastation, Magic

Ruminations on Dubrovnik
Sometimes, though certainly not always, the world rewards a risk. It certainly rewarded my impulsive decision to end my time on the sailboat and set off on a Friday night in search of a place to stay in Dubrovnik. On a weekend, let me emphasize, in high tourist season. My friends, Marina and Carmela, went in search of a taxi while I waited at the bus stop in an effort to make sure I found a way into town to look for a place.
In a country that is strange to me, where I don't know the customs or the clues to knowing whether someone is shooting straight or taking advantage of a rube from America, three people at the bus stop, traveling together, began to chat with me. I mentioned that I was going to town to look for a room, planning to stop at the travel agency mentioned in my tour book. Steve, the husband of Tea (two syllables), said that agency was closed, and anyway, no agency would be open at 9 PM on a Friday night. Tea, clearly perceiving that I was adrift, made a phone call to a friend who just happened to have a room available, even though I only wanted it for two nights (3 nights is the usual minimum). It was 70 Euros per night, about $90, but it had AC, which my heat rash made a necessity. I protested that the price was high, but Tea informed me that I was lucky it was available, that I would like it, and the price, it seemed, was not open to discussion.
About that time, Marina and Carmela came by in a taxi, offering me a lift. I let them know that it appeared I had a room, so they could go on into town and I would connect with them later.
But I really wasn't sure. I didn't know these folks at all, and had no idea if they were setting me up to take my money, put me up in their sister's boss's cousin's hovel at triple the usual price, or if they were on the level.
So I got on the bus with them, and got off where they did, outside Pile Gate into Old Town. They said the proprietress's son was coming to take me to the house. And there was Alberto. He looked alright. He and Tea and Steve (the third person at the bus stop was Marc, from France) greeted each other warmly, and Alberto led me away.
Through dark, winding alleys. Late at night, in a strange town. And me without my brass knuckles. We walked a few blocks, all uphill, me sweating buckets, mostly from the heat. He finally put his key into a large metal door set into a stone wall that was two stories high if it was a foot. And opened it onto a well-tended garden that smelled of lavender and rosemary. He led me up still more steps, and opened the door into an impossibly neat, divinely cool room with herringbone wood or parquet floors. He came back shortly with a large bottle of water for me, and wished me a good night without even asking for a deposit.
I dropped my packs, stripped off my sweat-soaked clothes, drank a bunch of water and fell gratefully into bed.
Travel magic makes me believe all is not lost.

My hostess turned out to be very gracious and accommodating. Her dog, a little terrier named Moki, barks and snaps at people as they leave, never having become accustomed to new friends leaving week in, week out.
The couple I met at the bus stop own five galleries in town, and Tea is a local celebrity who authored a book on Dubrovnik for visitors, complete with charming illustrations by a famous Italian illustrator. I ran into her and Steve the next day at two separate times (it's a small town). Tea showed me their atelier, told me I mustn't leave town on Monday, as I planned, so I could come to the opening exhibit of Marc, from France, who turns out to be a very fine artist (who I ran into the following day). Tea enjoyed showing me around, teasing me that I distrusted this "old woman" at the bus stop who turned out to be my benefactress. We had a good time teasing each other for a bit, until she dropped me in a chair at Dolce Vita, the locals' favorite gelateria, with instructions to make myself fat there. The next day I found a way to extend my stay until Thursday morning in order to accept Tea's invitation to attend Marc's opening Wednesday night.
What a pleasure to be here. The main question I have now is this:
How does a city, that was pretty much obliterated in a civil war (ludicrous term) fewer than twenty years ago, rebuild not only their city but their sense of hospitality so they can be, not just welcoming, but playful and artful? I'm enchanted.

Taking on Tolle

"The most common ego identifications have to do with possessions, the work you do, social status and recognition, knowledge and education, physical appearance, special abilities, relationships, personal and family history, belief systems, and often political, nationalistic, racial, religious, and other collective identifications. None of these is you." ~Eckhart Tolle

 

I've not read Tolle – this quotation was sent to me as is – so I don't know the context. Taken as is, this statement is both true and not true. If none of those are me, do I still have responsibility for them? Cannot others describe me accurately, if incompletely, by referring to them? It's true that none of the qualities, singly or in aggregate, are a complete definition of us, but they do serve a function in knowing who we are, so they are not useless or entirely false.

Our Job Description

The Obama campaign asked Americans to write about what the Inauguration meant to us. My response was as follows:

On Inauguration Day, Barack Obama will stand as proxy for every American: as he takes the oath of office, every one of us must renew our dedication to the work that gave our nation its life. President Obama will face challenges that he will only be able to meet if Americans continue and build on the work begun by our forefathers.

We are the children and grandchildren of the “tired, poor, huddled masses, yearning to breathe free.” They did not want and would not tolerate life without the freedoms needed to do good work, raise loving families, and build vibrant communities. Refusing to acquiesce to a government that curtailed their dreams, they fought instead to design one that would protect our freedoms, check our baser instincts, and further our aspirations.

On American Torture

My friend Tom got me started on this when he said, apropos my letter to Obama about torture, that "I only wish we had done to them what they did to Nick Berg and Daniel Pearl." You may recall that both of these men were beheaded.

Before I get to torture, let me take a short digression to fanaticism.

On Marriage Equality

I wrote this on the New Mexican's web site in a discussion responding to the article about NM Dems including marriage equality in their platform. (I go by a pseudonym on some blogs.) This is in response to Mary Lou, who said, in part

How are you not treated equal? [. . .] Why do you gay and lesbians think you're owed something different. Marriage for last time is between a man and woman. get it through that thick skull of yours. (sic throughout)

On the Response to "Bombing" the Moon

I've been a part of three discussions on FB with the same basic theme: bombing the moon is not only a boondoggle, it is profoundly, epically immoral. I'd like to summarize the two points of view which oppose this mission, and then invite discussion.

How to Improve America, Part One

1) Whenever a politician or media person appears in public, they must wear patches, a la NASCAR drivers, identifying their top 5 corporate "sponsors". In print or on TV they must be identified as follows: "Rep. Smith (D-NM; BAC, GS, XOM)" or "Glenn Beck (Fox; AIG, C, PFE)" citing the stock symbol for each major contributor/advertiser. On radio, this information should be read by way of introduction. This should include major contributors by industry, e.g., pharmaceuticals, carbon-based energy, churches, etc.

Dear Mr. President

January 19, 2009

Dear Mr. President,

I’ve often said that, when we were remembering September 11, we were remembering the wrong day. September 12, 2001, was the day we all stood united in compassion for each other. While September 11^th was the day when so many loved ones died, September 12^th was the day when we showed how resilient are our hearts – a greater tribute to our dead than all the fretting over tributes and monuments and security strategies.

I am writing this on the observance of Martin Luther King’s birthday, which you have made a day of national service this year in anticipation of your inauguration. Today I feel that America is returning to the heart we showed on September 12^th. Today I feel hope that we might meet the challenges that face us as a nation and a species.

Do It Yourself Revolution

There is an e-mail that circulates every year that tells people not to buy gas on May 15^th. It dubiously claims that a similar protest against gas prices in 1997 resulted in a 30-cent drop in the price of gas "overnight". A version of this e-mail has been going around since e-mail was invented.

There are three problems with this suggestion, the least of which is that it won't work.