A Bosnian “cheese omelette” — rich and good, like macaroni and cheese, but without the pasta, and better for you, too. Or so I told myself, as my cholesterol levels skyrocketed. It’s the pita bread scoopers that’re really, really good, though.
So, here’s a snapshot of the whole meal — all good.
I’m going to live in Mostar; or have a house here; or, at the least come back and vacation like Tito and Elizabeth Taylor used to, in this incredibly beautiful, warm town in Herzegovina. Fortuna Tours offers a number of different guided tours of Herzegovina, land of figs, pomegranates, wine, and visions, ranging from a few hours to a full day. One of the tours visits “the vicinity of Trebinje”, famous for its “karst caves Vjetrenica, explored for about 6100m. It is famous for its rare endemic species, like human fish.” I have to come back, for that.
Continue reading ‘Mostar, the BiH town with the most-est Mosts’
It’s difficult to describe the mood of this Eastern European city, where the architecture wears the scars of recent, modern conflict on its face — from partially restored, Austro-Hungarian monuments and palaces, to blazing white mosques with mirrored pinnacles and ornate orthodox churches, to modern, boxy, concrete communist block style apartment buildings – many still bullet-ridden & mortar-blasted, many with graffitti scrawled throughout, all in various stages of cleaning, patching, rebuilding, or just resting. The sounds of this city, now, are the sounds of diesel trucks rolling over the cobblestones; the tick-tock of the mechanical crosswalk signals; the murmured slavic conversation over cava, pivo, and cigarettes; Euro 2008 football crowds and replays on the ubiquitous outdoor flat screens in every outdoor cafe; the call to prayer reverberating over the hills and river; and slow, painstaking reconstruction, in pockets, everywhere. Continue reading ‘The Good People of Sarajevo’
At 7 pm, I went to the top floor of the hotel, where the predominantly over-55 Hungarians had gathered to wait for Sam. Despite a significant language barrier, there were many smiles and “hellos” when I came in, and one of the Hungarians asked me, in stilted English, if I had felt a special “force” when I was climbing the Pyramid of the Moon. I said, “No, I’m from Los Angeles”; he smiled, pulled out an extra chair, and asked me if I’d ever had goulasz. Travel conversations are like that.
Continue reading ‘Rewriting History in Visoko 3; Indiana Jones and the Aliens’
After having coffee with Bob, back in the bus station coffeeshop (Bob was a regular; said something to the waitress about “Hollywood” and “Los Angeles”; awkward), we got in the taxi without my having a clue as to where we were going, but, hey, it was Bosnia, so why not? We drove into an apartment complex just outside Visoko. Bob pulled over, and a big young guy, Bob’s cousin, Damir, jumped in the car. Damir, who spoke perfect English, negotiated the bill for his cousin (Bob grabbed a 5-Euro tip for himself out of my hand; whatever) and then suggested we walk around town and we could see what else there might be to see. Damir and I strolled through downtown Visoko, which reminded me of a slightly cleaner Pawtucket RI except for the random building under construction and post-war renovation, and chatted about the war, the Roma (gypsies), the future, and the Lakers. Continue reading ‘Rewriting History in Visoko 2: the Illyrians, the Romans, the Bosnians, and the Franciscans’
Today I looked again, and considered other versions of history in the BiH, which has many histories, and many stories. I went on a solo journey to Visoko, where in the Valley of King, hills are being crowned as Bosnian Pyramids, and history is rewritten, overwritten, denied, and held fast.
According to Tim Clancy’s Bradt guidebook on Bosnia-Herzegovina, the municipality of Visoko is “host to more protected cultural heritage monuments” than any other municipality in the BiH; the settlement traces back to neolithic time. What made it attractive to me, though, given that I spend at least 25% of every grocery store visit reading the tabloids at check-out, and went into mourning when World Weekly News stopped its presses, was the potential discovery of the “Bosnian Pyramids”. So, I got on the bus to Visoko, for 6.30KM (about $6.50 USD) to see what was up with that. Continue reading ‘Rewriting History in Visoko; Bosnian Pyramids?’
Why say that life is just a bowl of cherries, when in BiH, it’s a platter?
This post is the first of many, for Tanya & Randy, as you’d both put in a special request for FOOD posts. We’ll see if I can get any recipes.
Just to note: click on the link for each post; some go to another page, so you might want to pull them up in their entirety. (I do tend to go on…)
Here are some selected pix from our walk around the city today; it’s a young city, with a lot of young people out and about. 
Which only makes sense, since many of the fathers and mothers (aka my generation) left or died during the war. We’re going to five cities on this trip; in every one, except for Sarajevo, people I knew had either lived there, or just been there, or travelled there frequently. I didn’t understand why not in Sarajevo, until I was here, and saw that when my friends were travelling, when business
and friendship ties were being established, this beautiful country, this incredibly comfortable, warm, calm multicultural Balkan European city, was torn apart by war. The tourist culture, although present, isn’t strong here yet (like it is at Universal’s CityWalk, for instance); 
but people can still spot you as a foreigner from away, and will say “hello” instead of “dobro jutro” or “cao” — without you saying it first, and with a smile and sometimes a laugh (appropriate, given that I tend to dress like a dork when travelling, but that’s neither here nor there). (Check out the bulletholes in the side of the building beside the carpet shop.) 
You can use the Euro instead of the convertible mark, or KM; although the ATM’s respond well to VISA, giving you exactly what you need in the blink of an eye. (thank you Fidelity, for not charging for international ATM fees– you City National folks reading this – my sincerest condolences, but Fidelity’s got you beat on that).
And you hear the sound of the call to prayer reverberating across the city, along with the sound of construction, and the diesel-powered cars and trucks rumbling across the cobblestones. And an occasional voice, or laugh, in a rich, deep, cigarette-throated language.
And there’s more…
Two casualties so far — my rockin’ Osprey bag has some major rips in it (what’s up with Lufthansa’s baggage handlers, anyway — there are rips in parts where there was nothin’ to rip!!) and my sunglasses got lost somewhere in Munich or Sarajevo — gotta replace.
Bosnia Herzegovina is about the size of West Virginia; Sarajevo is a beautiful European city of roughly 450,000 people, with tremendous history dating back from Ottoman rule, and much has been reconstructed post-war. In 1992, Bosnian Croats and Muslims voted in favor of independence and the Yugoslavia/Serbia of Slobodan Milosevic; and declared independence, with recognition or the State of Bosnia and Herzegovnia from the European Union and the United Nations.
So, this is where it now stands. I have a feeling I’m going to love Jordan.
I decided, based on some cautionary advice from frequent-traveling-friends to the Middle East, that the Days Inn Amman and a hostel in Petra were not, perhaps, the best choice for me. So I went to my default position — straight up. I’m going to go 5-star at the Intercontinental; and go for a float in the Dead Sea, the ultimate spa experience. And hopefully, spend a night in the desert with the Bedouin in Wadi Rum. Am bringing sunscreen, good walking shoes, water bottles & filters, and umbrellas.
I’ll be posting from Sarajevo late this week. Ciao, Au Revoir, and Peace Out.
silkroad-itineraryJun162008
Just a quick update — turns out I may now be staying at the Hotel Astra-Garni, and not the Hotel Astra, in Sarajevo. Very confusing. After a great deal of back-and-forth, I emailed the Hotel Astra last nite to confirm my reservation, as that was presumedly where the folks I’m travelling with are staying. I got back a response…”Respected, we have single room from…” from the hotel Astra-Garni. This is like emailing George, and getting back W. instead of Clooney. I’m very perplexed, a trifle confused, but y’know – it is what it is, and I’ll figure it all out when I get there. At least now I have someplace to go in Sarajevo when I arrive Tuesday. And, it’s still a George. (of course, I’d say that if it were a Jorge, too, or a George Washington, even. I’m trying hard to be very, very optimistic and positive , cause if I wasn’t, I’d be drunk already, and I’m so NOT a hunter thompson. even though, of course, I admire both his spirit and perseverence)
There’s something uniquely challenging about being about to leave home for 5 1/2 weeks without clear destinations in mind. I am being tested, I figure. And I am not sure that I have not been found wanting. There’s something suddenly very appealing about blue-haired tour operators with big smelly diesel buses, or rather, “motorcoaches”, with DVD’s in the back playing Die Hard 3, and plastic bracelet passes for free cocktails and flashing buzzers to tell us when the reservation’s ready for dinner. Somehow, I don’t think I’m gonna get any of that in Bishkek. Well, there’re plusses and minusses to everything.
Colin Thubron, who wrote “Shadow of the Silk Road” about his journey from China through Central Asia, northern Afghanistan, Iran, and Kurdish Turkey over 8 months, wrote the following through Labrang, in China, 300 miles from the Tibetan frontier:
“…My feet crunch over the snow, seeming light and lonely, and from somewhere in the darkness ahead – like an old god clearing his throat – sounds the braying of a horn. Then a familiar elation wells up: the childlike anticipation of entering the unknown, some perfect otherness. Your body lightens and tingles. The night fills up with half-imagined buildings, voices you do not understand. The experience is inseparable from solitude and a vestigial fear, because you don’t know where the road will end, who will be there.” Continue reading ‘High Anxiety’
The picture in the header is not a city on the Silk Road, but rather part of a photo I took in Times Square, about 2 or 3 years ago, when I was sent to a conference on Enterprise Risk Management. I like the way you can make out “brain candy” at an angle over the traffic, pointed to by a “one way” sign (“one way” of several!!)…and above (but out of this photo slice) there’s a billboard for the Broadway version of Lion King, which is all about courage, imagination, and personal journey. New York City isn’t what this short-term travel blog is going to be about; but I like the idea of Times Square and the Big Apple as a sort of crockpot of American markets and Western culture. And so, since I don’t have any photos yet of the trip that’s to come, I thought it provided a good contrast to the photos that will be coming, from Sarajevo, Amman, Istanbul, Bishkek, and Xian, which represent cities along the Silk Road, that Eastern crockpot of cultural chemistry & market experiments.
*sarajevo*amman*istanbul*bishkek*xian* 
