Life Must Go On

London, England

I know that you personally do not fear to give your own life in exchange for taking others [that is why you are so dangerous] ... but I know you do fear you may fail in your long-term objective to destroy our free society ... in the days that follow, look at our airports, look at our seaports and look at our railway stations ... you will see that people from the rest of Britain, people from around the world, will arrive in London to become Londoners, to fulfill their dreams and achieve their potential ... whatever you do, however many you kill, you will fail.

-London Mayor Ken Livingstone

You can't destroy London because it is all of us; the city is diversity at its most extreme. Livingstone also mentions earlier in his speech, concerning the future of the city after the attacks, that one television commentator even called London the world's first "post-national city." Every creed, color, and stripe of man is a resident, and it is a beautiful thing. Striking the community strikes every community.

Dropping Pounds, Adding Weight. When I arrived in London it was bright and beautiful, and my brother and Clara welcomed me with overwhelming hospitality. They also set out on a mission to fatten my belly, saying I looked skinny. We strolled through their neighborhood, conveniently sandwiched between Regent's and Hyde Park, and even took a row boat out with ice cream and the works. I was repeatedly stuffed with homemade meals and desserts: lamb chops, green chicken curry, mom's chicken soup, banana bread. Not to mention the fantastic Asian foods around the city that followed.

Marc and Clara have a wonderful apartment in central London from where I could stroll through the city, chasing and retracing the footsteps of four years before...I even sat on the same bench under the London Eye where once upon a time, on another sunny morning after a different sleepless flight, at age 19, I had collapsed to survey my summer surroundings. Who would believe that Portcullis House just across the Thames was once my stomping grounds!?
So we ate well, maybe too well, and while they worked at their fabulous jobs I wandered and just took it easy. I tried to concentrate on seeing some of the things I had missed before: a good Frida Kahlo exhibit at the Tate Modern, Camden Market, and a bit of Soho nightlife. I also met up with another old friend, Ben, for a steak and guiness business lunch near his office on Liverpool Street. I was able to catch up on what came of everyone I remembered from my London days. In short: new jobs, marriages, and even babies.

Conversation with Marc and Clara was always exciting, and I found out a lot more about what they actually do and how much they enjoy being in London. We talked a lot about their lives and touched briefly on my own future, not exactly my favorite topic while traveling. Aside from the craziness of the bomb scares and one shooting on the tube, it was the perfect week.

If this London visit began perfectly - sleeping in, walking the city streets, spending quality time with bra and Clara and even our family friend Alexa on the weekend and after work - then Paris even took things up a notch. I spent a few days in Paris midweek with an old friend, Magali, and she showed me her beautiful city. Nevermind the sprinkling sunshower that became a downpour as we toured the city bridges on a fly-boat, we two the only fools not to bring an umbrella or jacket. We had a fantastic few nights out to dinner, wandering the Latin Quarter, sitting by the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame Cathedral, or the Sacre Coeur, or battling eachother to cover the bill in lounges and bars around the city. Magali is now working on the equivalent of a Phd., and it was great to see her doing so well.

Purgatory. If there is such a place, it is on the outskirts of London. Namely, it is terminal 2 of Heathrow airport, where the masses crowd interminably under a 7 foot ceiling to endure claustrophobia together while they wait 2-3 hours just to check in luggage. In contrast, Zurich's airport in an exercise in modern art and the value of negative space. Relief only came when I was upgraded to business class for the short flight from London to Zurich with no explanation. It wouldn't be so comfortable on Swiss Air to Africa...

It was awkward to return to London from Paris on the same day as the second wave of bomb scares. You can't imagine how long the taxi queues became. But Londoners continued to ride the tube, simply adjusting to the latest closures and detours and carrying on with their tabloid gossip and strange slang - "You cheeky bastards!" There were even impromptu dance parties reported in the streets in an area where local residents had been temporarily evacuated from their homes. The papers referred to them as "Beat the Bombers" parties. The only awkward part for me was leaving the city for Heathrow on my last day - I had to carry my backpack through the tube system while passengers scrutinized me as a potential danger.

On this latest flight to Jo'berg I was kept awake by a first year Oxford student - politics, economics, philosophy - from Canterbury, England. We argued about philosophy between political and educational debates. Does Knowledge equal Justified True Belief? The answer, according to Frank, lies in a thoughtful tale about two men, each with ten coins in their pockets.

Arriving in Durban, SA, I hardly knew what to expect. I was greeted immediately by my best friend Anand, who graciously showed up to the airport with his car to pick me up! First impressions: from the airplane, the coast was beautiful and hilly, dry yet also very green; everyone I met on the plane [filled with rich white people] were very kind, especially two teachers who gave me tips on where to travel along the coast and to wild animal parks; the airport bathroom hand-dryers are state-of-the-art and should be imported.

Anand and I went to McDonalds after a brief drive through the city. Sitting there with our chicken nuggets and big mac's, we could feel many eyes upon us. There is still a general reaction of surprise here when two individuals of different race are seen together laughing and talking and generally just so comfortable. Within the city center there are few whites anyhow. Durban is unique however for its nearly 33% Indian population. As we looked around, he explained to me that 25% of the population here is HIV positive. I let it marinade...

Anand works at McCord Hospital near Morningside, a wealthier area in the hills around Durban's center not unlike San Francisco with its georgeous vistas and sunsets. He has come here to study HIV and tuberculosis at the Sinikithemba clinic for a year or more, and to help out generally in the community. Anand stays with a warm and wonderful family in a beautiful home in the hills. They are two doctors with adorable little girls and a passion for science, history, politics, and just hanging out with crazy twenty-somethings. They are the best thing that could have happened for Anand in this city. Unfortunately, everyone's homes here are necessarily protected by gates and barbed wire and emergency armed responders. South Africans seem to be as paranoid as a common visitor about their general safety, which is evidenced by such things as car guards on regular streets and around bars and restaurants, segregated neighborhoods, and a general avoidance of the city center by whites at nightfall. Almost everyone gives you the "be careful" remark when you part ways. Perhaps it is just a part of the scene, but certain bars are entirely white which feels a bit strange. Yesterday I actually had my shoes stolen at the georgeous North Beach while reading quietly and watching the local surfers. I got them back 100 meters down the promenade after I motioned helplessly to the probable thieves around me and one man pointed toward the sand. It was almost comical. Most days I've spent here touring the city center museums (Apartheid, Natural History, African Art), markets and beaches or just hanging around the hospital, learning or observing the goings-on.

Under the Knife
The other day at McCord Hospital I went with Hillary, another med student from Bethesda (Stone Ridge), to observe surgery for the morning. We had hoped to sit in on a C-section, but instead I watched a woman have her big toe amputated, and next a hysterectomy in which a different woman had both ovaries and her uterus removed. The doctor was very kind and skilled - Dr. Candace Roberts - and dissected the uterus for us to show us exactly where we had "come from." The surgical theatre is no nonsense and quite a surreal experience. After I had changed into the proper light-green hospital gear and been equipped with a hairnet, shoenet, and surgical mask, we scrubbed in and were escorted into the thick of it. The anesthesiologist, Dr. Mannie, had a lot of trouble piercing the spine of the obese woman having her toe removed (diabetic), and the process took a painful 5-10 minutes of repeated insertions. After she lay still, chief surgeon Dr. Stanley went to work quickly scalping open her toe at its base and removing it with little trouble. The blood did flow, and run onto the floor in a puddle, and squirt all over the doctor and up at us a meter away. The trouble came when he needed to use a crude electric saw to take off more bone, but before long she was sutured and stitched up, toeless.

In theatre #3 we encountered two surgeons almost elbow-deep into the belly of a 38 year old woman who had grown a large cyst that needed to be removed. Latched onto to her ovary, it had filled with a chocolate mousse-like substance. The internal organs had shifted such that the doctors had to be careful not to cut the wrong pieces out. As the doctor commented, "her anatomy is all over the place."

The amazing thing about surgery is how rough and crude it all is, despite the numerous technological advancements we all assume make things clean and easy. As in all things on this trip, my assumptions were shattered. Yet I was 20 times better than I thought in there personally, at dealing with what I was watching. I even leaned in close with the surgeons most of the time, fascinated by the procedures and not bothered by the blood and gore. If I could do it all over again, and if I had steadier hands, I'd have looked into this field.

"Africa Must Be Saved" - Sinikithemba Choir
The other night we attended a cocktail party arranged by Dr. Bruce Walker, an American HIV researcher and Harvard Prof who is largely responsible for the funding that makes much of what is being done in and around Sinikithemba (McCord Hospital's HIV clinic) possible. The party was at a fancy mansion with a pool, and I wandered amongst common hospital workers, friends, interns, and even a private investor, Mark Schwartz, who probably made millions at his former Goldman Sachs position in Japan and working for George Soros. But the highlight of the night was the Sinikithemba Choir, a group of 15-20 HIV positive community members and co-workers who sing traditional African songs and hymns, and dance and smile while taking solos. The choir recently retured from a trip to Elton John's house in London. They have begun travelling the world with their newfound fame. Truly they were phenomenal in their passion and energy, and lit up the night.

It is strange how deeply affected the community is by HIV. Still, it never ceases to surprise me that the latest friend or co-worker of Anand's that I meet at the hospital or a cocktail party or just socially, is infected with the virus. I hang out with them all day, and then when I am told they are positive I am still shocked. I suppose this is because at home it would be startling; here it is disturbingly normal. No wonder the people are so deeply religious, even the hospital itself. I could not understand until now how intertwined faith and medicine could become, regardless of my distaste for faith-based medicine. Even at a fiscal meeting of the hospital yesterday evening the attendees were serenaded with the songs of the hospital choir before, during, and after, almost as if it were a religious event. By the way, did you know the South African national anthem is an amalgamation of 9 languages in one song?! Beautiful, yet if you look around some of the older white males were not actively mouthing the words...

This entry has been a bit rushed and was written piecemeal. I'm having difficulty collecting my thoughts here, but having a wonderful time attempting. Tomorrow we may be off to a wild animal park. But first, Anand and I are sitting in on a C-section this evening! Ever seen a one-second old baby??? I guess the theme of this entry is just the extremes of life I am experiencing - everything from the fear of death on highly advanced transportation systems to the miracle of life on the operating table. HALLELUJAH!

Hope all is well with everyone, and Happy Birthday to Scott in a couple days! Sorry I couldn't be there buddy.

If you can talk, you can sing.
If you can walk, you can dance.

Eastern Europe Photos

Relaxing in London at my brother's apartment...

Latest Photos

Bored in Budapest???

Budapest, Hungary

I'll say it. I miss the Balkans, it was my favorite place in Europe. 4 days alone in Budapest is not killing me, but let's just say I have time to blog on a Friday night tonight before my 6am flight to see my brother in London.

I know, I am a spoiled brat, but on my own Budapest is just feeling like another big city with the usual parks, tourist traps, sights, etc. It's not that I haven't been doing things, I think I just like the smaller cities that aren't yet flooded with tourists. But it is cool to be in a place where "see ya" means hello.
Let's see, I've viewed the city from the Castle Hill complex on the Buda side; visited the former Jewish ghetto section on the Pest side - 2nd largest synogogue in the world and nice museum; bathed in the thermal baths; toured the Parliament and it's 40 kilos of gold trimmings; visited the Terror Museum (Nazi and post-war Soviet occupation history); toured the zoo with a Norweigan 17 year old (a girl I ran into that was in Sarajevo - man, it even sounds illegal to say you hung out with a 17 year old); wandered the tourist center streets and had some beers with crazy German and Swedish middle aged businessmen; turned down an offer to go bowling with some more Scandinavians; chilled out on Margit Island on the Danube to read War of the Worlds finally; visited Statue Park, where they've relocated gigantic Soviet era statues torn down from the city; etc. etc. etc. Man this sounds boring. Isn't visiting all the sights merely evidence that you haven't found better people and more unique activities to do...

I guess I just didn't met any cool people here to see things with. I had a plan to rendevouz with an old friend here for a few days but she couldn't make it work. But it isn't that depressing, I'll be fine. It was 4 days in a beautiful city, and I've had a lot of cheap ice cream to stay happy.

Food. My god, the stereoptypes about Eastern European food aren't just correct, they are understated. Every meal is meat and potatoes, usually some kind of stew with rice or goulash that also has noodles or dumplings AND comes with bread. Atkins nightmare. And you drink beer of course. So what did Judit, a nice Hungarian girl I met, say when I asked her how everyone doesn't get fat? "Well, we don't eat like that 3 times a day!" I took that to mean they do eat like that 2 times a day. But it is fantastic food, and cheap in the right neighborhoods. Paprika comes from Hungary, and is featured in most national dishes.

I made a fool of myself in front of some Angolan tourists yesterday. I actually tried to start speaking to these girls in French. How ignorant am I.

Women. I had heard that this was the place, but I do not concur exactly. This is no Bulgaria or Serbia. Here we're approaching normalcy again, we're off the runway; that is, normal people of all shapes and sizes exist. It's only that MOST of the girls are still amazing.

Hungarian Jewry. Man, the tribe, as my brother would say, is everywhere. I found evidence of this not just in the Synogogue area, but when the guy at the movie theatre spoke more Hebrew with me than English (Batman Begins is the best movie of the summer), and when the guy I passed in the subway tunnel was playing Klesmer and Hava Nagila on the violin. But the Jewish population is an even sadder story than most. The nearly 1 million pre-war population was decimated after the Hungarian government, who have always joined the wrong side in history's wars, actively helped deport it's Jewish citizens to the gas chanbers. It is said that Eichman only needed to send 200 German supervisors, the Hungarian military did all the work wiping out nearly 2/3 of the population. Budapest also had the last Jewish ghetto in Europe, set up even after some other countries had been liberated! but miraculously saved by an early Russian offensive that gave the Germans no time to destroy the ghetto as they retreated. A strong community of nearly 100,000 exits today.

One detail in Hungary's defense in WWII: the reason the government aligned firmly with Hitler was because he promised to restore to them the 2/3 of their country they lost after WWI in the Treaty of Triannon. Places like the Balkans and Transylvania and Moldova all used to be Hungarian territory, and it was a lingering wound in their national identity. When Hitler betrayed the country later in the war, it was too late to sue for neutrality or UN intervention.

Opression. I was also ignorant about the Soviet era after the war. I had thought that communism had somehow ushered in a peaceful era here, even if we were against it. But literally hundreds of thousands of people were relocated, imprisoned, tortured, and killed as enemies of the new leadership over the next decade and a half, whether for practicing their religions or facing trumped up charges of breaking new laws or engaging in sedition, etc. For years it was a police state that answered to the USSR, and the 1950's were the most debilitating years.

Sorry for so much history, it is just what I get into. But free elections have only truly existed since 1990! Amazing. This was in my lifetime, it is not just some high school history book bullshit.

That's all I got tonight. More from London. Wow, first flight in 2 months. Peace out.

Living in a State of EXIT

Novi Sad, Serbia

The EXIT festival, with over 20 main stages spread out across the main sections of the Petrogardin Fortress high above the Danube River in Novi Sad, Serbia, was amazing. Returning to Novi Sad also had this undeniably comfortable feeling, like home. That's what scares me about the Balkans, I always feel like I'm home...

I'm basically speechless about the last 24 hours, is it ironic to write about being speechless? Every kind of music was there, Serbian reggae and Latino bands, rap, hard rock, metal, dj's, an entire outdoor dance arena housing a rave with maybe 10,000 people, etc. Basically around every castle wall and through every tunnel you found a new scene for the 100,000 per day crowd. I only came for the last day, mostly to see the Datsuns and White Stripes, who were every bit as weird as they are on cd.

My last night in Sarajevo was fantastic. I actually skipped the UNICEF party to hang out with all my new friends at the hostel. We hit some major bars and clubs, drinking and dancing in classic Eastern European clubs until 4 in the morning. I then wandered the streets and ate pizza until nearly sunrise with a crazy Irishman and a guy from Montreal in front of the Eternal Flame, a national monument to WWII.

Because I couldn't sleep on the night bus from Sarajevo - I was so tired too, and the hostel in Novi Sad had no room ready for me (although I almost slept in the conference room the lovely Dragana had prepared for me), you could find me wandering like a zombie at 6am amongst others in the center of town who had stayed up all night and were still drinking and partying in the streets (the festival is 8pm to 7am for 4 straight days). I slept on a bench like a true hobo for maybe an hour (it is unbelievably safe to do here, unlike America) before being waken up by Vladimir, his sister Tattiana, and her friend Alexandra, who all walked by just as exhausted and laughed at me. Soon we were all having coffee and talking through our heavy eyelids. The brother and sister spoke english, but Alexandra only speaks Russian, which made conversation harder and led to problems later...

I was able to sleep for 2 more hours before heading to the castle at 7, and I ran into my new friends again immediately. We listened to some local bands and danced a bit. Like that scene in the 3rd Matrix movie when the people in Zion start dancing to house music and there is this primitive, animal feeling to the atmosphere, the dance arena was multiple levels around an ancient drawbridge of bodies in motion under massive speakers, scantily clad professional club dancers, and light shows. It took me half an hour to get through the crowd. When the two english speakers stayed in the dance arena, I was left in a somewhat awkward situation with Alexandra at the main stage. At first it went well, I could make her smile by telling her I loved Sarajevo (her home town) or mentioning great legends like Hendrix or Zeppelin. We even managed to have some minor conversations about school and jobs and politics - she is in a 5 year child psychology program in Belgrade. But at the same time, huddled together under a raincoat in the pouring rain with a Bosnian chick who speaks literally no English was like a first date from hell. Thank god we were at a concert, I could just buy her drinks, dance with her and enjoy the music.

It is difficult to go to a concert and dance and drink for 12 straight hours. We often found ourselves exhausted and sitting around enjoying the view, lost from her friends and struggling to communicate! I asked a girl next to me for the time at one point, and ended up meeting another half American at school in Iowa named Irina. As beautiful as Irina was, her male friend Bronco was more interesting. He was from Novi Sad, a bit older and spoke perfect English through his drunkeness. He loved meeting me and for some reason and wanted to tell me all about his thoughts on the war, which was a nice surprise after my experience with the victims in Sarajevo (the morning I left a procession of police-escorted coffins rolled through the center on the way for reburial at the Srebrencia memorial service, while residents lined the streets with arms outstretched, openly weeping).

Bronco was stationed in a Bosnian town called Benaluca during the war, which he loved because the ration of women to men was 12 to 1. Of course you must understand that this ratio existed because all of the men and boys were fighting or had been killed already. But it is still interesting that he loved it enough there to abandon the army and run around with Muslim girls - he is Christian Orthodox (Serbian). From Bronco's perspective, the war was an unnecessary tragedy. He described at length how well the older generation of the united Yugoslavia had been living for decades. Until of course they agitated for independence. "They [Bosnian Muslims] had a good life! Why this nationalism!" So I suppose it is a serious split in basic ideology. I mean, you have to admit that when Bronco explains that the Muslim populations began a small guerrilla war, supplied and encouraged by other Muslim countries (I don't know if this is true or not, but it is a common belief), you start to understand Serbia's desperation to keep things together. He did not deny horrible things had happened, Bronco simply wishes the Muslims had never wanted to break away. I don't agree or condone Serbian actions, but I am starting to understand both sides.

At a certain point I ended up alone at the concert, tired and wondering what the hell I was still doing there. I left around 4:45am, the castle still brimming with people.

So I have finished my Balkan tour, and will head to Budapest tomorrow for a few days before visiting my brother in London. I will really miss this part of the world, it has been a blast - and you didn't even hear about Croatia where I met an Aussie who looks exactly like my old friend Matt and we took some Norweigian girls out on the town!

I am desperately in need of some good old rest and relaxation, which I will get in London. My life is like a long, fantastic dream these days.

Ain't nothing in the world like a big eyed girl
To make me act so funny, make me spend my money
Make me feel real loose like a long necked goose
Like a--oh baby, that's a-what I like!
-Big Bopper

Man Down

Sarajevo, Bosnia
Let me begin by telling everyone that my brother and his girlfriend are fine after the London attacks, and I am safe and quite happy in Sarajevo, Bosnia. I hope that everyone else's friends and families are safe as well.

I am now without my wingman, my ace, my Chino cabron, and travelling alone is different in many ways. We split up last week in Ljubljana, Slovenia and I have since been down through Croatia and on the island of Hvar. It didn't take long to make friends almost everywhere, and there is so much to tell I could write for hours. But Sarajevo is a more intense and interesting story than the leisure of Spielberg and Madonna's yachts on the Dalmatian Coast. I will tell just one lively story of regret from the islands to cheer everyone up, and maybe get back to that later. Saddened by the events in London,I'd rather talk about the tragedy in Bosnia because the 11th marks the tenth anniversary of the Srebrenica massacre here where over 9000 Muslims were slaughtered in front of their families in one town. Even the head prosecutor at the war crimes tribunal at the Hague is saying she will not attend because they have yet to arrest Mladic or Karadzic (former President)...

Under a temporary bout of insanity I passed on a golden opportunity on the morning of July 5 on the Croatian island of Hvar. I had the chance to get naked with a girl before I even knew her name, Sarah. Allow me to explain. I knew Sarah for just 10minutes. I met her in line for a Jadrolinija ferry ticket back to the mainland when she laughed at me for missing my 6:30am boat due to an irresponsible night of 4th July driking (I met some Americans from New Orleans and NorCal) and a subsequent failed attempt at setting my alarm clock. Naturally I was explaining all this to the lady who spoke no English and would not let me transfer the ticket. But I digress... Sarah and I walked along the waterfront talking,and then she promptly jumped into a boat along the dock. "Where are you going?" I exclaimed. "Don't leave at 1pm with your new ticket," she replied. "We can get naked at the nude beach on the next island and you can leave at 7pm." (But I just bought another ticket and I need to catch a bus to Sarajevo!!!%$%@%) Ahhh, you only regret the things you didn't do.

Armed with bread, cheese, cherries, and peaches from the lovely morning market in Split, Croatia (former summer palace location of the Roman Emperor Diocletian) I hopped on a bus along the coast for the 7 hour journey to Sarajevo, Bosnia. On the bus I met Igor, a Sarajevo resident now going to school in Akron who recently gained US citizenship. Good conversations followed and I began my education of Bosnia while staring out at turquoise rivers and green mountains.

I am still confused about the history of Yugoslavia and even the current political structure. Paddy Ashdown is the high representative here appointed by the international community to be Bosnia's benevolent dictator. His sweeping powers allow him even to fire the president, which he has done twice already. But the mix of Orthodox Serbs, Muslim Bosniaks and Christian or Muslim Croats is inherently combustible, each with their own leaders and a rotating presidency system. It is a fragile peace in most places outside of the main cities.

In Mostar we stopped, and I witnessed the lingering evidence of the war ten years ago. I have never seen evidence of urban warfare like Mostar, the second largest city, buildings strewn with mortar and bullet holes and badly damaged roads from raging street battles. I would guess that it probably only compares to something like Jenin, West Bank, or perhaps Baghdad. Mostar was the front line between Bosnian Muslims and Christian Croats, and the city is still divided by neighborhood along its river, where even a famous Turkish bridge that once symbolized peace and harmony was blown up. It's still easy to spot the Croat side - a large cross looms on a nearby hilltop. Ironically, these groups first fought along side eachother against invading Serbian units after both countries declared independence. But ethnic tensions and economic disparity throughout the country, no longer reigned in by Tito's brand of communism, erupted in cities and villages all around.

Sarajevo is a similar story, under siege for 3 years during the war. Igor recalled staring out the window of his grandfather's apartment building when a rocket exploded in the window above him. The Serbian army simply surrounded this georgeus city of 300,000 in a beautiful valley, and from the tree lines and Jewish cemetary above, bombarded its inhabitants from 360 degrees of hills with tanks, rockets, snipers, and mortar fire.

I took a tour of the tunnel the army and townspeople built under the UN-controlled Sarajevo airport (only for humanitarian aid to both sides) to smuggle in and out people and supplies and weapons from the northern part of Bosnia. There we were shown a video of the seige and how the people coped, and later I was driven through "sniper alley," where the worst of the damage to buildings like the Parliament along the river is still visible. Even the Hoiliday Inn, once the comfortable refuge for attendees of the 1984 winter olympics, stands completely burnt out, a large concrete skeleton. I often wonder about the UN and what they are truly capable of or obliged to do in these situations.

There are photo galleries, cemetaries, and museums all around, including the mine museum (landmines are a gigantic problem now, with next generation cluster mines littered across the country and slowly being cleared.) It is hard to imagine how people went on with their lives and settled back in with their neighbors in divided towns. In Sarajevo over 10,000 were killed until the UN, NATO, and international community finally took a side (after Srebrenica and the shelling of Dubrovnik and evidence of genocides they finally had to). And yet after the holocaust were we not all taught "NEVER AGAIN?" My father recalls Nobel laureate Elie Weisel standing up in front of President Bill Clinton and boldly challenging him to take action in Bosnia. It is only the west's lack of action that causes traces of resentment here.

But you should not have an impression of Sarajevo as a dangerous, ugly place. Yes, there are terrible scars, but they are rebuilding with international help and a permanent EU police presence (EUFOR). It is one of the most beautiful places I have seen. The center of the Muslim-dominated city, the Turkish Quarter, is lovely and romantic with fountains and bazaars and winding streets with cafes and United Colors of Benneton. For 2 bucks you buy a chevapa, a pita overflowing with diced onions and spicy sausages, no sauce. All the houses, with mosques interspersed frequently, line the valley and are roofed with red tiles, making for a pretty postcard picture against the backdrop of green mountains.

At the Jewish museum - also still used as a sephardic synogogue - I learned about the population of 12,000 jews (pre-WWII) who settled here after the Spanish Inquisition and even more throughout the balkans. Today there is one ashkenazi and one sephardic synogogue for a community of just 700. Many left or were wiped out by Hitler. But the Jewish history here is rich, and evidence of jewish culture in buildings and cemetaries and shops is widespread. It was heartening to learn that the jewish population endured the siege and fought right alongside their Muslim brothers against invading Serbs.

I have met wonderful people at the [sub-par] hostel, including a Canadian girl who invited me to a party tonight with her friend who works for UNICEF here, and a group of Quebecans speaking a brand of French I have never encountered and cannot understand! But the Aussies, Japanese, Brits and many Americans are all here as well, and there is much to see. Last night we all went to a great brewery for liters of dark beer and tasty sausages, led by two young Irishman determined to live up to their reputation.

This city is intense, but wonderful and very relaxing at the same time. The locals are warm and there is a feeling of safety that does not exist in most American or other European cities. Still, underneath the surface, you can sense some lingering ethnic tensions and can see that people are still living in homogenous neighborhoods. Eastern europe, and particularly the Balkans, continue to simply knock me on my ass with startling surprises!

I miss many of my friends and family at times like this; it is difficult to be away from home during a tragedy. But know that travelers are a family as well - you make friends very fast and learn about eachother and yourself. In ways that are not possible at home, I am utterly content.

HAPPY 21st BIRTHDAY ERICA!!!