Belgrade Breakdown

So the time has come to recap Belgrade. Ah well it was indeed a splendid time...

After a seven hour train ride through Croatia and Serbia, I finally arrived in Belgrade. Having been in hostels for about a week I was super excited to arrive because I was couchsurfing for the first time on the trip. Despite the critics and complaints that it can be very unsafe and uncontrolled, after this experience I really am such a pro-CS fan that I am trying to do it more often throughout this trip. It is a phenomenal way to get to know a place through talking with someone who lives there.

My host's name was Alex and he is a 21-year-old Serb who wants to be a cabin crew member (the benefits of some of those airlines is absolutely ridiculous. Basically all expense paid vacations depending which one you work for). Alex picked me up at the train station along with his two friends and they immediately joked with me about stealing my passport and locking me away. We also went for pizza (they paid for me) and they told me to get my party going because we were going clubbing that night. I knew this was going to be a great time.

We went to this shady looking building and took a rickety elevator to the 9th floor. Once there the music was pounding, the ladies were dancing and the creepers were staring. I felt like I could have been in any club in the world at that moment. Until of course I realized I still couldn't order myself a beer properly. A bit into the night Alex convinced his friend (read: lifted her onto the bar) to join a shot drinking contest. Whoever downed the three tequila doubles first won a bottle of Patron XO Cafe. To my utter disbelief this new found friend tossed them back and brought home the trophy for us. Hell yes.

Basically over the next few days we lounged around at "home," ate delicious Serbian food that his mom cooked and at night we would go for a walk around the city and drink a coffee. I think I've drank more coffee in the last two weeks than my entire time in college. People here just sit around and sip all day.

I met some of Alex's friends who were truly phenomenal. Funny enough, somehow all of them understood Spanish and I found myself speaking Spanish to them sometimes. Apparently when they grew up many Latin American telenovelas played on television and because all Serbian TV has subtitles and isn't dubbed, they learned to understand and at best speak Spanish. Now that's what I call impressive. They taught me the Serbian alphabet and some key phrases like rat, slut, and how to ask for someone's name.

What I also liked about the people I met there was how engaging they were. I didn't even need to bring up the topic of US and Serbia tensions or the 1999 bombings, the debate over Kosovo, or anything. They brought it up themselves, asked my opinion and challenged me and my beliefs of what I think about America, the West and the culture we promote. Here once again I heard the praises of Yugoslavia and how those times were the best.

So what do young Serbs think of America, Americans, capitalism and the like? Well the answer isn't so simple that I can type it up but I will attempt to fasten the main ideas together in a couple paragraphs, based off what I heard.

The relations between Serbia and the US have been tense for decades because of the rise of Tito, communist Yugoslavia, and then the NATO bombings in the 1990s. My new friends asked me what Americans thought of Serbs and I answered honestly that many Americans would just see it as a place where war is/was or wouldn't even know where to find the country on a map. There is this propagated image of Serbs all throughout the 90s as an aggressive people and vicious killers. Although my opinions on the war are too extensive to include here, at the very least this is not the image I received from locals. They were nice and friendly and willing to talk politics, perhaps as a way to negate this image. Of course one does notice that Americans are not greeted as heroes or saviors or maybe even doesn't collect any positive attributes at all. Clinton is still seen as a sort of bad guy, despite him being Esquire Magazine's cover story on things Americans can all agree on.

The biggest symbol of our relations lies on one road in the government quarter of the city. There lie a few still-crippled buildings bombed in 1999. And a bit further down that road is the American embassy. The windows are filled with concrete and there is no clear entrance into it. The security outside came over to us when we stood for too long looking at the building because I was in utter amazement at the fortifications. I told him I was an American and simply looking at my own embassy. He told us no photos and to leave.

To be fair, after the US's recognition of Kosovo in 2008 as an independent state the embassy was burned. But this was only 5 years ago.What does that say about the American image in Serbia? I can't analyze that for everyone.

In summation, I enjoyed Belgrade very much and at least in the capital we don't see these calls for a Greater Serbia or unity to save the Serbs. But then again I didn't expect to. It is a large metropolitan city with some of the best nightlife in Europe and I recommend everyone to take a visit. After packing up my bags there, with my USB stick full of Balkan music, and a sweet sendoff from Alex and his two friends Ana and Marko at the bus station, I can say one thing as certain as Arnold Schwarzenegger: I'll be back.

7 a.m. Schnapps

Indeed. Just as the title indicates it has been yet another interesting day in Albania. It all started with a strong coffee in a local cafe bar and hailing down one of the many mini buses that swarm the city looking for passengers. Because Albania has one of the worst train systems ever, where there are two trains that depart Shkoder at 5 a.m. and one 45 minutes later, these mini buses or furgos are the main form of intercity transit.

So Moe and Hops had a plan to go to see these great beautiful lakes and reservoirs to the north of Shkoder called Vau i Dejes. According to the Lonely Planet guidebook there was a sightseeing ferry from the city of Koman to another one across the water and the trek was supposed to take three hours round-trip.

So after stepping into this minivan serving as a bus we finally got underway, and the roads were the windiest and in the worst condition I had experienced in a while. This doesn't necessarily say anything about Albania, but more just the area we were at in particular. Long windy roads with cliffs hanging over us and dizzying turns through a landscape that looked equal parts beautiful and barren. So besides picking up a few locals who looked like they lived out in the middle of nowhere and worked on the land (turns out they did) we three were alone in the van with our semi-eccentric driver. He told me to get into the front seat after the last stranger got out — even though there was plenty of room in the back. But speaking through waving hands I eventually just went to the passenger seat. I mean I can't be rude and leave the guy all lonely in the front, right?

So as we drove along he asked me if I am Italian.
No.
Spanish?
No.

I tell him I'm Cuban and the only two words he manages are "Fidel Castro" and then puts two fingers together as if to symbolize that he likes and agrees with Castro or, well, God knows what.

Now I'm sure you're wondering what time it is. Well considering we forced ourselves out of bed at a quarter past five and were now making this hour-and-a-half journey to the lakes it is about 7 a.m. And yes, now the title becomes relevant.

So our driver points to the panel next to me and signals for me to open it. I do so and pull out a flask. A full flask. At this point I wonder if he is going to drink and drive, which (although scary considering the terrain) I seem to just find hilarious. But then he does the unpredictable. He opens the flask and presses it against my hand. There is no shaking of the head at this point (which actually means yes in Albania).

Looks like I'm hitting the hard stuff before most people are even awake. I don't even know what to expect as I press this to my lips and take a swig.

It really wasn't that bad at all. In fact, downright good. So of course he gestures for me to spread the love around and I pass it back to my German duo in the back, and we are all dying of laughter and rambling off in German about how ridiculous this all is. And then he insisted we drink more and so another round went by and this time he joined in as well. Absolutely unbelievable.

Well turns out that would be the funniest part of the day. When we arrived there was no ferry. There was not even a proper boat. We paid to be driven into the middle of nowhere, albeit not so much. But there was breakfast at a restaurant, and our waiter offered to take us on a boat tour for an hour if we paid him. Yes, you read that correctly, our waiter became our captain and off we went into the scenery.

Despite the biting cold wind and cloudy skies, I really enjoyed it. I hadn't been out on water in a while and it was nice to have a relaxed feeling after so much constant traveling.

As we returned it was only 9:30 a.m. and the entire day was in front of us. To make a long story short (as it now is half past midnight and I am exhausted) we had an incredibly uncomfortable and packed ride back to Shkoder, only to decide during lunch that we needed to get the heck out of that place and find our way to the capital. We ACTUALLY ran into the same old man that brought us across the border the day before and he fixed us up with a mini bus to Tirana in no time. Talk about fate.

Tirana seems so much nicer and obviously larger, but the Albanian elements are still ever-present. Double-headed eagles everywhere, stores that glow red from the amount of nationalistic merchandise they sell and, of course, U.S., EU, and Kosovo flags waving proudly in the smoggy skies. You gotta keep up a reputation after all.

Moe cooked us a nice dinner, I think my stuffy nose will disappear as I finally found some goddamn juice with vitamin C in this country, and we have tomorrow to explore the city by day. Who knows, maybe it will start out with some schnapps once again.

Hitchhiking: A New Adventure

So I figured as I recall the past I would also update on a semi-daily basis, based on when I can get Internet access. Now here goes the story of today and how I woke up in Kotor, Montenegro and ended up typing this in an internet cafe in Shkodër, Albania.

I had met two Germans traveling to Istanbul as well in Kotor and they are hitchhiking through the Balkans all the way to the grand city. I had always thought hitchhiking was a crazy idea, especially in a place where I don't know how to speak the language. It just seemed too dangerous. And all those lessons my parents taught me about being careful and not getting into avoidable danger situations rise to the top of my head and tell me it's a bad idea.

But I did it anyway. Sorry, mom.

Turns out, hitchhiking here in the Balkans is easier than most places. I had read this before as I did research for this trip but as aforementioned (I love that word) I had always thought the negatives outweighed the benefits. I figured why not try it out with two people who have experience at it and just go for an adventure.

We split up our trio because taking three people at a  time doesn't work too well. I was with Katarina (Hops) (whose birthday it is today, I might add) and Moritz (Moe) went solo.

It took five car rides to reach Shkodër  but after we were picked up in about five minutes from our starting point it seemed hopeful. Until the cops pulled us over approximately 20 seconds after getting into the first car. Now here is where is goes to shit, I thought. Well, after the driver got out of the car and talked with the officer, turns out nothing was wrong. He was just trying to give a warning about picking up strangers. Or something. The driver only spoke Serbian so it's not like we really understood what he meant.

Our next driver was of particular interest, considering he picked us up in Budva, told us he was going to take us to another city and then ended up leaving us on this big curve in the road and telling us (we think, no English/German/Spanish/French once more) this was our best chance of getting picked up. Ended up being in the same place as Mo, and so the three of us waited again. After about 30 minutes, Moe was off and we were up. What seemed hopeless turned around as some young guy pulled up.

After 20 minutes of nothing but techno music in his car and not a single word exchanged between us he dropped us off in the next city. Guess who was on that same curb? Moritz. Funny how that kept working out.

The next car was by far the most giving. It was a Russian man and his son. The older man knew some German from four years in school so although it was simple basic words we were able to communicate. Besides that, they had this cool tablet that translated spoken Russian into German (and I take it other languages) so we talked through a machine for a while. Now that is good technology.

They managed to get all three of us crammed into the backseat and took us within 25 kilometers of the Albanian border. Now the real fun began. Trying to flag down the not-so-often vehicles heading toward Albania.

Enter old man with his young wife (daughter, niece, who knows what) and some random guy in the back. He says he will take us to Shkodër for 10 Euros total. We hadn't paid a cent to this point so we were unsure but we figured it was the best decision because there was nobody coming to rescue us in the middle of the farmlands that we currently stood in.

We packed into the backseat and we met by another member of this automobile, a young guy from Albania and who knew a few phrases in English. That was helpful but lively is a far stretch. As we drive and Hops is sitting on one of my legs while the guy offers us wafers and cigarettes (I've smelt like cigarettes for this entire trip almost).

Well life is full of surprises. At the border we found out this old Albanian guy is actually a US citizen because his mother once lived in Canada and his bambino was also there and although he can't speak English he had that blue passport with an emblazoned eagle. Maybe he was born there and then grew up in Albania or something.

Another thing we noticed: no passport stamp. Like what's with that? Don't they know that is everyone's goal in life? To collect as many stamps as possible?

Either way now I am here in Albania after a long journey through some beautiful Montenegrin seaside landscapes and a multi-kilometer walk through some not-so-attractive Shkodër neighborhood. So how do I like it? It is wonderfully cheap. Literally a meal for three of us with drinks and a a coffee included cost six Euros. Like what? But our "hotel" is anything but classy. Imagine a hole where you squat as the toilet and vomit stains and an ashtray included with every room free of charge! But as six Euros a night who's complaining?

Like the corny Helen Keller poster outside my room in Miami reads: Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.

A Satisfied Zagreb

Now we come to Croatia. What a beautiful land with the sea and mountains. Its coastline is famous and increasingly popular. But with no love for seafood and the lust for some cultural engagement, I headed to Zagreb. Transport between all these cities is incredibly easy and cheap. Sure there may be only some trains or bus lines a day, but I just walked into the station and asked for the next train out. It's as easy as that. If you're traveling the Balkans, I would advise against any big Eurorail or Interrail tickets because that can limit your time a lot if you go with the cheaper options and also hinders sporadic adventures since many of those said cheaper options have a ride limit. But if you're willing and able to spend the cash then go for whatever you wish. I personally get excited off not knowing how I am getting to the next place.

Anyways, back to the Croatian capital. Zagreb is so much bigger than Ljubljana that at first I was in shock. I really didn't expect the city to be like this. It has a grandiose train station worth taking pictures of and right outside is a giant square with a statue worth another photo. It is most definitely something that looked good on their EU application, as they will enter into the organization this summer. From what I heard from the Croatians I spoke to, they are hopeful about entering the EU. Life in the nation is extremely rough right now. The owner of my hostel (details to come) told me about 1,000 people lose their jobs every day in the country, which already has about a quarter of the population unemployed. Although entering the EU will bring higher prices for many goods, the general overall outlook onto membership is positive. There seems to be hope in Croatia's future.

I learned a lot of what I now know about Croatia from the people who operated the House Hostel, where I stayed for my three nights there. The name really gives your the right image. It is a big house on the outskirts of the downtown right by the main bus station and all the rooms have been converted for hostel use. The main floor has a massive living room, kitchen and dining area where a lot of the travelers hang around. Every night I was there they offered me some beer and rakija. Oh how sweet it was. Or rather, how strong I should say. Rakija, in case you don't know and are too lazy to Google it, is a highly alcoholic drink made from fermented fruits. It is popular throughout the Balkans and they really love this shit. Rakija comes in bunches of flavors from honey to plum, apple to walnut. It is what you drink after a hard day. And for many people here that is every day. That and cigarettes seem to be ways of coping with the past.

On a lighter note, the city of Zagreb is worth visiting. It has so much history in its old towns. Yes towns in the plural. You see the city used to be two opposing towns, one under the power of the Catholic Church with an enormous majestic cathedral to boot, while the other was a secular center up on the hills with many old fortifications around it. There is even a canon which is fired every day at noon to remember the legend of one man firing a cannonball and hitting the invading Ottoman forces from many kilometers away.

The city center is pretty crowded and I got a free tour from a fellow journalism student, who gives these tours on the side as a way of showing people the city he grew up in. He also had much to say about the current Zagreb mayor, who has had his hand in the cookie jar for a very long time but who is still mysteriously loved by many citizens. Constructing glass skyscrapers and shopping malls in the middle of the historic center and spending thousands on Japanese toilet technology for one public WC are some of his offenses. I've got to give credit to my tour guide, always being critical.

Zagreb in general is a wonderful city to shop in the old town or have some delicious Croatian food. It's very different from the typical Dalmatian food you would eat out on the coast. It has a lot more influence from the Ottomans and I had one of the best meals with Štruklji and gnocchi and a pint of Ožujsko beer for under 10 Euros at a place in the Upper Town called Nokturno. (I hear the city has some gnarly underground clubbing as well.)

What I got from the Croatians was they are still scarred from the wars twenty years ago but for the most part Croatia is satisfied with how much territory it got in the end. Many people miss the good days of Yugoslavia and the hostel owner says it was one of the best countries in the world. I spent one night in the hostel listening to traditional Balkan music and talking about this history and past. The thing is you have to talk about these issues if you visit the Balkans. It's an unavoidable topic. The war was only two decades ago. That means people my age can remember the sieges, bombings, attacks, gun fire. My young tour guide told me he can remember the air raid sirens as a kid. The conflict is embedded in everyone and everything out here. You can't remove it and no one should try. Talking about history is how we can learn from it.

For now it seems that Croatia is a satisfied country and the economy is in a slump, but their spirit is not dead. They are some of the nicest people I've met and will give you everything. Sharing and caring. Who would think elementary school lessons would prove to be so vital out here? Either that or rakija is one hell of a drink.

I might lean toward the latter.

A recollection: Ljubljana

So before I begin let me clarify what happened to me. Uni. Friends. Bier. Work. More bier. Life. So this is my attempt at a re-do. I'm turning this into a travel blog as of this moment. I will now recount the last few adventures I've had in their respective cities and countries. Get over the gap and read along because it will still have the same type of cleverness with a bit more reflection into who the people of the Balkans are. Buckle down.

My first stop on this grand journey was the capital city of Slovenia, Ljubljana. Yes, it is as difficult to pronounce as it looks. However, I instantly fell in love with the city the few short hours I was there. The train ride from Munich took six hours, and although I had a growing fear of forgetting my German on the trip, of course I was in a compartment with a student from Salzburg and we were rambling off for much of the ride. So much for getting away from the Germans.

Anyways, once I arrived at night in Slovenia the city was lit up and the bridges across the main canal enchanted me. It was a place that reminded me of the beauty of an 19th-century European city with the smallness that comes from being in well, Ljubljana.

Then it happened again. I met another German. This time she was the only other one in my hostel, called H2Ostel (It was right on the water. SO clever) She was happy to have someone there because all her friends had left the day before and I mean who else rolls in but me, a German-speaking fresh-off-the-train tourist.


The following day we saw the sights. All the sights. And I do mean all. Ljubljana is wonderful but it is a tiny city. We did almost every tourist attraction in that first day. I even had time to go grab a horse burger at the local hot spot, Hot Horse. So yes, that means I ate horse meat on purpose, despite the recent frozen pasta scandal in Europe.

Not to take anything away from its beauty or the calm ambiance but one could probably pass through here and get a good feeling for the city. The coolest thing about the city is its complete clash of grunge graffiti with the high-class looks of its bridges and stores. It was rather odd to see these paved streets and pretty buildings with clusters of shoes dangling from the power lines. It definitely gave the city an artsy feel, which I greatly enjoyed as well. There is even a few blocks in the northwest corner of the city center that is some kind of artist community and the entire area is splattered with murals of cowboys, guns and aliens. If you ever visit, look for the lizard man crouching on one of the rooftops.

Now to get political. It has to be done, especially following the route I am on.

I couldn't help but notice how many EU flags are waving in the winds around Ljubljana. Obviously it is the government capital and heart of the country, but something tells me the Slovenians take much pride in being the only member state from the former Yugoslavia. It is the only former Yugoslav state to be in the Euro Zone and as you walk the streets it's clear this is a feat they lavish in. It goes naturally with their history. Slovenia has always been more connected with the West. The Austro-Hungarians dominated the area for a long while. Clearly this is where the city gets its look from.

Perhaps it was just the fact that it is the off-season but I saw a lot of closed up shops and houses crumbling down even in the city center. Something tells me there is a deeper negative impact on the country from the sacrifices it makes to be an EU member. Does it lose its history by conforming to the strict standards now preached by the mega-house of European power? Perhaps nothing so dramatic, but when I left Ljubljana I described it to the next person I met on the train to Zagreb (another German, go figure) in such a way that I think fits.

Ljubljana is crumbling, but it does it beautifully.

I may be poor, but I'm sexy

No, the title of this post isn't a personal statement (although on second thought...)

No, no. It's Berlin's catchphrase. And you best believe it's the truth. I took a five day trip to Berlin at the end of September and celebrated Germany's reunification day with a tour of the Reichstag and a kinda-small-but-pretty-big street fair surrounding the Brandenburger Tor. A tour guide pointed out the big reunification celebration was in Munich this year. That was the moment we turned to our program director and he sunk his eyes in shame. Yet, I can't be upset. So we missed the big party. Berlin was the center of strife and the symbol of a divided Germany. Culture, tears, blood and hope is twined into the fibers of the city.

Please excuse me as I suffer a history-major-geek-out spasm. BerlinwallstalincommunismchurchillJFKcubamissileussrironcurtainperestroikagorbachevteardownthatwall.

Thanks.

I absolutely loved Berlin. Graffiti smears the walls all around you, sometimes you catch people peeing on a train platform and it's transportation system is unconquerable. But I didn't want to leave. So much so I found myself clubbing my last night away until I showed up back at my hostel at 6 a.m. for 40 minutes of shut-eye before dragging myself out of bed.

Maybe it's because food was cheaper and you can get the best Döners in the world at Mustafa's, which was a two minute walk from my hostel. The line stretches for at least 30 minutes from about 10 a.m. to 5 a.m. There's a reason I used the word BEST.

Maybe it's because Berlin is massive and so small at the same time. It only has just over 3 million people. The South Florida metropolitan area has a similar population. Berlin is a neighborhood to cites like London, New York, and Shanghai. When you walk the streets, however, you're never alone. People are always buzzing, humming, and yes, peeing. It's as if Berlin doesn't know where it belongs. Is it a major population center? Well it's Germany's biggest by about double. Is it a small city among the giants? Perhaps.

Maybe for me it is all the history. The pain, the fear, the tyranny. The resurgence of hope. A banner outside the German National History Museum reads "Wir sind ein Volk". We are one people. And I like to think Berlin is a modern tower of Babel in this way. It was divided and controlled, not just on the Soviet side, and its people learned they were different. They didn't have the same dialect or the same beliefs. They didn't shop at the same stores or drive the same cars (I had to make a Trabi joke). But in the end they had to learn from each other and the city sprung into an eclectic mix of counterculture and progress.

No matter what the reason, I loved Berlin. And now that my sister lives there, I can't wait to go back. Even if she didn't, I would make the six hour (or eight hours if some poor soul decides to jump in front of your train like ours) train ride. I suggest you go visit, too.

If I may borrow a line I once saw written on a canvas in a friend's house, it's the perfect city to sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whiskey, and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested.

Oktoberfest: The Age-Old Frat Party

Greetings from Prague!

I will write all about the Golden City in a post soon to follow but I just thought I'd let you know why this second portion of Oktoberfest took so long. Before I can can even write about one city I'm already in another. Crappy life, huh? I don't think so either. Without much more humble jumble, here's what happened the other times I fested in Oktober.

Lines, lines. Waiting, waiting. No, no. That's what you get outside an Oktoberfest tent if you come too late in the day. I can't help but get the feeling I'm a lonely freshmen who decided to walk around the frat quad, and see from which one I can snatch some alcohol. Except here in Deutschland, the bier isn't free. As I said before and I'll say it again, my wallet has been sore for a while.

On Day 3 (Tuesday night, whaddup!) I took advantage of the half priced rides on family night. For those of you who are questioning why there is a family night at Oktoberfest, a giant bier festival, keep wondering. I have no idea who would bring their kids to such an event where grown adults drink toward a stupor and spend a month's salary in a few hours. But I say, at least they know what to look forward to when they're older. You gotta give kids a chance to dream after all.

Back on the five-ring Olympic roller coaster, Megan and I rode front row, despite being cut off in line by two 10-year-old Germans. Then she convinced me (and herself, because she had no idea what it did either) to ride "Top Spin". Imagine rows of movie theater seats flying through the air and spinning backward and forward in the process. We figured if all the totally-impressionable future-beer-drinking kids could do it, we could, too.

By the time we met up with the rest of the students in my program, one of them had kissed half the people a the table and couldn't really stand up on her on will. She had a good time to be sure, but our friend's vomit-covered dirndl would disagree. Then came disaster after disaster which would haunt me for the next week.

As I stood on the table in a biergarten and went to take a swig of my beer, my friend stood up to go to the restroom. Worse. Timing. Ever. His shoulder bumped my arm and rocketed my glass straight into my teeth. Admittedly, I was already one and half liters in and it didn't hurt too bad. I felt like there was a tiny shard of glass lodged in between my two front teeth. I could deal with that. It was only the next morning I realized that sharp edge was actually my chipped tooth. I like to think of it as my Oktoberfest battle scar. It's really not too outrageous of a story, but everyone I meet from here on out doesn't need to know the truth. They can't handle the truth. So lies, extravagance and debauchery are the only solutions.

But wait, reader! You recall the mention that one disaster followed this one? Well, unfortunately, I like using a lot of commas, and something else did happen, to me.

As four of us squeezed onto a table full of Irishmen, we rejoiced in our luck and the insane atmosphere. Fest music, screams, chants and beer filled the air. The air.

The air.

The air.

All I saw was the air. And my Maß. Then the neighboring table's soaked wooden surface lapped at my face. Turns out Einstein is still alive and decided to jump off the other side of the bench I stood on, hurling my friend and I backwards. It wasn't until the next day (once again) that I realized what damage I had suffered. I had bitten my tongue all around the sides and my knee ached as I went up steps the next few days.

You know what though? Not a drop of my beer spilled. That's a win in my book.