Josh Levinger

In which I detail everything I will take with me for this two month adventure:

- one Marmot rain jacket, ripped
- one “Freedom Flies” hoody
- one Ibex wool long sleeve shirt, in the off chance it gets cold
- one pair sneakers
- one pair Chacos
- two light nylon pants
- three short sleeve button up shirts
- two long sleeve Mtn Hardware Canyon shirts
- two pair shorts, which double as swim trunks
- one packable duffel bag, for assorted purchases
- one silk sleep sheet, for hostels
- one red checked blanket, for picknicking and sleeping in train stations
- one neck pillow, because I’m a pansy
- one tiny headlamp
- three pair light socks, one pair smartwool
- four pair underwear, one of which is a $25 pair from Ex Officio. It’s the most I’ve ever spent on underwear before, but it claims to last one (mythical) man month. I’ll put that to the test the minute Ruth leaves.
- one Lawrence of Arabia sunhat
- one passport holder with two US passports (seriously)
- one deck playing cards, useful as impromptu emergency cryptosystem
- various electronic stuff
– one Canon S3 camera
– one Qstarz GPS datalogger, for geotagging
– chargers and sundry cables for each
- various toilettries
- one packtowel, one tiny face towel
- one medkit
- seven maps (Paris, Rome, Florence, Venice, Slovenia, Istanbul, Israel)
- two guidebooks
– one generic Let’s Go Eastern Europe from 2002, acquired on the cheap
– one Rick Steves guide to Istanbul, which I actually bought right next to Patrick Smith at my local bookstore

Seems like a lot, yet also very little. I’m trying hard to stick to the rule of “take half as much stuff as you think you need, and twice as much money.” Still more than Ruth is bringing, but she doesn’t have to prepare for the desert heat and cold. That’s my excuse, and I’m sticking to it. I hereby admit defeat in the great Map-Off/Pack-Off to 2008. Ruth, the map of Iraq is yours, even if I will probably go there before you.

Three

Two

Step One

Our voyage begins in Dublin, with an Aer Lingus flight full of hot Irish stewardesses, and a morning feast of blood sausage and runny eggs. Passing by a bar, where tourists and locals alike were drinking at 8 am local time, we flew to Rome. A short train ride to Firenze, and the adventure really began. Due to some logistical foul ups, we didn’t have lodging arranged. We wandered around the city until 2; taking in the Duomo without the hordes of tourists, and then hunkered down in the grass by the train station. It was sort of like camping, but without less wildlife and more drunks and homeless folks. I actually didn’t really sleep, preferring to stay awake and watch passersby. And they say chivalry is dead…

The next day we got a bus to Panzano, and met Janet and Lou to take us to the Villa Bracciano. It’s an incredible 500 year old castle, with a pool, stocked wine cellar and stunning hillside views. This is travel Sable-style, and we made to sure to enjoy it while it lasts. We toured charming hilltop towns, ate hearty meals and drank wine until we could drink no more. Then the next day, we did it all again. My favorite meal was at a restaurant in Panzano called The Butcher’s. He is a friend of Jamie Oliver, and it’s apparently frequented by Jack Nicholson. There is no menu, just wave after wave of meat dishes. I had more wine than normal, and ate myself silly on rare lamb balls. Our last night we dined on our patio under the moon, and finished the evening with drinking games and Hannah Montana style Uno (apparently she’s kind of a big deal). Ali dubbed the trip Sable Crunkfest 2008, and I have to agree. Next year in the Greek Isles!

With teary goodbyes, and firm warning to come home alive, we departed this morning and continued to Lucca and Rome.

The conquering heroes

Our sweet pool

A long night in Firenze

Wine tasting at Cennotoio

Lou can hold her own

Crunkfest 2008

After another curvy bus ride, we arrived in Florence ready to see it in the daytime. We rocketed through the Duomo, including the archaeological excavation in the basement, saw the statues in the Loggia, and got shat upon by pigeons. I cursed them out in their native tounge, and they flew off in shame. I bought an excellent leather satchel at the market; the Indiana Jones theme song came on a nearby radio as I was picking it up, so I know it was meant to be. Now I can graverob in style.

Took a train to Lucca, a walled city recommended by Kali’s roommate Miranda. I concur. It’s significantly less touristed than other major sights, but just as charming. We biked around the walls, bike jousted in a former Roman amphitheater, climbed a clock tower and watched the gears as it rang, and almost rode a sweet carousel. I say almost, because although the tickets we bought directly stated no-reimboursable, they kicked us out when it became clear that we actually wanted to ride, not just take silly pictures. Apparently the ostrich was too delicate for my american ass.

Ruth’s new best friend

Garden tower in Lucca

Finally, german beer

We did a blitz trip of Pisa, stopping just long enough to take staged pictures, and then off to Rome. On the train we sat next to some american students, who managed to tell ‘I was so drunk and’ stories for two solid hours. You’d think that after getting one’s third DUI, one would learn to temper one’s behavior. But not Matt from Michigan State; cheers buddy, you make the rest of us look bad.

Leaning on the tower

Take stereotypical photographs.

Musolini’s square colosseum

Roman Jewish ghetto

Trevi fountain

Monday, saw Mussolini’s vision of the suburb of the future at the EUR on Monday morning. A square colliseum, unwelcoming plazas, all dedicated to the power and the glory of the state over the individual. Lovely guy. Picked Hannah up at the airport smoothly, and went to the Jewish ghetto for dinner. Excellent carcioffi, and a stunning walk through the city back to our hotel.

Tuesday, went to Galeria Borghese and marveled at what man can do with marble. Then staggered through the modern art museum, and took a nap in its air conditioned splendor. Ate lunch with a combination of buffalo ham and mozzarella and vending machine treats . Kinder Bueno! Saw crypt near Barberini, where monk bones are arranged decoratively, waiting for the resurection. Then saw Il Incredible Hulk, which Ruth and Hannah loved, and I napped through. Had dinner near our hotel at Tino’s greek restaurant, where they literally did not stop bringing us food until we begged for mercy.

Riding around in the Popemobile

Big Pope

Holy Roman Coronation

OBEY

Wednesday, saw the Pope at the Vatican. We tried to sneak in without tickets, but that would have been an even surer way to hell than Judaism. They eventually let us in when the square didn’t fill after the big guy started talking. Saw the popemobile, but sadly no funny hat. Then to the Vatican museum, where we rushed by the art to get to the Sistine Chapel. Ruth took some verboten photographs, but they were worth the scolding.

Then the ‘Caesar shuffle’, from the Colosseum through the Forum, over the Palatine Hill and to the Pantheon. Got the Augustus’s newly restored house just at closing time, so no frescoes for me. Had lunch near hotel, at Perilli in Prati, which had an excellent antipasto buffet. Ruth and Hannah went shopping, and I returned to the hotel for naptime. Then, dinner at a place renowned for tripe, near Piramide. Very tasty sauce, but not so sure about the texture.

Thursday, took early train to Naples, then another to Pompeii. Well preserved and restored ruins, roads and bollards. Definitely a society of engineers. It was quite hot, and I’m getting sick, but it’s got to be good training for later. Then took the train back to Naples. Walked to the archaeological museum through the most stereotypically Italian neighborhood I’ve seen yet. Old women cussing out impudent young men on Vespa’s, gritty streets still recovering from the trash crisis, and simple but incredibly tasty pizza. The museum is poorly signed, but has an amazing collection of giant statues (the Farnese collection), and the mosaics and jewlery boxes from Pompeii. Also, a ‘secret room’ of erotic depictions, from the Lupanare (brothel). Train back to Rome, and another day successfully completed.

Left Ruth for a flight in Rome, and H and I caught a train to Venice. Sat with some chatty Italian ladies, and I read my books and got excited about Istanbul. Hannah slept, as she is a champion napper.

Hannah and the Bridge of Sighs

Exquisite lobster

Venice was lovely, but filled with tourists. Worth it for a gondola ride and an excellent dinner, but not for more than a night. Did the Rick Steves walk from San Marco to the Rialto, stopping at Harry’s American bar, apparently a favorite of Hemingway’s and inventor of the Bellini. Dinner at Osteria alla Botella, where H and I shared an incredible lobster pasta dish. She kept trying to reverse engineer it, and I look forward to her attempts, but I doubt it can ever be fully recreated. A thunderstorm at night heralded a cooler, or at least less humid, tomorrow.

Went to Shabbot services at the sole remaining synagogue, which was wonderful. We were separated by gender, which made me angry, but we both enjoyed the service. They had some different practices, but ended with Adon Olam sung to the same tune I remember. Very cool.

Then to the Peggzy Guggenheim museum, where we saw the fabulous art of all her fabulous lovers. Then back to the train, where we sat next to a Candian-Slovene couple and their multilingual, adopted Thai four year old. Globalization at work, right there.

Looking forward to being away from the tourist mobs, and a little further off the beaten path.

Venice Stereotypes

Hidden spiral staircase

They say that Ljubljana is now what Prague was ten years ago, and they may be right. It has all that Eastern European charm, the Habsburg architecture, the castle on a hill, the punked up kids in nightclubs, but with none of the Brits on stag parties and rampant prostitution.

Hannah and I meant to stay in the Hostel Celica, which was once a jail and is now an “art hostel”, but once again I booked it for the wrong night. Stupid off by one errors are why I’m not booking more than a few nights ahead on these freewheeling trips again. We stayed in the institutional but perfectly serviceable Hostel Tabor, which is a university dorm during the academic year.

Slovenian facade

Trogdor!

Ljubljana is a beautiful city, with a great pedestrian zone filled with cafes along the river, and a nice urban planning mixture of historic buildings and new development. We strolled the promenade, perusing the weekly antiques market. Hannah kept wanting to buy old knives, and I beer steins, but we decided neither would travel well. Then we stormed the castle, where we found the inspiration for Trogdor the burninator. Then we got some of the best ice cream I’ve ever had; even though it wasn’t gelato, it fulfilled our church-sweets deal nicely.

Red Hot Horse

Ljubljana

At night we scouted around for a fast food restaurant that serves horse burger. However, the map we had was both precise and inaccurate, which made us do several laps of a garden park. We gave up and went to Jose Pena’s (Slovenia’s first Mexican restaurant!), but it didn’t satisfy my need for horse. Then, as we were wandering drunkenly home, we found it: Red Hot Horse! I strolled in and asked for a double horse, prosim. The guy asked “mustard or mayonaise”, but I thought he was speaking Slovene, so I responded that I wanted all the toppings. He rolled his eyes at me, but served me nonetheless. A horseburger franchise must be used to dealing with drunkards at all hours of the night. It actually tasted like a gristly hamburger, and I only ended up eating half of it, but now no one can tell me that I haven’t eaten horse (or pigeon, or rabbit, or boar, or sea urchin, or God knows what else I will eat on this trip).

This is the world’s cutest moutain town. It’s got a castle on a cliff, overlooking a lake with a church on an island. Along the lake is a park, where ducks gather to feed from old men tossing them bread crumbs. Apparently it is also verboten to sleep in said park, as the nice uniformed Slovene policija informed us. After dinner of turkey Ljubljana-style (beaten down, breaded and fried), we heard a traditional band oompah-ing their way across the lake. This is some serious Slovenia right here.

Off to Zagreb tomorrow for the day and an overnight bus to Dubrovnik.

Bled hrad

H and the cute lake church

Triglav at sunset

—
Edit: found an internet cafe on, get this, Nikolai Tesla street in Zagreb.

Tesla ulica in Zagreb

In the “pearl of the Adriatic”, enjoying some down time by the beach. This city is both more touristy and more expensive than we had planned, so we’re only spending two nights rather than three. Still, the interplay of light and stone at sunset is totally worth the hordes walking down the main drag. Like Venice, get a few steps away from the center and the feeling totally changes. We’re staying at a pension, run by an incredibly sweet old couple. The husband seems to only wear tank tops, which is totally fitting given the heat. It’s at the top of the hill, which doesn’t look so far on the map, but that only covers the horizontal distance. Hannah tells me it’s 213 steps from the old gate to our door, and I’m inclined to believe her. Went to a nearby island today, and got nicely sunburned. Heading inland tomorrow, toward Bosnia and Herzegovina.

Croation music video style

On Lokrum Island

The pearl of the Adriatic

After an early morning bus ride, we left Croatia and entered Bosnia and Herzegovina. Sadly, we didn’t get an extra stamp, as the border consisted of them seeing our US passports, and waving us along. Didn’t have lodging booked ahead of time, as my accumulated off by one errors have caused me enough grief and extra expense that I’m inclined to wing it. A nice old lady came at us off the bus, and we followed her to our spartan digs. Hey, for 10 euros a night, I’m not going to complain. It’s actually right next to the place I was going to book, so it has that going for it.

The former front line

Cemetery from 1993 massacre

Mostar was one of the cities most damaged architecturally by the war, and while the Old Bridge has been rebuilt, and the tourist area is thriving, the old front line is still clearly visible. We bought an engraved 50 cal shell. Feels a bit like war tourism, but the old man who made it seemed happy enough to take our money.

Mostar old bridge

Sat and watched divers plunge from the Old Bridge 60 feet to the frigid water below, proving their machismo and garnering tips from passersby. They are real showmen, and stand on the edge for a long time until they have enough to jump. I tossed in my Bosnian change, but apparently they prefer foreign currency. Still took it, though.

Koski Mehmed-Pasa Mosque

As we are rather churched out, it has been interesting watching the appearance of mosques. We also went to a Turkish house, which was nicely appointed, but probably only a shadow of things to come.

Sarajevsko pivo

Still taking pictures of particularly quenching mugs of beer. So Ruth, this Sarajevsko’s for you.

After walking around looking for burek (the typical Balkan meat filled pastry), we stumbled upon a performance by a local student band. It seemed to be part of some summer program, run by the “Brass Brothers”, a group of old guys from Sweden and Norway. They did a stirring rendition of Blueberry Hill, and some Bosnian classics, which we didn’t recognize, but everyone else did. On the way home we passed all sorts of hotties going out to ze clubs, but we had an early train to catch, so I’ll have to wait to get my dance on.

Punk rendition of Blueberry Hill

Sleepy Mostar train station

Got an early train from Mostar, through incredible mountain valleys, along the ice blue Nerevata River. Didn’t see any men plowing fields with oxen, as Jani did on her trip here in the 70′s, but we did see some Monet style haystacks.

Latin Bridge

Sarajevo is bustling on this Saturday morning, and we strolled along the cobbled Ferhadija with seemingly the entire town. Hannah got a B&H soccer jersey, and I pondered getting one of the mounted machine guns at the “War Museum”, which was really just a souvenir shop in disguise. I did actually get the FAMA Guide to Sarajevo from the 1992 seige, but it’s clearly a recent reprint. Still, an interesting cultural artifact. We also walked across the bridge on which Gavrilo Princip shot Archduke Franz Ferdinand, sparking WWI. The guidebook says that their footprints used to be encased in the pavement, but were removed in the 90′s, as Princip was deemend a terrorist, and a Bosnian at that.

Chess on Trg Oslobodenja

Hannah sat and watched two men play chess in a park, surrounded by a gaggle of old men providing commentary. She made a friend, and they traded chess tips, although they did not share a common language. She was actually the only woman in sight, a fact that seemed to cause some of the old guys alarm, but when I showed up and took pictures everyone was happy.

Waiting around now to catch an overnight bus to Pristina, Kosovo. Our guidebook says that it wasn’t safe to update as of the last printing (2006), but we checked out more recent guides in a bookstore, and they seem to think it’s fine. Besides, who wouldn’t want to go see a UN protectorate? I love those blue helmets…

The multicultural man holds the world together

Got to Kosovo yesterday morning on an overnight bus, and am mostly recovering from the late night border crossings. Crossed from Bosnia to Serbia at about 2am; everyone got off the bus to smoke, and I urinated on the junkyard right next to the border. Then we piled back in the bus and tried to sleep for a few more hours, until we got to the Kosovar border.

Serbian border guard

NATO border guard

On the Serbian side, which they don’t recognize as an international crossing, there is a small shack with two policemen and a tiny car. On the Kosovar side, there is a row of barbed wire, sandbags, and armored personnel carriers. The border is actually staffed by UN officials (the guy who checked my passport was Kenyan, and the guy who checked the bus for drugs was Bangledeshi), and the troops are NATO. They stamped UNMIK on a separate sheet from my passport, as there can be issues re-entering Serbia with what they consider this illegitimate stamp.

Got to Pristina and were dead tired from the lack of sleep and uncomfortable seats. Found a taxi driver to take us to “Pansion Professor”, a relatively cheap guest house. The driver agreed, as soon as his friend returned from an errand. Smelling scam, I backed away and started searching for someone else. But just then, another taxi drove up and produced a coke bottle full of gas. The driver poured it into his tank, and we were good to go.

There’s not too much to do in Pristina besides look at the UN buildings and try and figure out how to get inside. We did stop by where we think Chris Hammond works, but the guard didn’t believe our (admittedly shaky) story. Went out for Chinese food, as Hannah and I are bored by the Balkan standard meat, filo dough and yogurt combinations. Seriously, I have eaten so much yogurt. Yogurt drink for breakfast with burek, yogurt for bread dipping at lunch, and yogurt on top of veal burger for dinner. I love yogurt!

Frescoed ceiling

Gracnica monastary

Today we took a bus to Gracanica, a Serbian enclave inside Kosovo, and the home of a 14-th century monastary covered in frescoes. I found it more impressive than the much more famous Giotto chapel in Padua. It is guarded by NATO, Swedes in this case, because there has been anti-Serb violence in the past.

Gadime cave

Then we found a taxi to take us to the Gadime caves, which are not particularly spectacular compared to some of the other caves I’ve seen, but a welcome change from the church-mosque-museum beat. The stalactites all grow at strange angles, which is apparently something special. Our guide spoke “not so much” English, but was happy to tell us the same three things over again. Still, nice to be out of the sun and somewhere cool for half an hour.

Skenderbrau, the Albanian hero

For our afternoon in Pristina, we wandered to the Kosovar Museum, which has a great collection of pre-Medival finds from the area. Here, as in Israel, archaeology is profoundly political, as each side tries to find a historical basis to their claims. The museum captions were pretty one sided, but shows how the Illyrians turned into the Albanians at the fall of the Roman empire, and how they successfully defended the area from the Slavic “barbarians”. Sadly, the collection is mostly missing, as they transferred the best stuff to Belgrade for safe keeping from the NATO bombing campaign, and then the Serbs refused to give it back. There is a large poster pleading for help from the UN, which doesn’t seem to be forthcoming.

Hanging out at the hostel tonight, as Hannah and I feel pretty done with this place. Having a hobo dinner of pasta, tuna and weeks old pesto. One more bus ride to Nis, and then a train to Istanbul. The crusaders march on!

Peja, the Kosovar beer

Due to our relative lack of understanding of the political situation, our best laid plans were waylaid this morning. Looking at a rail map, the best clear route from Pristina to the real rail network, and east to Istanbul is through Nis, a city in Serbia. At the Pristina bus station yesterday, I was told there wasn’t a bus to Nis, but I thought they meant that day, not ever. Finding a person who spoke more than a little english, we were able to piece together that the bus doesn’t go through that border crossing. My requests were something like asking to go from Jerusalem to Gaza on public transit, without understanding that it simply isn’t done. So, lesson learned, we took a bus to Skopje, Macedonia, from where we can catch a train to Nis and parts beyond.

Skopje is a stellar example of Communist architecture. The city was virtually destroyed in an earthquake in the 1960′s, and rebuilt in the style of the period, to the delight of architecture buffs, but probably the detriment of the citizens. The opera and ballet house has been described as just like the one in Syndey, except square. Hannah and I spent the day in our conspicuously clean but slightly creepy HI hostel, and ventured out after the heat of the day to find sustenance in the form of food, phones and internet. One down, two to go.

Skopje Opera House

Skopsko

Got up bright and early in Skopje, and prepared for our journey to the East. Our train to Nis departed at 6am, and was supposed to arrive at 11, in plenty of time for our connection to Istanbul. But thanks to the Macedonian rail service, we sat in a railyard for two hours, making our connection much tighter. Luckily, the connecting train to Istanbul was also late, so we had plenty of time to stock up on supplies (water, pretzels and chocolate, we weren’t brave enough to eat prepackaged train station sandwiches).

Serbian mountain pass

The hero shot

Our long ride to Istanbul involved two cabin switches, and some late night border crossings. The accomodations in the regular cars seemed fine, but the cars kept being disconnected from the train at the station, so we would be woken from our slumber and moved to another car. This is the reason to buy a sleeper, not because it is necessarily any more comfortable. On one of the swaps, I appear to have lost my cell phone, which made me angry more than anything else. I got another in Turkey, spending twice as much for a phone that is half as good.

Turkish Sunflowers

Arrival

We did have an interesting experience at the Bulgarian/Turkish border. They informed us, at 2am that we could no longer ride on the train because our car would be disconnected and there were only sleeper cars going to Istanbul. We got up to purchase sleeper seats, but just then the border guard took our passports. The train conductor demanded them minutes later, to allow us to upgrade our seats. We followed the man with the gun, deeming his access to our documents more important. However, he tired of us following him through the train, and told us to stay. Thus, we waited in the hallway for fifteen minutes, to be told that we could no longer loiter. We bought the sleeper supplement without documentation, by flashing some of our emergency cash, got a cabin that was only mildly more comfortable, and hoped we would get our passports back eventually. We did just before the train pulled off, as the Bulgarian guard greeted us with “friends!”, and we collapsed in relief. Of course, we were awakened minutes later to stand in line at the Turkish border for a visa, but this all went without a hitch.

Seven hours later, we pulled into Istanbul at Sirecki Gar. Tired, smelly, and finally in Istanbul.

After arriving in the morning, we trekked to our hotel. It’s in the touristy backpacker zone, but a little bit away from the central madness. In an incredibly cute wooden house, on a narrow cobblestone lane. Dropped our stuff, and went out for lunch at a place of Hannah’s choosing, and she couldn’t have done better.

The Blue Mosque

The rooftop terrace at DoyDoy (stupid name, excellent food), had an amazing view of the Blue Mosque. About halfway through our meal, which was a welcome change from the heaviness of Balkan food, the midday call to prayer began. While this was old hat to the other diners, who were mainly businessmen, we were pretty astonished. The warbling tones sound so similar to Jewish prayers, it’s a wonder we can’t all get along. Why can’t we focus on the things that unite us, like falafel?

Then we went to the underground cistern, which was famously used as a chase scene in From Russia with Love.

In the Cistern

While there are walkways instead of just boats now, it’s still an amazing place. Just meters below the surface of the city, there’s a cavernous space supported by columns reappropriated from ancient temples. It’s dimly lit by red and yellow spotlights, and the arabic music adds to the ambience. Tried to get some pictures of the reflections, but without a tripod it’s darn near impossible.

Above ground again, we ventured into the Blue Mosque.

Hannah veiled

Hannah claims this is the most spiritual place she’s been, and I think it gives Notre Dame a run for its money. The dome isn’t as big as that in St Peters, but the airy design gives a better sense of the space. And because there are lights around head level, it brings things back to a human scale. The Ottomans certainly win this engineer’s admiration.

Had dinner at an excellent fish restaurant right near our hotel. Hannah sure can pick ‘em, fancy cars kept arriving at the valet. I tried to get them to bring me their most expensive car for us to depart, but without a make and model they were unwilling to bring it around. Seriously, excellent fresh snapper makes me much happier than yogurt covered whatever. I could get used to this.

After waking up in our tiny bed, my admiration for our hotel is slightly diminished. However, the excellent shower and breakfast on the terrace overlooking the Bosporus begins to make up for it.

Hagia Sophia

Went to the Hagia Sophia in the morning, which is the originator of the multidomed design. Because it’s older, it doesn’t have the grace and lightness of the Blue Mosque, but the sheer size of the place is still overwhelming. It’s near impossible to take effective pictures inside, as the central scaffolding for the perpetual renovation blocks the view.

Jesus in Mosaic

However, I did get a good picture of this Jesus mosaic. You know what they say about a savior with large feet?

Big sandals.

After the Hagia Sophia, we followed our trusty Rick Steves book on a tour of the Grand Bazaar. In a quiet corner, we found Osman’s Carpet Shop, where Hannah and I both fell in love.

At our carpet store

After seeing dozens of fine specimens, we each had our heart set on the first carpet we saw. Hers is a red and black prayer rug made for a baby on their birth, and mine is a blue nomadic design with orange highlights. I am now a much poorer man, but how else am I to furnish my abode with artifacts from my adventures? Besides, Harvey Keitel shops there, and I don’t want to mess with the Wolf.

Spice Market

After the Grand Bazaar, we walked to the mosque of Suleyman the Magnificent. Hannah wants to add that honorific to her name, but I’m not convinced it’s better than “Emperor of the East and the West”, or even “Supreme Allied Commander.” The mosque is actually under renovation, so it’s distinctly less magnificent than intended. However, the tomb of the sultan and his empress are both quite impressive, so we got a sense of his magnificense.

Had dinner overlooking the Golden Horn, which separates the new and old parts of the city. Again, the food astounds me with its lightness and simple but evocative tastes. On our walk home, we saw a whirling dervish, which only made me want to lay down. Sadly, Hannah had her camera stolen on the tram, which made us both want to kill someone. However, at least it wasn’t money or her passport. She will just have to endeavour to go back to Paris and recreate all those arty shots of La Tour Eiffel.

Efes and baba ganoush

Golden Horn and New District

Whirling Dervish

Today we toured the Sultan’s Palace, to get a taste of the royal lifestyle. It’s also right near our hotel, so it made for a leisurely Saturday.

Hannah in the Harem

Topkapi Dagger

We wandered inside the Harem, which is sadly not the sight of mindless orgies, but rather just where the royal family lived. The sultan’s mother actually controlled which of his concubines he could actually sleep with, which sounds like a terrible plan. Still, it did ensure an uninterrupted dynasty for close to a thousand years. We also saw their incredible trove of treasures, including a sweet jewel encrusted dagger.

Alexander the Great

Then we took a nap on the palace grounds, undisturbed by any officials. Eventually we summoned up the strength to wander the archaeological museum. Of particular interest was a 4th century bc sarcophagus with incredible relief of Alexander the Great, as well as some excellent Sumerian stuff. They also had findings from Troy, although I couldn’t remember which layer the city from the Illiad was supposed to be. I think it was VII, which had Greek contact and was destroyed by fire. Good enough for Schleimann, good enough for us.

Turkish Bath

After our rough day, we felt the need to try a traditional Turkish bath, to really get that royal experience. The bath that’s closest to us was designed by Sinan (the royal architect, contemporaneous with Leonardo and Michelangelo) for the sultan mother. While I’ve been to a Russian bath house before, this was an experience unlike any other. Never before have I been soaped up, scrubbed down, and rubbed out by a naked man. He made me hurt in ways I didn’t know I could. And I loved it. Waddled home feeling my joints loose, but cleaner than ever before.

Today we took a ferry up the Bosporus, to see more of the outlying areas. It took most of the day, but we did get to storm a castle overlooking the Black Sea, and Hannah got to set foot in Asia.

Bosporus Bridge

Fishing village

Netmaking

The Black Sea

Old guys selling shells

With three days left in Turkey, Hannah and I decided to throw our budget to the wind and fly to Cappadocia. The land of beautiful horses in Hittite, it’s also the sight of some incredible Dr. Seussian landscapes. Fourth century Christians carved hundreds of caves in the soft tufa stone, as protection from Arab raiders. Hoteliers have continued the tradition today, providing tourists with a place to stay that remains cool in the summer sun. We actually took a tour for this part, so we felt a little out of control, but given time and transportation limitations it made more sense. Besides, we got to meet some fellow travelers, albeit all older than we are, and share stories of our journey.

Arriving in Kayseri

Underground City

We flew to Kayseri Tuesday morning, and were picked up and taken to our hotel in Urgup. It was a beautiful place, with a real Arabian nights vibe. We had enough space to entertain, and plenty of Turkish music video and fashion channels on TV. We went for a short hike in the morning, and then toured an underground city with room for 15,000 temporary inhabitants. There were networks of these things, and tunnels of many kilometers connecting them. Not the most comfortable place to stay, but it beats being killed.

Wednesay we toured an open air museum of various churches, with some more incredible frescoes. While some are well preserved, others were badly damaged during the iconoclast era, when depiction of human figures was deemed a sin. Still, there’s plenty of Jesuses left. In accordance with the great church-icecream pact, I now owe Hannah many rounds at Ben and Jerry’s.

In a Monastary

Angel Gibreel

Hand painted pottery

Today we flew back to Istanbul, and Hannah caught a flight to Paris. It’s sad to see her go, as we’ve had a great time together. We’ve seen great sights, stormed castles on two continents, and made it to the Orient and back alive. Quite a bit better than the historical inspiration for our trip, the actual Children’s Crusade. We were not cut to bits by the natives, but managed to get from the Vatican to Istanbul (not Constantinople), and back in one piece.

I now travel onward to Jared in Jordan, then to Lebanon, and hopefully to James in India. This assumes that my visa situation works out, and that the political situation doesn’t further deteriorate. The Lebanese couple we met on our tour of Cappadocia were pleased that we were coming to their country, until I told them where we planned to go. Then they ‘forgot’ to give me their contact information, and told me that ‘peaceful tourism’ was more up their alley. Well, I agree, but having done enough historical sights for a while, I’d like to see what the current situation is like. I’ll post reactions from Lebanon as internet access allows. Until then, dear reader, I am off.

Snack shack

I went all the way from Amman to the Israeli border this morning, my taxi driver going like a maniac (even more so than normal), only to find out that the border is closed at 11 on Shabbat. I did think of this and looked it up in my book beforehand, but the information was old and things seem to change unexpectedly in this part of the world. So, the border was closed, and there is apparently nowhere to stay in the vicinity. Back in another taxi, paying the exorbitant fee again, and back to Amman. I go back to the same hotel, which was quite serviceable last night, but they are full. They offer me a tent on the roof, which has the advantage of being both cheap and airy. I slept with the window open last night, so it shouldn’t be a significant difference. Anyways, I’ll get to Jared tomorrow, and have another good story about borders and bureaucracy to tell. Now I need to figure out what to do for a day; I’m sort of ruined and mosqued out. Maybe there’s a theater in town showing The Dark Knight…

Made to it Jared on Sunday afternoon, and have been enjoying a slightly slower pace since then. We went to a hippy farm party the first night, and enjoyed roast chicken under the stars. Yesterday I did some needed visa acquiring and ticket booking in Ramallah, and visited Arafat’s tomb. At night we drove to the Dead Sea, where we floated in peace, despite the nasty water and mosquitoes. Today we walked around an abandoned military base near Jared’s apartment, until he was called away by news of a new attack in Jerusalem. Being an intrepid journalist, he responds when duty calls. Still, it’s great to spend some time with him in his new turf.

Arafat

Jared got mudded

Dead Sea lounging

Abandoned Israeli base

The plan now is to go to Lebanon on Saturday, spend a few days there and then try the border with Syria. Lonely Planet says that anyone with a valid Lebanese visa can cross the Lebanon-Syria border and get a Syrian visa issued there, for an extra fee. This assuages one of my concerns, so it looks like we will start our “axis of evil” tour after all.

Banksy 2

Banksy

Walked along the wall in Bethlehem today, and took some pictures of the graffiti that covers it. Most of it is actually by internationals, not local Palestinians. Still, I am quite enamored of the Banksy stencils.

The impact on the neighborhood is hard to overstate. There are places where the wall curves around a single house, encasing it on three sides. Any businesses near it are closed, and the streets in Bethlehem are quiet because the tourist trade cannot reasonably function under these retrictions.

Shatter Tower

Dove

Reduce, Reuse, Resist

Jared took me to Hebron today, to see one of the most divided cities in the West Bank. Jewish settlers there have moved into the old part of town, where there has traditionally been a Jewish presence. However, the violence between the settlers and the Palestinians, originating from both sides, is such that the Israeli army has the town in virtual lockdown. There are checkpoints everywhere, and we were blocked from walking down some roads. We did get to see the Tomb of the Patriarchs, where Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Jacob and Leah are buried. The cave is covered by a large complex built by King Herod, with a basilica above that, half of which is Jewish and half is Muslim.

"Greater Israel"

The rhetoric from some of the settlers is pretty ridiculous, including this map of “greater Israel”, which extends from the Sinai to Turkey. While it would have made this trip easier, it’s this kind of extremism that makes me wonder how this situation can ever be resolved. It’s also interesting to note that the founder of the modern Jewish settlement in Hebron is Moshe Levinger; probably the most famous owner of our moniker.

Went on a tour of various Bedouin villages, focusing on water issues and run by Bustan. These villages are not recognized by the state of Israel, which is conducting an urbanization campaign. Official policy is to move people into newly developed towns in order to provide them access to government services. However, this is backed up by harassment, including repeated home demolishing, against people who are full Israeli citizens. While Bedouin villages are denied access to water, Jewish towns only miles away have green lawns and sprinkler systems. The health consequences of reduced access to water is obvious, but it causes Bedouin infant mortality to be around 15 per 1000 live births, three times higher than that for Jewish babies.

What really disturbed me about the tour was that the same set of restrictions and discriminatory are placed on the Bedouin as the Palestinians, even though the Bedouin are full citizens of Israel. Because this issue has none of the international legal complexity as that with the West Bank, the only reason for these policies that holds together is simple racism. And in a country that prides itself on being the only democracy in the Middle East, that is simply unacceptable.

Bedouin Boy on Donkey

Old Bedouin Man

Crossed the Allenby/King Hussein Bridge again yesterday, and just made it across. I have to learn not to travel on the Sabbath in this place. Then we took a taxi to Amman, where we ate a good cheap dinner and collapsed. Amman really isn’t such an interesting town, but we needed to go through it to get here. Took a really early flight to Beirut, and made it through immigration without too much trouble. We are being put up by Jared’s friend Shireen, who is staying in her Aunt’s fabulous apartment. Going to a beach party tonight, so we’re all catching up on rest beforehand. We’re all experiencing pretty severe culture shock, coming from Palestine where women are all covered to Lebanon where it seems anything goes. It’s also amazing that we are only a few hundred miles from Jerusalem, and yet it took us 24 hours to get here. What seems like a small part of the world is not always so easily traversed.

Wandered around the downtown today, seeing the massive rebuilding project. The area was where the worst fighting during the civil war was, but you’d hardly know it today. There are shops galore, a huge new mosque, and the Parliament building, even if the representatives haven’t met in two years. It’s almost like Disneyland, in that new-old building style.

Tanks on the street

Dunkin Donuts

Shebab at the beach

At Jared and Jenna’s insistence, we went to a concert tonight in Martyr’s Square. It was both the worst musical experience of any concert I have been to, and also the most fun. Mika is apparently a big deal, especially in Lebanon, his homeland. I’d never heard of the guy, but I guess that means I’m out of the loop. It was a remarkably strange performance, with giant inflatable pizza slices and milkshakes surfing the crowd, a squadron of zaftig dancers, and several interludes with animal costume performances. Words cannot quite describe the, well, gayness, of this show. Still, the crowd loved it, and we decided to as well. When in Beirut, you have to party hard.

Mika

Big Girl

Jared and Jenna loving it

Serious fans

Cartoon motion

After two days of downtime due to sickness, we’re back in action. We went south to Tyre yesterday and spent the afternoon on the beach. Found some sweet towels, which will make excellent souvenirs.

Hizbollah Beach Party

Today we got permits to visit the “secure zone” of Hizbollah controlled towns. Our permit required color photocopies of our passports and new photographs, but ended up being a slip of paper with a number written on it. Sometimes things are just laughably ad-hoc in the Middle East. Stormed a castle that was originally built by the romans, captured by the Crusaders in 1139, used by the PLO to shell northern Israel until 1982, was used by the Israelis during the occupation which ended in 2000. Now there is a yellow Hizbollah flag on the top, and the castle is in rough shape.

Chateau Beaufort

Storming the castle

We also toured through several villages that were heavily bombed by the Israelis in the 2006 war, where reconstructions is still underway. As our gracious host explained, the Lebanese are experienced at rebuilding. We also saw a former Israeli detention center, which was also bombed during the most recent conflict. Hizbollah banners and martyr posters line the streets, and it isn’t hard to see why the population supports them. Of all the “non-state actors” in the region, they are the only one to achieve any real gains against Israel. My feelings about the group are mixed, however despicable the qassam rockets were they haven’t been involved in suicide attacks within Israel. They do seem to be a more classic nationalist organization than your stereotypical international terrorist group.

Israeli Artillery

Blue Helmets

Got here safe and sound, after only a three hour wait at the border. A tour guide I met in line was very helpful, and procured the forms I needed to fill out, which were visible no where. Having to fight through the crush of people just to find out you don’t have quite all the documents you need is quite disheartening. However, when you consider what we would have done to a Syrian who arrived on our shores without a visa, it was actually quite mild.

Umayyad Mosque

Last night I wandered around the old city, stopping for pistachio encrusted ice cream, felafel and a fresh squeezed orange juice. Not sure my stomach can handle the blackberry juice that seems to be everywhere; I really don’t want to get sick again. The Umayyed Mosque is breathtaking at night, when the marble courtyard gleams with the reflections from the lit minarets. The interior is nicely decorated, but not as overwhelming as the mosques in Istanbul. The rectangular layout might have something to do with it.

Synagogue Fresco

This morning I went to the National Museum, which has an incredible 2nd century synagogue with walls covered in frescoes. They are apparently quite serious about visitors not taking pictures of it, with several hand written NO PHOTO signs. First the guard eyes me as I leave with my camera slung over my shoulder, and I put it away. But then he follows me down the hallway, and threatens to take me to the soldiers unless I delete the photos. I do, and then wait for him to leave on his rounds.

Here’s where I got stupid. I went back and did it again with no one there. But when the guard saw me leaving the synagogue for the second time, he was on to me. He demands my camera, which I refuse to give him. Now he gets angry, and I get angry too. He grabs my elbow and tries to lead me to the soldiers, but I shake him off, tear up my entrance ticket, and leave the museum. This might seem out of character, but getting around here seems to require a level of aggressiveness that would be out of place in the States. But when you have to fight through lines every day, you sort of get into the spirit of it. Anyways, I may have gone too far, and I’ve tried to tone it down a little; and now I know that they’re serious about NO PHOTOS. No matter, the lighting is better in the postcard pack than I would have been able to manage anyways.

Silk Loom

Pattern Punchcards

Wandering back to the Old City, I shopped in the souq for gifts, stopping at a handmade silk store. The loom is actually run on punch cards, which I found particularly amusing. While there are tacky belly dancing outfits available on every corner, they are either really trashy or made of low quality fabric. The silk is expensive, but much nicer, and also a typical Damascus ware.

Damascus Steel

Azem Palace

The Azem Palace is labeled as a “must see” in the guidebook, and it’s clear why. It was the home of the governor of Damascus in the late 1700′s, and is now used as an ethnographic museum. While the displays are a little cheesy, the architecture is simply stunning. The alternating basalt and sandstone walls are typical of the area and time period. They also had a great weapons room, although the tradition of swordmaking seems to be replaced by cheap souvenirs.

Moonlit Minaret

Abu Shady

At night I wandered around the Christian Quarter, getting myself thoroughly lost. I eventually had dinner at Leila’s Terrace overlooking the Umayyed Mosque. Seeing it at sunset, I was struck again by its beauty and stature. I then saw a professional storyteller at an atmospheric coffee shop. He seems to be the last of his kind, replaced like so many things by television.

This is the most stereotypically “middle eastern” place I have ever been, with the busy souq, chaotic traffic, and generous hospitality that entails. They have done a wonderful job of preserving the character of the Old City, without opening it to the kind of rampant development that would destroy it. While it was a hassle to get here, it was definitely worth the trip.

On the notion that I need to storm a castle in every country I visit, I went to a crusader stronghold today. TE Lawrence called it the “most wholly admirable castle in the world”, and I think I agree. It is remarkably well preserved, and the interior is still as musty and dank as it has been for the last thousand years. I found a passageway marked “secret entrance”, which was pitch black, steep and rocky, so of course I had to try it. Sadly, I was without my torch, so I couldn’t go too far without killing myself. Still, it was an admirable Indiana Jones moment.

After the castle, I took a pea green 1960′s Mercedes taxi across the border, in another stereotypical middle east experience. The driver had three teeth, started the car with wires under the dash, played arabic pop as loud as the speakers could go, and drove like a madman. It was great, and I even made it back to Beirut alive. In all, a good excursion.

Conquering Krak

Berber column

Stables

Lion Gargoyle

Six colums

After finally getting my Indian visa, I decided to spend my last day in Lebanon at one of the classic sights, the Roman ruins of Heliopolis. They are up in the mountains, where the cool air made wandering around in midday sun a little more bearable. The ruins are incredibly well preserved, and were far larger than the Parthenon. The temple of Bacchus has a lovely carved ceiling and lion shaped rain spouts, as well as a good mosaic of the hedonist god himself.

Israeli bombs

Bottle rockets

As the Bekka valley is the home of the party of god, there is a Hizbollah museum and gift shop just outside the ruins entrance. A diorama room filled with middle-school level styrofoam cutouts represents their apparent military glory over the bat-winged Israelis. Their marketing department must work overtime to produce the vast array of pins, flags, t-shirts, and DVD’s available for sale. I almost purchased some, but the thought of directly giving them money was a little much. Besides, I already have a beach towel.

Tonight I went to the Bourj al-Barajneh refugee camp just outside of Beirut for a screening of Slingshot Hiphop, a documentary about several Palestinian rappers. It was one of the best films I have seen in a long time, and does an excellent job at humanizing the conflict. There is no US distribution deal yet, but the director told me she is working with Sundance to get it out there. At dinner and drinks afterwards, a fellow American regaled me with the entire history of Tupac and the other American political rappers who are cited as inspiring forces in the film. As always, my education continues.

After spending a whole day enjoying Amman’s lovely airport, I arrived in Delhi at 5am local time. James was good enough to meet me, and his larger than life presence in the arrival hall was a reassuring sign. He had stayed up all night working in preparation for my arrival (dressing the elephants, and so forth). So logically, we spent the early morning wandering around the Safdejang enclave where he lives. It’s a little outside the main urban center of Delhi, but still within the metropolitan area.

The city is as mad as it has been described, with autorickshaws, motorbikes, Ambassador cabs, cows and pedestrians all jostling for space on the road. James reminded me of the effective rules for right of way, with cows at the top and pedestrians firmly on the bottom rung. One has to remember to look left, as traffic nominally flows the opposite direction. But in reality one must be aware at all times, as there is the constant danger of being run down, or at the very least stepping in shit.

After a brief nap, we ventured out to do the touristy things that James had yet to do. We went to India Gate, a memorial to the 70,000 WWI dead, and a seeming replica of the Arc de Triomph. We walked along the national mall to the Presidential palace, where we were denied entry by the very friendly security guards. Then we took the ultramodern subway to the Red Fort, which was built by Shah Jahan, the same Mughal emperor who built the Taj Mahal. Looking at these monuments, it’s easy to see how he bankrupted the empire with his extravagance.

James at India Gate

Throne room

Red Fort

Looking at a map, and discussing options with James’ tour guide roommate, we’ve tentatively decided to go to Agra to see the Taj this weekend, and then take next week to go up to the mountains to Dharamsala. Not a bad end to an extraordinary trip.

After spending all day yesterday dealing with the madness that is the Delhi rail station, James and I decided to go sightseeing today. We went to see the tallest brick structure in the world at the Qutb Minar complex. They used to let you up the 72 meter spire, until 40 people were trampled to death at the exit. While the minaret is impressive, it was the 7 meter iron pillar that really got our attention. It was forged around 900BC, and is 99% pure. That level of metallurgy wasn’t achieved in the west until the middle ages. This leads James to believe that it is really an alien artifact, a theory that the inscription seems to verify. There is also a 45 meter hole in the ground (measured by our inaccurate spit-timing method). Deep well, or entrance to the hidden tunnel complex? Further exploration is clearly needed. We plan to return with rapelling gear and torches.

Qutb Minar

James and Iron Pillar

Iron Pillar Inscription

45 meter hole

Due to the inavailability of train tickets over the weekend, I ended up going to Agra alone on Monday. James will have to come back with some other tourist friend. Agra is an industrialized city, with little to offer other than the Taj, the former capitol at the Red Fort, and a few other tombs. As a result, the tourist trade is incredibly aggressive and pushy, vying for the foreigners that come in on the morning train. I tried to avoid some of this by getting a prepaid taxi for the day, but this only resulted in my being taken to several “art gallerys.” I ended up lugging home an inlaid marble chess set and some other goodies. Being an inexpert bargainer, I probably paid more than I should, but that always seems to be the case.

The Taj Mahal is probably the most well known piece of archicture in the world, but that doesn’t stop it from being breathtaking in person. What pictures don’t indicate is just how big the thing is. The standard shot with the reflection in the water is taken from quite a distance away. As you get closer, the 52 meter onion dome looms overhead. The place is crawling with tourists, but they seem to stay on the central axis of symmetry. Getting off to the side, I found a nice bench to take a nap in the shade. I tried to stay until sunset, but clouds loomed and the light faded around 5.

At the Taj

Serious curve

Clearing storm

I spent a few hours in the train station pestered by mobs of small children, giving money to cripples. Call me a sucker, but 10 rupees means nothing to me, and is food for a day for someone else. James says it’s counterproductive, and he’s probably right, but I still can’t bring myself to just brush them off as well as some of the other tourists can.

James and wanted a break from the Delhi heat, and headed up to the mountains. Dharamsala is the home of the largest Tibetan community outside of Tibet, and has a very different feel from the rest of India. We went on a day hike up to Triund, to see the beginning of the real Himalaya. Despite the monsoon rain, it did clear in the afternoon and the views did not disappoint. Having the mountains appear through the mist only added to the ambiance. On the way down we helped a trail worker replace some large rocks; he said he works only for karma, so I guess we got some too. I still don’t understand the distinctions between the varieties of religions in this part of the world. I guess you are just allowed to have as many gods with as many arms as you please. I don’t really see anything wrong with that. There’s certainly something up here above the clouds.

Monks nightly vigil

Triund

Macleod Ganj

Hiking in the mist

Making a friend

Edit: Here is a view of our route on Google Earth. We started at around 6000 feet and went to 9527 over four miles. Not bad for a day hike.

After leaving James at 3am, I caught a rickshaw to the airport, heading for Amman. I landed just ten minutes before my connecting flight to Dublin, so I ended up spending yet another day in Jordan. Not that I don’t like the country, I am just a little bored of it. I spent a little extra on a room with television and air conditioning, and whiled the day away catching up on my sleep and the Olympics.

The next morning I went back to the airport and flew to London, then Dublin. I stopped in a World of Whiskeys Shop in Heathrow, and got a good sample and lesson in the different types of that lovely nectar. Finally arriving in Dublin, I left my bags at the airport and found my way to town without too much trouble. Ruth recommended the Four Courts Hostel, and it is quite nice. I wandered over to the Brazen Head, the oldest pub in Ireland (established 1198). I quaffed a thick and hearty Irish stew and a pint of Guinness, but soon found out that my stomach was not yet up to the challenge. I spent the night in between the bed and the toilet; surely not the first time that this particular hostel has seen sick travelers. However, it was not the evening out on the town that I had planned for myself. The next morning I walked over to the Guinness Storehouse at St James Gate, but was disinclined to pay 15 euros for a tour. The smell of beer and the sight of the brewery was enough for me. So, back to the airport, through US customs in Dublin (strangely enough), and then back on a plane to the states.

Guinness Storehouse