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!!!

Happiness is a Warm Gun

Lubljana, Slovenia

Under a cloudless red-rimmed sky and a scorching sun, we watched a selection of the most beautiful women in Eastern Europe idle by until dusk, relentlessly tantalizing us with their tiny bikinis while we alternated between sitting at cafes drinking local brews and shots of rakkia - plum brandy - and playing catch and taking dips in the river Danube with our latest group of friends. Only the night before, Scotty and I sat at Martha's Pub in Novi Sad, believing it was our last night together after 4 months, toasting to and drowning our memories away in heavy shot glasses of aqua absinthe. We recalled the good times and bad, the company we've kept and the money spent, the tourist traps and lucky discoveries, the tales never to be retold and the friendships forged in minutes. (but I then decided to go with him to Slovenia the next day!)

Gazing out along the river in Novi Sad from this man-made paradise beach on a river, or from the Petrograd fortress that rises above it nearby, we could hardly believe we were staring out at ruins. A local kindergarden teacher on a bench in the city center recounted to me her memories of hiding in her river-front home while NATO war planes destroyed the city's 3 main bridges. "It was a dangerous time here." Aside from the provisional barge bridge that sill stands today and the pillars of those destroyed 6 years ago, you can hardly tell anything happened in this city of 300,000. The objective of the bombings was to cut off "supply lines," although if you talk to people here they will laugh at that idea and say it is all just politics. Roughly 10% of the population are students, out of school since last week and partying on the beach like Pauly Shore during Spring Break 1991. This place is a serious challenge to the good looks and fashions of Plovdiv. I will return. Hey Chino, I cried across a perfect beach, "define heaven."

Our companions in Novi Sad were a group of university students recently liberated for summer but not yet returned to their homes in Bosnia. They were perhaps the most friendly and welcoming bunch yet, and the one Jewish member of the crew, Jaelco, was delighted to meet me. More important than the beers we drank together or the stories shared were the conversations about what we as Americans so terribly misunderstand and mis-learn about the wars in this region. Slavisha and Alexander enlightened us a bit during our walks to the beach, shattering all assumptions and the small factual education I had acquired. The fact is, the simple notions that world media outlets create of Serbs slaughtering Muslims or entire communities raging against others are absurd. Each village was a different story; Serbs against Muslims, government troops against Christians, Muslims against Muslims. Slavisha and his family fled to Hanover, Germany until 1993. He and Alexander were reunited only by accident after they found eachother studying in the same town, Novi Sad, 7 years later.

So we were embraced by a group of Bosnian university students, and what followed was 2 days of drunken revelry and certainly one of the finest nights of my trip at Club "Sterija." While the talented local gypsy band Absolutno Romantico belted out traditional Bosnian and Serbian tunes and original favorites - a solid drummer and two talented guitarists finger picking and strumming hard rhythms - a Sunday evening evaporated while a packed club sang along. I sat alone (Scotty passed out earlier from a rough day on the beach) in the corner with a group of Bosnians that gather each week to sip Montenegro white wines and take in the atmosphere. Each song was a new experience, as the crowd cheered and Ricky or Slavisha or Alexander or Banir or Jaelco explained to me its meaning or what was happening; e.g. "that girl over there just declared that she will run naked through this club if you do not play her favorite song!" When Ricky's girlfriend Dragona was mentioned in a song, he raised both arms straight up in the air in recognition, smiling like an idiot. Just when I least expected it, and 3 bottles deep in wine, the band made an announcement honoring the presence of the American "Fox" and apologized for not playing any Jimmy Hendrix for me. We all toasted repeatedly to the crowd of kuchke. Please excuse the language, but what a fuckin awesome time.

Talking to Binar was one of my favorite conversations, another Bosnian who had been working in town for the UN and EU for the past 7 years. He is currently working for the EU Police Mission, helping monitor police work in the area since the end of the most recent conflict and stressed out by the 26 different nationalities and languages he deals with. Underpaid and underappreciated, he found it hard to believe that UN positons were so highly sought where we come from. The grass is always greener I suppose.

It's been nice to finally begin encountering a majority of young people that actually speak decent English. The girls I meet at the bar for instance, though quiet, are usually the most fluent. People may still hate the American government, but they cannot deny their envy of many of the other fortunes and systems we have been blessed with and their frustration with the difficulty of attempting to visit our country. There is absolutely zero feeling of danger in this area, and Serbia has exploded up my list of top destinations to return to. Our week in Serbia was fantastic.
After Novi Sad Scott and I went back to Belgrade to catch a train through Zaghreb to Ljubjlana, Slovenia. This town, Ljubjlana, from which I am now writing, is more or less like travelling to Interlocken, Switzerland. Upon arrival through picturesque, if rainy, Julian Alps, we met a very cool girl from western Canada, Christine, who toured the city and castle and bunked up with us for the night at a hostel. Christine is on her way to Spain for a summer intensive language program - I am jealous - and helped fill us in on what it's like in her hometown of Vancouver. She is also a talented athlete, and I am now fairly knowledgeable about a sport that gets little attention at home, but that is played very seriously in over 40 countries: Ultimate Frisbee. Did you know it was invented in the late seventees at a highschool in New Jersey!? I've only played for fun, but I experienced Mardi Gras in New Orleans a few years ago with part of the Michigan team, who helped school me on how to throw the disc, but who also drank too much and their habits have hurt the team's performance...Perhaps one day it will be accepted as an Olympic sport.

So we three walked the city and toured the castle. The castle has been transformed into a modern art museum upon original roman ruins. It would be the perfect place to take a girl, with make-out points and a "drip room" with sound effects where an original well once stood. We took pictures from the tower and watched a 3-D film while wearing dorky glasses, about the history and archictecture of the city. The film was fantastic, except it rushed to the credits without telling you what happened when Slovenia went to war with Yugoslavia after declaring independence and being invaded in 1984! I believe they have only been independent since 1991. Their cultural history is very impressive.

Scott and I spent today in Bled, an Alpine glacier lake town outside of the city. It is simply gorgeous. We paddled out to the Church of the Assumption on an island in the lake's center, and ate Chinese food and drank some beers at some local spots when the daily onslaught of rain began. Tomorrow I will go to soem famous caverns outside of town - some of the biggest in Europe - before heading back east to Zaghreb and south to the Dalmation Coast.
On a final note, I just want to wish our dear friend Anika the happiest of weddings this weekend. She was none other than Scott's prom date, and the first of a series of friends soon to be married. Mazel Tov!

Crusaders in Belgrade

Belgrade, Serbia

I never thought I'd be in Serbia, but here I am (we say this about most countries we hit these days). Today we arrived overnight from Bucharest and settled into a highschool hostel in the center of the city - the kids are out for summer I guess. How can I put this...we stink. The flies were upon us on the train in today, and it made us crack up knowing that we probably didn't even realize how dirty we must be. We have been wearing the same clothes for far too many days and are having trouble finding laundry services. Today I put on my last clean pair of boxers!

Our first friends in Serbia turned out to be a few Americans staying at the hostel, part of a group of 45 college students from all over the states on a summer mission for Campus Crusaders for Christ. They showed us around a bit to the main areas and pointed out the Parliament building, the former police and security offices which still stand half in ruins from our American smart bombs 6 years ago, and the old post office once used as Nazi headquarters during WWII (underneath there is a secret tunnel running all the way to the Danube.

It's funny explaining to people what we are doing here. The answer is we are not sure ourselves. They are here to talk to poeple about their feelings about Christ; we are here because an awesome bartender in Plovdiv, Bulgaria told us it should be included in our trip. And we have to then add the customary tale of two life-long friends saving up money after college to quit their jobs and tour the world for a while before life gets too serious.

The rest of our stay in Bulgaria, on the Black Sea, was nice but uneventful. Just relaxing on beaches and staying in private apartments of old women who pounce on us at bus and train stations for business. They never speak english, they're just adorable old people who escort you through town with your big backpack to their homes for a cheap place to stay. Not a bad business! Varna was unexpectedly cool; we spent the day there while waiting for a train connection, getting our last glimpses of the Black Sea.

Bucharest was a more exciting time, the capital of a country we planned to skip (everyone said skip Romania) but it just made more sense to go there to get to Serbia. I'm glad we saw it. A northern Italian man at the train station in Ruse, northern Bulgaria, tells me that the Romanian economy is growing at 8% a year. Isn't that approaching Chinese levels!? What is the US at, 3.5%? (Klaffky?) Mercedes and Hummers are not infrequently spotted in Romania. The wealth is there. After a couple days wandering the city, visiting the Peasant Museum and major squares, and staying at a hostel in a fancy neighborhood of embassies and government buidings with very sweet girls working and begging us to see more of their country; well, I really like Bucharest! It is broad avenues and bars and clubs, schwarma and pizza cafes and parks and cheap theatre and opera. It reminded me at times quite a bit of Beunos Aires. The only sad part is that the former communist dictator (executed on national tv Christmas Day 1989) uprooted a lot of the traditional neighborhoods and architectural relics, leaving a bland and scarred bloc-like feeling to much of the city. But the People's Palace (parliament) he built is impressive; it is the largest office building in the world after the Pentagon. I would like to return to Romania and go north, touring the mountains and Transylvanian architecture, and perhaps Moldova, which is now independent?

So that's all for the moment, not much to report. We are eating well and seeing the battered part of the Balkans (although you wouldn't know it from the main cafe and shopping areas of the city). The people are very friendly. We get the same standard reply as every other country when we inquire about thoughts on America: "we love your people; we hate your government." I think tomorrow we might try and locate what remains of the Chinese Embassy.

"AZIZ!"

Plovdiv, Bulgaria
Yesterday we bumped into a group of about 7 Peace Corps volunteers stationed in small villages around Plovdiv. They had all gathered to run a week-long day camp for Roma (gypsy) kids in town, children who rarely get that kind of attention and have that kind of fun given their poverty and the racism and lack of opportunity they endure. Naturally Scott and I fast became friends with the PCVs over some good Bulgarian beers on the main shopping street, and we went out with them all night.

I think perhaps my brother's friend Elena may be the only person who can truly appreciate what we witnessed last night (a native of Plovdiv), because it involved a local superstar. Let me explain a bit:
Aziz is sort of a Prince or Michael Jackson type of celebrity in Bulgaria. His music is extremely popular and he has a good voice, so I can't judge him badly there. Bulgarians really enjoy music that is a fusion of Bulgarian folk and remixed techno. The videos are melodramatic and very funny. But Aziz's image is ridiculously feminine - glitter, high heels, beaded skirts over tight cut up denim capri pants - all this even though he surrounds himself with huge bald bodyguards with no necks and beautiful women. If you see his poster, it looks straight out of Zoolander.

Anyways, we went to a club last night to see Aziz make an appearance on the campaign trail (he is now running for office of some sort). Forget any kind of platform or speech, the guy arrived at 1 am and walked into a dancing club crowd also containing 7-9 Americans not knowing exactly what to expect. He danced in the center of the club singing his songs (terrible dancer) to the delight of the locals. The women love this guy, you should have seen the wall of cell-phone cameras surrounding him. So he came, sang his songs, shaked his ass, and Scott and I left a little early!

We're now in Sozopol, a small beach town on the Black Sea in the east. We took a nice train ride across the country after very little sleep and rented a cheap apartment in town from an old woman who speaks no English. I think we'll hit a couple towns along the coast (although it is very quiet here before high season) and maybe one more destination before leaving Bulgaria.

I know this is just stop number 1 in Eastern Europe, but I think it needs to be said that what Americans grow up thinking about this area of the world is embarrassing and uninformed. Our education in American classrooms is based entirely on ancient history, modern wars, and communist legacies. Oh, and of course fear of most places beyond western Europe. Not knowing what to expect, I imagined we might stumble upon Soviet era gulags or anti-American armed gangs just past the border, not the undiscovered supermodels and seaside restaurants and resort towns. Contemporary classes need to be introduced immediately.

Belgrade or Bust!! (and some pictures)

F#ck Romania, we're going to Serbia.

Here are all the photos from Vietnam, Cambodia, India, and Turkey:

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Fashion Explosion

Plovdiv, Bulgaria

Yes, it is very Euro, but Plovdiv is absolutely off the hook. Off the hizzy, true tight aight. It is the second largest city after Sophia, and rumored to be the cultural capital. I've never seen anything like this in my life - not in NYC or London or Paris or Rome. Every girl -- EVERY GIRL -- is dressed like they came off the runway, usually well put together but frequently on slut-time. Mothers with baby strollers, middle-aged women eating ice cream, 12 year old girls giggling on their cells. And they're literally wearing things that I have never even seen before. I always wondered who actually bought runway clothing, it is all here. Most of the main center of town is fashion boutiques and stores like Mavi and Diesel. There seem to be very few men at all, and their sense of fashion is nonexistent; the men must be confused, dressing like punk rockers or 80's hairband freaks with wristbands and capri pants. Scott declared that all you need to do is dress clean cut, maybe put on a nice shirt, and you're money. This is exactly one of those places where fashion magazines and Sports Illustrated discover their models.

So we wander the alleys and the main drags of outdoor cafes lined with chairs for people watching (not unlike Amsterdam). There are random ancient Roman amphitheatre ruins, and I stopped at one of the frequent casinos to drop a few levi on Blackjack. This town is all pros and no cons.

Crossing the border on a bus from Turkey to Bulgaria was entertaining. Security was not so tight and the Bulgarian border guard only gave us Americans a few gay jokes and little trouble. But the amazing part was the duty free cigarette smuggling ring. The bus company workers (3-4 per bus) stock up before the border, but are only allowed to bring a certain amount in. So what they do is distribute cartons of cigs throughout the bus - under everyone's seats - so when the dude with the flashlight hops aboard he can't do anything about it. Old women, young business men - EVERYONE freely and happily participates. Scott and I looked on in disbelief - why does nobody think it is wrong or immoral!? It is a mass campaign of disobedience and corruption among the common people, a sort of "we will all go down together" thing. Amazing. What a perfect entrance experience to Eastern Europe. It was just annoying to be delayed for cigarette smuggling at 4:30 am on a Sunday.

Bulgaria has less English speakers, but who cares. We found a sweet towny bar that plays mostly monster ballads or whatever we request (usually Black Crowes with some Hendrix thrown in). The bartender, Alexander, is a lawyer who finds plenty of work but nobody who can pay him, and so he continues to get by with a second job at the bar. Great guy, I felt bad for him. A pint is about 70 cents usually, and a good meal is a few dollars. Their beer, Kaminitza, is good, and I think the beer drinking will be picking up across eastern Europe. It has been pathetic recently. We're heading to Nesubur and Varna, resort towns on the Black Sea next.
Mom and Dad, I bought something in Turkey that will be coming in the mail from Bulgaria, so look out for a package. Don't get scared like the Morocco experience! The Turkish post has been privatized and it was much cheaper to send it here.

Our last days in Turkey were spent in Ephesus and Gallipoli. Ephesus was too touristy and I didn't enjoy it so much. Western cruise ships dock nearby and unload tours onto the grounds of the ancient ruins (former capital of Asia Minor after Persia was defeated by Alexander the Great). I had more fun hanging out in Selcuk (town) with carpet salesmen all day drinking chai, wandering the town market, eating cherries, and talking about surprisingly deep topics like capitalism and disintegration of traditional family structures, the artistic depth of Turkish carpets and kilims, and of course differences in women from different parts of the world. Marco and Emino taught me a lot more about Turkey, and I must rethink what I have said about how modern and Europeanized it is. It seems that the east of Turkey is a whole other experience, poor and much more loyal to Middle Eastern customs and a family way of life. Many people do not want to join Europe at all.

You can read and study forever in school, collecting MA's and BA's and JD's and Phd's like trophies, but you will never really begin to understand what is going on in the world until you travel.

Gallipoli is a rite of passage for Aussies and Kiwis. It is the Normandy experience for them, and they come in droves every March to honor the fallen ANZAC forces at cemeteries and memorials along the coast of the Dardanelles. Scott and I toured the small war museum and walked a few kilometers along the coast to ANZAC Cove, where the main landing occurred. We met a nice family with a son at Virginia Tech for engineering, and hitch-hiked back to the museum with a couple college guys who got out of the car to say goodbye in traditional Turkish style: kisses on both cheeks. My favorite part of Gallipoli was learning more about the making of Mustapha Kemal (Ataturk), a commander at the trenches of Gallipoli and father of the new Turkish nation after WWI. He had a great tribute speech in 1934, honoring the fallen ANZAC boys:

Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives... You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side now here in this country of ours... you, the mothers, who sent their sons from faraway countries wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land. They have become our sons as well.

Living in Uncle Mel's Train Set

Ephesus, Turkey

Traveling through Turkey is accomplished primarily by bus; they are nice buses with full service including hand sanitizer, ColaTurka and tea service. Looking out at the countryside, which reminds me of Greece and Italy (not surprising) with it's valleys and farming and vineyards, I imagine it might look from above like we are traveling in and out of mountain tunnels on the south western coast like the ones my Uncle Mel built for his Hurwitz towns in his miniature train set world. Leaving Istanbul at night, we came upon each city on the highway as if from the cockpit of a new Airbus mega-plane that seats 800. That is, the way the cities light up around the mountain passes and over small bodies of water, you feel like you are coming in for a smooth landing as you drift off to sleep.

There is no description possible for Istanbul, where "East meets West," except absolutely enchanting. It was far better than I imagined, and is quite a romantic place to begin a journey through Turkey. It is certainly the best city we've visited yet, and the most easily walkable and entertaining on foot. The Grand Covered Bazaar and Egyptian spice market could keep you busy for days, and the Blue Mosque and Aya Sophia are breathtaking. Justinian built the Aya Sophia in the 6th C.E., and for centuries while future emperors were crowned there the people believed that it had been built with a "divine" design. We stayed in Sultanahmet, the old city, where time is easily lost and found between the frequent calls to prayer 5 times a day from mosques on nearly every hilltop. It is an amazing thing to experience it day after day, and you can imagine what the city looks like from the harbor with a skyline dotted by scores of minarets. Besides wandering, we spent some time touring by short boat trips the Asian side of the city with another traveller, Chris, and an older bakery owner near our hostel who showed us around for a free lunch. We visited, for example, an Armenian Church (shout out to Sophia!) and the archaelogical museum including the tomb of Alexander. I love seeing all things related to Constantine, the Emperor who leagalized Christianity in Byzantium in 313 by edict and changed the face of "New Rome" (Istanbul), for I studied this period in Michigan and in Rome.
At the hostel we had nice Turkish hosts, but I did witness one educational fight between an Aussie and the owner - the Aussie made the cardinal mistake of insulting a Turkish man's mother.

Thank you Josh Eisenberg for suggesting Cappadokia. Our days in this beetlejuice-esque fantasy moonscape central mountain panorama land were filled with dancing, hiking, motorcycling between small towns and rockface monasteries, bathing in hotsprings, and wine libations. Standing above the valley of Gorime drinking 16oz Efes pilsners with Setsuko (she was so thoughtful to buy those!), a pretty girl from Okinawa who had lived recently in SoCal and Honolulu, I watched the sunset over the Rose Valley and other rock formations of all kinds. Only the sight of hot air balloons rising over these same mountains each dawn is better. Only in Cappadokia to you get the tremendous combination of mountains, plateaus, and even snowy mountains in the distance. All about, the landscape is marked with cone-head shaped rock formations hollowed out for ancient tombs, holy sites and places of shelter. When I later asked Ur {wasn't Ibrahim born in Ur!?}, our pension host, what type of natural phenomenon had formed these magnificent mountains and valleys, he simply replied with a smile, "God."

It was wonderful to spend the days with our friend Setsuko as well, who at first I mistook for a staff member at our Cave Pension. With some travellers you just have much better conversation. She explained at length the political situation and tensions between Japan and China which I found quite interesting and complete. With her we were driven around the 600 km area of underground tunnels and cave dwellings where once 20,000 people lived to escape harsh weather, prehistoric animals, and religious enemies. Numerous sites contain ancient churches and fading frescos of Jesus and company, and underground cities with 20 plus rooms remain intact in the valleys. Locals believe you can travel nearly 600km underground at the longest point. Star Wars was also filmed in one valley we visited with particularly unique rock formations. You just don't find places like this anywhere else in the world.

At our pension in Cappadocia, where "Hotel California" gently and continually pulsated from the stereo speakers, we dined with the family and sometimes local gendarmes -many local police stop by frequently for Chai. One Turkish officer spent the entire meal offering Setsuko the moon, literally, for her hand in marriage. After kicking us under the table for help, Scott and I attempted to negotiate further for sheep, camels, etc. As Turkish music blared and we toasted glasses of cheap wine (my favorite) and chai tea, the ladies danced until the old grandma smacked me in the tush enough times to win my participation.

We spent another entire day motoring around the area on rented bikes, CRT style baby, just Scott and I. Oh man was that a crazy day. What started out well quickly deteriorated into me finding Scott hitch hiking in the back of a Canadian car after running out of gas. This, of course, after I lost him on a straughtaway through a valley smewhere near a town called Mustafafasa after a lunch in Guzoluz where we tried to superglue Scott's rear brakelight back on after he crashed just before on a dirt road heading toward a snow-capped mountain. Whew. Obviously we went off the map and paid for it. I wish someone had filmed Scott falling off the bike, and me throwing mine aside to tear down the hill with my helmut still on screaming "No! -- Chino!!!!" while he rocked back and forth in pain with the bike landing on his knee. He is fine, by the way, no worries just memories. We ended up riding for more gas on just one bike back to a town called Urgup, like in Dumb and Dumber. We were lucky the rental place gave us such shitty bikes, we returned to cups of chai and no extra charges.

After Cappadokia we headed south to the beaches, hopping around the Fethiye Bay area for a few days in Cilas Beach, Fethiye, Oludenez, and our favorite, Butterfly Valley. The small dingy to Butterfly Valley took an hour across choppy waters, but we met very cool Americans. Two were from Park City - one recruiting manager for Deer Valley (yeah Scott!) and another guy a hippie from Westwood, LA with dreads and all. The captains smoked and drank 3 beers each, each way, reminding me of the good life in Thailand...The waters of the southern coast are gorgeous. The water is light blue and turquiose by the famous Blue Lagoon where it laps agains the rocks, but out further on the water it is a blue so deep it is purple. High above Oludenez paragliders leap from the mountain tops - the area is the best in Europe and only second to Venezuala, they say, for the sport. But it's also a hndred bucks, so we skipped it! Butterfly Vallet is literally like the movie The Beach, a small locked sandy cove between two cliffs with one bar/tent rental place and a bunch of hippies dancing to Bob Marley and Fugees. Perfect. We hiked to the waterfall and got out of there with our drunk captains as the Utah man's free-spirited and topless wife waved us goodbye.

We are now in Ephesus for some educational archeology on our way back up and into Bulgaria. We're talking about stopping at Gallipoli as well, where the great Ataturk first won his fame defeating the British, who futiley hurled waves of ANZAC (Aussie and New Zealand) soldiers at them in the epic Turkish battle of WWI. Mustafa Kemal went on to lead and reform the new Turkish nation, and his picture graces the walls of nearly all small business and certainly all government and police stations - I know this because we had chai with the chief of police at his station in Taksim, a neighborhood in Istanbul, for 2 hours without him ever actually producing a cup of tea, but I digress.

It will be sad to leave Turkey. I love it here. I can't believe they are not yet part of the EU - they are clearly ready on the face of it. Further, why are they not even included in Eastern Europe traveler books? They may be part of the Mid East, but gimme a break, this is Europe.

Last night we went for a Turkish Bath at 10 o'clock at night. Very weird experience, but we think most dads would like it for some reason! It's basically a rotation of showering, sauna, heavy massage with a guy who rubs your naked body down with mittens that scratch off layers of dead skin (exfoliation), and finally a soap massage. Worth the experience, but the exfoliation better not mess up my georgeous tan.

If you know me well, then you know that I am not always a big eater. Hunger is sometimes elusive for me. Well, here in Turkey, especially after no meat and deathly heat in India where we lost weight, I am relishing the kebabs potatos beans rice-pilaf. The food is simply fantastic, and I sometimes eat a donner kebab right after dinner off the street just because. I think a good kebab stand would do really well by the bars back home. But Turkey is not cheap. Our 15-20 dollar per day budget from Asia is not maintainable here with pensions costing 10. I hope Bulgaria will be better. We are heading to Plovdiv and Varna on the Black Sea, and probably skipping Sophia all the way west in favor of heading up into Romania (maybe rent a car).
I have a personal resolution to try to be nicer in Eastern Europe. India in particular hardened me to the point where I am often a real asshole to locals trying to sell something or even give free advice. It is not odd for us to simply ignore the bastards offering genuine help, but after I got in a fight with a shopkeeper about the price of his postcards yesterday I realized I need to tone it down. We are back in Europe, we can relax right? It just might take some reconditioning, but behold the post-India Peter Fox nice streak! Local hospitality here, when given, is second to none.

Another random thing learned: if you lock your hands together, fingers intertwined, and open them in the middle to look, the lines on your palms form the word "AllA." Pretty cool, huh?

Sheikh Sheikh Sheikh Your Booty

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Remember that amazing SI picture of Agassi playing tennis way up on top of a heli-pad on the side of a fancy hotel in Dubai? I just took a picture of that same hotel about an hour ago. It costs about $1,000 minimum to stay there, and the most expensive room is about $20,000 per night. That's right, with 8 hours to kill in the United Arab Emirates during our layover on the way to Istanbul, Scott and I ventured into the Kingdom of Dubai. We were astonished at the wealth, cleanliness, and new construction springing up all around. Man do these people have oil money, and it only costs them about a dollar per liter to fill up.

Dubai is the Singapore of the Middle East. It is a blend of Jupiter, FL and LA - too many skyskrapers to be FL and too clean and quiet to be LA. Believe it or not, we spent the day basically cabbing it around the city checking out hotels and expensive skyskrapers, and taking a dip in the gulf; the beach is only 15km from the airport and boasts perfect shades of turquoise and blue. What an amazing place. I'm so sorry I just missed my friend Max here by a few days. His aircraft carrier (US Navy) docked here for a few days while the men got to tour the city and hang out at Wild Wadi water park! We didn't see any Americans (go figure), but there are tons of businesspeople and many European tourists by the beaches. The locals wear typical Arab dress, but you're more likely to see them driving by in a Mercedes with a hands-free mobile and a labtop than riding by on a camel into the desert.

The UAE is actually 7 different kingdoms, each with its own Sheikh, the largest and richest of which are Dubai and Abu Dhabi. I don't know much about the government here, but obviously the Sheikh has done well allowing capitalism and private development to thrive. People are rich and happy, and tourism is booming.

Emirates Airlines is officially my favorite airline. Amazing service, brand new planes, choice of movies and video games, and economy seating with adjustable lower back cushions! Woweee! Seriously, the stewardesses speak not only Arabic and English, but Swahili and Hindi and German, and god knows what else.

There's not actually all that much to do here if you don't have a reason to be here, but it is so nice to be back in a safe, secure, clean city where everyone is so friendly again and helpful. The only problem is it's more expensive - 3.5 dirham to the dollar. By 2010, Dubai is planning to complete a new village by the Gulf of Oman with a building taller than the Petronas Towers in Kuala Lumpur. That should be a sight to see.

OK, got to run through this Mall of America airport to catch my plane. I hope Istanbul has internet this fast.

Toes to the Nose

New Delhi, India
Have you ever taken a yoga class? Try sitting on your knees with your feet beneath you pointing backwards, grabbing your heels behind you with each hand and then arching your back as far as possible and holding it for a minute. Camel Position. Now stand on one leg and balance your free foot against your upper thigh to form a triangle, and for a minute or so stretch your arms high above you with palms flat together. Tree Position. Now go over to the wall and do a hand stand, using the wall to keep your balance if you must... I was best at stretching my toes close to my nose, I don't know why. Perhaps it was my high school karate skills coming back. I still seem to have some basic flexibility, but the instructor definitely told me to stick to the beginner poses. Overall, I enjoyed yoga for it's breathing, meditation, and slow pain. You come out very sore in weird places and very refreshed.

So we're back in Delhi killing time before our 4am flight to Istanbul. We spent our final 3 days in Rishikesh, relaxing and taking yoga classes on the banks of the mouth of the Ganges. The water is very cold there at the edge of the Himalayas where it has melted from ice, but pilgrims come from all over to bathe and pray to Ganga, especially at this time of year. The water is also cleaner at its source, and we were more comfortable jumping in for a swim. Does anyone happen to know why Lord Krishna is always depicted with blue skin?
Since Pushkar we have been through Jaipur, Agra, and lastly Rishikesh, opting to skip Varanasi on this trip. Varanasi is said to be more poverty and ritual and stench and humanity, while Rishikesh is known for its ashrams (Scott tells me the Beatles came here to study and learn the sitar) and peaceful ceremonies by the water. Leaving Rajasthan meant our final long haul by poorly ventilated, swastika decorated Tata Motors two-by-two buses (by the way, "svasti" means power in ancient sanskrit, and the hindu symbol is thousands of years older than backwards Nazi pervertions). The remainder of our trip was on 2nd class air conditioned sleeper trains!! Boy did I feel spoiled to high heaven. I actually grew to loathe arriving in a new city and having to exit the train, it was so cold and comfortable.

We've had some bizarre run-ins lately with other travelers. The coincidences abound. For instance, we ran into Aussie friends from Thailand in Pushkar and had dinner. OK. Then in Jaipur at the city palace we ran into the same Indian family we had met on a bus (I made origami for the kids) near Jaisalmer. Weird but great. Then we sat down with an Argentinian traveler on the roof of our hotel in Jaipur that evening and it turns out he was from San Isidro and was in fact old friends with the only other group of Argentinians we had met while traveling in Thailand. Finally, in Rishikesh, I again ran into a different Indian family I had met at the Jaipur city palace. We're talking about hundreds of miles between these destinations. Crazy. I guess with schools out the Indians really do some extensive travelling themselves. Other than that, it's all Israelis as usual.

The Agra experience was as expected. Despite all the horror stories you hear about the city and its filthy environment, you cannot skip the Taj. It is the most polluted city I've ever visited. So we did the customary 24 hour visit, rising to see the Taj at sunrise (first tourists in!) and boating across the drying up river behind it for sunset. The grounds of the Taj itself are immaculate, and it is an impressive monument. But the dirty state of the surrounding city takes away from the memory.

After seeing the Taj Mahal we were left with a day to kill, and I took a local bus to Fatepur Sikri to check out Akbar's abondoned city and his famous Jama Masjid mosque (rumoured to be an exact replica of a great mosque in Mecca). The mosque was a good experience, aside from the non-stop offers for tours. I broke down and gave a young kid a dollar to show me around since I didn't understand what I was looking at anyhow. I also unloaded a box of pencils on the poor young kids there, who promptly had them sharpened and put to good use drawing evil pictures of me and eachother on shreds of newspaper.
The highlight of my day trip to Fatepur Sikri was a stroll through the modern town and market there where I met Chandra, a local man gearing up for his exams to become a teacher. After struggling to order fresh squeezed lime juice and trying to figure out where the hell I had wandered off to, it was unexpected to encounter a man wanting to discuss poetry and literature. His favorites were Whitman, Frost, and Dickinson. Most people speak english very poorly and it is a victory for them to shake your hand and say hello; this guy is proclaiming "Oh captain, my captain!" I hope he passes his exams.

Reasons are accumulating for why we are pleased to be moving on to Turkey. India is a very difficult place to travel. For one, it is more crowded than you can prepare yourself for. Second, the smells accumulate; you do not grow more used to them as we thought we might. Third, the sight of Indian food starts to make you feel ill after you eat it for 3 weeks straight. You find your veggie standard dishes, but nothing is ever a "safe" order. Consequently, we have lost weight and look forward to more options, more energy and more meat. Fourth, the complete and total disrespect for the environment could bring you to tears. It is not only the poor who discard trash and waste on the streets and where they lie. Conductors toss plastic bottles from the fronts of buses and trains, policemen spray snot and throw trash into the holy rivers, and all people relieve themselves in the street gutters that line main roads. Trash cans do not exist, and cities and villages become colored in plastic lining like landfills. Fifthly, it is not overall the friendliest place to travel. You must work harder to meet nice locals and make friends, and even other tourists have become so hardened by constant gnagging on the streets that we meet less people than before.

Still, there are always great people to be found. Like two Californians we met in yoga class who shared some of our likes and dislikes, and who we may see again in Budapest or Bucharest I hope. This morning we arrived by train in a car full of seven, count'em 7, Indian families traveling together on vacation. How much fun would that be!? And last night in Haridwar before the train I met a rich Indian kid on a local bus who is going to Thailand soon and who had lived in Dubai for 2 years working. He had great things to say about the UAE. So you either run into hustlers, or you run into kind and generous souls. That's anywhere I think.

My email hasn't been working for about a week, so I may have to change. I'll let you all know. I apologize for the movie theatre scare - I was wrong, we were never at the same theatre, just a similar name. I should probably work for Newsweek, making mothers worry like that. But we did see Star Wars the other day, it was amazing, the best of the new three, and I hear Lucas is gonna make one more prequel that predates number 1! Security at the theatres here is so crazy - worse than the airports. We thought it was tough before the bombings because they made us keep our bag in the manager's office. Well, this time they didn't even allow women to bring purses in. We had to trust a coffee shop owner down the street to watch our bag before passing through a metal detector and two full-body pat downs. That was worse than the Taj security, although the guard at the Taj seemed to like to grab your asses.
Enjoy the work week!